I gazed at the screen, the message already sent: "Jack Monroe, when are you free? We have things to discuss." I sat back, my stomach knotting with nerves and a rising sense of indignation. Ten long minutes passed, each one a reminder of my worst nightmare. Then came the message, brusque and biting: "I have some business matters to attend to. I haven’t the time."

A harsh, exasperated exhalation burst from me. My phone went sailing across the bed, its harsh plastic striking the softness of the comforter. "Half a month! And he’s playing a game with this silence as a means to an end! No way am I going...