“Sister,” said Kim-Ange, rubbing Lissa’s back as she finally came back to herself, “this cannot go on. This absolutely cannot go on. Also the walls in our rooms are really thin and I can hear you getting up and pacing about half the night and it’s extremely annoying. But I am mostly thinking about you. Although also, when you have a shower at five A.M., you make a lot of noise. But also, for you, this cannot go on.”

Chapter 13

Lissa liked the HR director, Valerie Mnotse, always had; she considered her a friend and mentor, supportive of her career choices when working in the community was often seen as second best.

Valerie got it. She understood the importance of connecting the hospital with the people who used it, and how the better the care they got at home, the less likely they were to boomerang straight back to the hospital and clog up A&E, whether because they were so endlessly confused with the labyrinthine system or because they felt bad but couldn’t get a GP appointment. But this morning, Valerie looked grave.

“Health care in London is always difficult,” she started carefully.

Lissa was about to fire back that she wasn’t burned out, she was fine, she was a good nurse, she knew she was . . . but she found, suddenly, that she couldn’t get the words out—couldn’t get any words out—because she was going to cry again.

No. She couldn’t. She couldn’t cry in front of Valerie, the most immaculate, punctilious woman she knew. She had to be strong. She’d defied her family to go to nursing school, get her university qualifications. She’d done it by herself and worked in some of the toughest, most deprived wards in the entire country, in the whole of Europe. She could do it. She could . . .

“It’s all right to cry,” said Valerie, pushing over a box of tissues.

Lissa felt the tears leak down her face and was furious with herself. If she showed weakness, they were going to move her, she knew it. Lissa nodded slowly as Valerie picked up her phone.

“Could you send Juan in? Thanks.”

A slight man Lissa had seen around came in, looking neutral and nodding to her. She was terrified suddenly. “What’s happening? Am I getting fired?”

“No, you’re not getting fired,” said Valerie. “If we had the resources, we’d sign you off. But we don’t.”

“I don’t need to be signed off! I’m fine!”

“We think,” said Juan softly, “that you might need to recalibrate.”

“That I might need to what?”

“We want you to see someone,” said Juan. “We’ve assigned you a counselor from Occupational Health. And . . .”

“We think maybe a quieter beat,” said Valerie. “Just for three months. Just to give you a chance to breathe, to have another look at your approach.”