The rest of the week plodded on. At least Evie wasn’t sobbing and threatening that she didn’t want to go to school each morning, but she seemed subdued and her beautiful, blue eyes took on a sort of dull cast. Even the new Lego set Mum bought her couldn’t seem to raise Evie’s old sparkle.

I didn’t see a lot of Dale at work because he had lots of countywide valuations on, but Bryony was in the office for the majority of the time. She gave me Phoebe’s old desk and I decided to keep my mouth shut about the potential draught problem. She looked on sourly when I took out a small, framed photo of Evie and placed it on my desk.

‘My daughter, Evie,’ I said, by way of explanation. ‘It’s OK to keep this on here, isn’t it?’

‘Of course,’ Bryony replied frostily. ‘The odd photograph is fine, just don’t let the place get cluttered up with personal items.’

As I recalled, there had been no photographs displayed on the immaculate desk or walls in Bryony’s office. I also noted that Jo had no photographs out on her desk.

I’d become quite practised in answering the phone and helping Jo with her workload, but I was also itching to carve out my own duties and make the job my own.

‘I could come with you, if you like,’ I offered, when Bryony announced she was leaving shortly to show a client to show around a property in Linby, a leafy village no more than a couple of miles away from the shop. ‘Just to get some practise in.’

‘That won’t be necessary, Toni. You aren’t a branch manager now, remember? Your duties don’t include client viewings. Your job is to remain here, in the office.’

‘Fair enough.’ She could please herself, I was only trying to show willing.

‘Jo is going to show you how we send a targeted mailshot out. That should keep you busy.’

Jo performed an exaggerated yawn for my benefit behind Bryony’s back.

The phone rang and I dealt quickly with a query about our opening times. When I came off the call, Bryony hadn’t moved. She stood at the side of my desk, still staring down. I was about to ask her if she felt OK when I realised what she was gazing at so intently.

It was the photograph of Evie.

---

When Bryony left, Jo made us both a cup of tea. I decided that now might be a good time to get Jo’s opinion on my boss’s bad attitude.

‘She’s very prickly, isn’t she? Bryony, I mean.’ I nodded my thanks as Jo handed me a steaming mug of tea and a two-finger Kit Kat. ‘I feel like I can’t do right for doing wrong. If I sit twiddling my thumbs she asks me if I’ve nothing to do but shoots me down if I try to show some initiative.’

‘She’ll calm down soon enough,’ Jo offered. ‘You’re right, she is very prickly, but it comes from a place of insecurity.’

I nearly choked on my tea. Insecurity? Bryony? Two words that didn’t go together.

Jo caught the look on my face. ‘I know she seems uber-confident and sorted, but she isn’t, not really.’ She put down her mug and sighed. ‘Look, if I tell you something about Bryony, do you promise not to breathe a word?’

‘Course.’ I gulped, wondering what Jo was about to say. Truthfully, I felt a bit uncomfortable, gossiping about my boss my first week in the job, but anything that would help me understand Bryony would be a massive help in breaking down the apparent barrier between us.

‘We had a staff night out about eighteen months ago. There were supposed to be four of us at the meal, but Phoebe had a stomach upset and Dale’s mum had a bad fall. So in the end, it was just me and Bryony rattling around on a table for four at Hart’s restaurant.’

I couldn’t imagine a worse scenario than being stuck on my own with Bryony, trying to make conversation, even if it was at one of the best eateries in the city.

‘You can guess how the evening went. We ate too much and drank far too much good wine. Towards the end of the night, Bryony suddenly opened up to me. She said it was a relief to talk to someone.’

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t reconcile the picture of the person Jo was painting with the Bryony James I’d just met. We were talking about a woman who seemed so sorted and so in control of her life. I honestly couldn’t imagine her confiding in anyone at all.

‘Turns out she’d just started her third programme of IVF.’ Jo’s voice dropped low, as if she was somehow afraid Bryony might overhear us from Linby. ‘It was destroying her. She said she couldn’t sleep properly anymore because the need to have a child was literally taking over her life.’

‘Oh God,’ I murmured, feeling immediate sympathy.

‘And as I said, that was eighteen months ago,’ Jo continued. ‘She’s had another course of treatment since then. I think the whole baby thing has chipped away at her and she’s just dealt with it by developing an icy, protective shell.’

I thought about the way Bryony had stared just a little too long at Evie’s photograph. What I’d taken as being a slightly creepy expression was probably nothing more than pure longing. Unknowingly, I’d witnessed a deeply buried sadness surfacing in Bryony’s cool demeanour.

‘Is she embarking on another course of IVF?’ I asked.

‘Dunno, she’s been a bit distant the last few months,’ Jo replied. ‘She’s avoided personal chat with me, probably because she can’t face talking about it. Not that I can blame her.’

‘It must be so hard,’ I agreed.

‘Her husband seems a bit of a cold fish. I’ve only met him once. He’s a consultant at the hospital,’ Jo said, breaking off a finger of Kit Kat and biting it in half. ‘They live in a fabulous house at Ravenshead. I haven’t actually been there but she brought me pictures of their new kitchen and the extension. It’s immaculate.’

‘Like her office,’ I remarked. ‘There’s not a thing out of place in there.’

‘You know, I think that’s her way of coping,’ Jo said through a mouthful of chocolate wafer. ‘She keeps everything in her life so ordered and perfect, even herself. I reckon it’s the only way she can make sense of it all.’

I nodded, feeling another twinge of guilt at our casual armchair psychology, dissecting a colleague’s most private personal life.

‘Thanks for telling me, Jo,’ I said, meaning it. It had already helped me to see Bryony in a new light, even though I had the distinct feeling she wasn’t going to be the easiest person to work with.

‘You’re welcome,’ Jo said. ‘Just don’t drop me in it. She’d never forgive me if she knew I’d been blabbing to you.’