I plant my chin in my hand as I gaze out of the window at the cold, wet, half-empty park in front of me. There are only so many times that I can be called a bitch by my clients before I start to wonder if the world is taking its hurt out on me for some reason.

“No, I know, I get it," I try to reason with Anita on the other end of the line. "But I –"

"No, you listen here," Anita snarls. She has been working with us for years now, and I swear, she’s never gotten any easier. Every time we are close to finishing a project, she goes over everything with a fine-toothed comb and tries to find any little mistake that she can pick out to prove that it’s our fault her latest business venture isn’t already making millions.

"You go over the numbers again, and you make sure that every penny is accounted for," she complains. "And then we can talk about this properly. You understand me?”

She hangs up the phone before I have a chance to reply. I roll my eyes and turn my gaze to the window, trying to soothe my frazzled mind, but it’s impossible to keep myself from letting out a snort of irritation.

Things have been like this for a while at my job. Turns out, being a Senior Account at a large private firm is not as glamorous as it seemed, when I was still in Uni. The work can be mind-numbingly boring, and when it’s not obnoxious clients berating me, it’s my boss Julie breathing down my neck. And it’s hard to get ahead. With so many Senior Accountants, my chances of advancement are slim to none. There’s a rumour that an Accounting Manager position will open up in the next few months, but I don’t have much hope I’ll get it.

I’ll probably die mid-level management, I think gloomily, as I stare out the window above my desk.

Gazing out at the empty park, I find myself thinking about the little music festival that happens here in the summer. The place is packed out for three days straight, with local vendors and musicians peddling their wares and crowds of people coming to sun themselves in what remains of the British summer sunshine. We’re local, so we get a free pass, and we’ve been going every year since Donnie was born. I have pictures of him as a toddler, sitting on his dad’s shoulders, swaying this way and that to the music. At five, he’s now getting too big to sit on my husband’s shoulders.

Of course, summer feels far away now. So do the years when I went to real music festivals, staying up all night taking drugs and kissing strange men. How long has it been, since I stayed up past midnight, or did something by myself, instead of sitting in front of my laptop or taking care of my kid in this flat that is starting to feel smaller and smaller?

When we first moved in, I didn’t mind too much that it was so small. We could have had a six-bedroom detached house in Manchester for the same amount of money, but we both agreed that London was where we wanted to raise our kid, to start our family. All the opportunities here, the ties that we both had and still have, were so important to us.

Hard to believe that I’ve been here as long as I have. It’s been nearly a decade now since I moved all the way from Manchester to London. I don’t spend a lot of time missing my hometown. When I do, it’s usually because I’m missing a younger version of myself, not Manchester itself.

These days, I can barely tell London and Manchester apart. All I see is Victoria Park out my window, or the gym, or the supermarket. I could be anywhere, really. Certainly not London, which I first came to to find out what else might be out there for me.

Once, Sean and I both had that dream: to find what was out there. Neither of us wanted having a baby to get in the way of us having a life, too. Besides, this is where we met, in London; down at the pub that he manages. Used to manage. I have to keep reminding myself of that. The Globe in Moorgate, not too far from the offices that I used to call my work-home. I started going there for post-work drinks with my colleagues a couple of times a week, spotted the tall, broad-shouldered man pulling pints behind the bar, and flirted with all my might. Finally got him back to my place, we hooked up, and the rest is history. Well, not history; the present, actually, but I’m fine with that.

"You okay?" Sean asks, as he ducks into my office. I offer him a smile, reminding myself that he’s not the one who’s just chewed me out down the line.

"I’m okay," I sigh, and I hope he buys it. I don’t want him to have to worry about me; not when we already have so much to worry about, with only one income between us now.

"Anita again?” He asks, and I nod. "She’s a total bitch.”

"Yeah, but I’m not allowed to say that about her," I point out.

Stolen story; please report.

"So I’ll say it for you," he replies. "Total bitch. There, does that feel better?"

"A little," I admit, and he drops a kiss on my head.

Sean is a wonderful husband. The kind that my family instantly fell in love with because they could see just how well he treated me. After a string of dodgy boyfriends, someone like Sean was a breath of fresh air – for me and for everyone around me who’d had to listen to me bemoaning the status of my latest failed relationship whenever they inevitably crashed and burned. Even though he’s a London lad through and through, he’s never made fun of my thick Mancunian accent or the fact that most of my family practically talks in code to him, thanks to our slang and local turns of phrase.

"You want to come through and see Donnie for a little while?” Sean suggests. "Might get your mind off of things."

