With his greying hair groomed immaculately, straight but prominent nose and piercing grey eyes, his perfect upright posture making his corpulent figure look closer to six foot than he actually was, he had the demeanour at times of a bird of prey, studying everything and everyone a little too sharply. Legions of his patients adored him, although a few of the hospital staff found him a tad arrogant. But they put up with it because he was good – in truth, more than just good, brilliant. Regardless of his particular field of expertise, he was the consultant many medics in the hospital would go to as first port of call for advice on any issue with a patient that concerned them.

In his mid-forties, he was at the top of his game. He had to admit he lapped up the attention, but he’d worked hard to get there, sacrificing much of his social and family life for years. So now was the time to enjoy it.

Today, though, had started badly. He was late. So late. He had overslept. He knew it shouldn’t stress him out, but it did. He glanced at his watch, then at the car clock, checking their times. Late. So late. All his timings for the day now out of sync.

His wife, Claire, had told him mockingly more than once that the words Timing is Everything would be carved on his gravestone. Marcus knew he was a little obsessive, but to him timing was a matter of life and death. It was crucial, in his profession, in the calculation of due dates of the babies of expectant mothers, and equally so during those critical moments of delivery. It mattered in pretty much every aspect of his life. Of everyone’s life.

Claire’s job, as an executive coach, was much more flexible, and she worked it around her schedule – something he could never do. He always wanted to be early for a train, a flight, even for his golf. He’d be at a concert for doors opening and at the cinema for the trailers, whereas Claire constantly drove him nuts by leaving everything to the very last minute. But then again, she’d arrived into this world three weeks overdue so maybe that had something to do with it.

And this morning, at 8.40 a.m., squinting against the low, bright sun and reaching out with his left hand for his Ray-Bans, speeding in the rush-hour traffic along Victoria Avenue on his daily commute to the Jersey General Hospital, timing was about to matter more than he could have imagined.

As he pulled on his glasses, he didn’t know it but the next sixty seconds were about to change his life forever.

Well, forty-seven seconds, actually, if he had checked.

2

Friday 7 December

Timing wasn’t happening.