Thing is, I already had a hobby and I used to have a best mate to do it with. All I really wanted to do each night was throw the boards in the back of the campervan, drive the short distance from our flat to North Bay, catch some waves with Nikki, and have a real ale in Blue Savannah while the sky melted from stunning purples and pinks into silky black.

But she was gone and so was the sea. Crawling along the M25 to the south coast to surf on my own didn’t carry the same appeal.

I shovelled a forkful of salad into my mouth. What was I doing in London? I’d never wanted to live in a city. I could see what a great lifestyle it offered if you were into dining out, museums, theatres, wine bars, but I was a pie-and-a-pint-in-the-local kind of person who loved the outdoors. Who loved the sea. Not London material. Perhaps Jemma would change that for me. She’d settled really well so maybe she could show me round and convert me.

I still hadn’t been back to Whitsborough Bay. Every time Mum and Dad or Jack phoned, they asked the same question: when are you coming home to visit? What they really meant was: when are you coming home for good? That unspoken question always hung in the air after the call ended, adding to my mountain of guilt.

‘Dr Jones! What are you up to?’ Tiff plonked herself down opposite me and ripped open the cellophane wrapping on a torpedo roll.

‘This very second? Sending a text to Jemma. I’m coming to your flat tonight.’ I pressed send on my message.

‘Has she told you yet?’

I looked up from my phone. ‘Told me what?

Tiff took a bite out of her roll and pulled faces whilst she tried to chew and swallow it quickly. ‘She obviously hasn’t. And if I’d got my brain in gear, I’d have realised that’s why she’s seeing you tonight.’

‘She’s won the lottery?’ I suggested.

Tiff wrinkled her nose. ‘I wish. No. She’s moving back up north.’

I dropped my fork into my salad. ‘To Whitsborough Bay?’

‘Yes. But you didn’t hear it from me. Act surprised, will you?’ She grabbed my wrist and looked at my watch. ‘No! Why am I always late? I’ll see you at the flat later.’ Clamping her mouth over her part-eaten roll like a dog carrying a bone, she dashed towards the exit.

I slump back in my chair. Jemma was leaving London? Shit! The only person I’d spent any time with outside of the hospital was shipping out. She wouldn’t be showing me round, then.