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She listened for a second. Her mouth made all the shapes for . . . Hang on, I’ll write that one down. Cradling the phone in the crook of her neck, she reached and made a note. Nine-four-five, her lips were saying, then she turned away from the camera again so I couldn’t see what came next. Almost straight away, she turned back and I caught . . . now I’m thinking about it.

I lifted up my hand to the monitor, the palm flat.

Imogen waved at the camera. Her lips made, I’m waving at them. She listened, still waving, and replied, I’m doing it right now.

I waved at the screen.

Imogen smiled.

You’re lovely, she said to the camera without a sound; then she turned away and carried on talking into the phone.

‘I’m trying,’ I said to myself.

Not long after that, Imogen-on-the-screen finished her call. My wife took the phone from her ear and pressed a button. With only a glance towards the camera, she stood up and walked out of shot.

I’d made it half out of the desk chair when she suddenly reappeared.