"Yeah, that sounds perfect," I agree, and I rise to my feet to head through and spend some time with my son.

I started working from home a year ago. It was a good choice at the time; a way to cut commuting costs and spend more time with Donnie. Plus, everyone was doing it. The office had become a wasteland anyway.

I didn’t take a huge amount of time off work when Donnie was born, not wanting to be one of those women who got stuck in a low-end job just because she dared to have a kid, so I thought I’d enjoy being around more. Now, we get to spend way more time together. It’s been much fun to see the little person he’s become.

But of course, now that Sean’s been laid off, it’s crowded in the apartment.

Donnie is so much like his dad, it’s unreal. Sean doesn’t see it, but I do.

“I just don’t think we look that much alike,” he protested over a glass of wine one evening when I was teasing him about just how much Donnie had turned out like him.

“Oh, it’s not just about the way you look,” I replied, cocking my head. “It’s the way you talk. All of it – your little mannerisms, stuff like that. Trust me, I know the two of you better than anyone else. I can see it.”

“Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it,” he replied with a shrug. It doesn’t surprise me, really, that his little boy has turned out so much like him, especially since he was laid off. After all, he spends all his time with Donnie now. He said it would be good to take a break from working, to be a stay-at-home Dad. But personally, I have no idea how he has managed to keep his sanity with nothing to do but take care of a kid.

It’s not like it was his fault he got laid off, either. He’s a good worker and a great manager. But the economy is on a downturn, and pubs just haven’t bounced back the way that economists predicted. In the end, it was just about them making the bottom line. Which meant my husband had to go.

"Mummy!" Donnie exclaims, as soon as he sets eyes on me. He comes barreling over to see me, flinging his arms around my middle and squeezing me tight. I hug him back.

"How’s your day been, sweetheart?" I ask him, as I dip down to his level. He’s got a smudge of food on his chin, and I reach out to brush it off. Sean’s never been quite as good as I am at spotting these little details, but he’s getting there.

"I did some painting," Donnie replies, grabbing my hand to pull me through to the kitchen to see what he’s been up to. His latest masterpiece is the sunshine against a bright blue sky, and seeing it makes my heart twist a little – knowing that we’re so far from seeing that in person again.

Things will be better in the summer, I remind myself. Sean will have a new job by then. Donnie will be on playdates with friends. I’ll be able to get out of the house more.

Sometimes, it feels like the walls are closing in around me. I get up in the morning, I have breakfast with Donnie, we talk about his schoolwork and what books he is reading, and I try not to pinch his cheeks at how damn cute he is in his big glasses. I walk ninety centimetres to my desk at the window, I work for a few hours, then I have coffee with Sean, then I work again. Sometimes I go to the gym after work. Usually, I’m too tired. Then I make dinner, eat, read in bed, and then lie awake staring at the ceiling and wonder how my life has become so predictable.

I didn’t used to be like this. I used to be the person with the most exciting life; the person everyone envied.

“Jazz, are you ever going to settle down properly?” My sister, Annie, would tease me, when I’d come back from a month-long sojourn to Spain or Morocco or Germany and share my plans to take off to somewhere new the next week.

“I might do,” I would always reply. “But there’s still so much of the world to see…”

That’s always been my attitude to travel. The very first trip that Sean and I took together was to Venice, about six months after we met. It was then that I knew he was the man I was going to marry. He’d approached the new city with the same fascination and urge to uncover every little detail that I had, and I could instantly see myself travelling with this man forever.

We have already taken Donnie on a couple of trips, mostly to Europe, not far from his home, and I know that he is going to be a little world adventurer, just like the two of us. But since Sean lost his job, we need to save money, and I have to work more, so it becomes more and more difficult to get away.

I need some excitement. That’s what’s in order here. Something fresh and new; something that’s going to open me up again, make me feel less stuck in this room, at this desk. I’m sure Sean feels the same way, though he would never be thoughtless enough to say that to me. He’s always treated me like I am the most thrilling thing he has ever found, and I want to be able to give him that same energy.

But how can I feel that sense of newness, when we’ve been stuck here together for as long as we have?

Of course, there are our friends, but more and more of them are moving away, either to the suburbs or even farther away. And no one seems to have much time to meet up. Children and careers take up most of our time now.

"What do you think, Mummy?" Donnie asks me, as he picks up his latest artwork.

"It’s beautiful, sweetheart," I reply, and I mean it. I just wish it wasn’t the highlight of my whole day.