‘And the Godfather! He’s so smart, but all he wants to do is get himself so wasted that he can’t think anymore!’

‘Well, it’s a stressful job,’ I say weakly.

‘And your nightmares, Kit. It’s not normal, you know.’

I don’t know what to say. I feel defensive and embarrassed, and confused too. It dawns on me how it must look to Winnie from the outside. It’s easy for those of us who are living through it to lose perspective.

‘I know how it must seem,’ I say, ‘but don’t start questioning the way the doctors in England looked after your mum. I’m sure they gave her the very best care.’

I don’t want Winnie to think that the medics caring for her mother at the end of her life were jaded cynical burnt-out alcoholics who had stopped caring about their patients. I can’t blame her for thinking they might be, living with us, but I want to tell her that the patients are the single most important reason why I chose to become a doctor in the first place. I want to tell her I still think about Mr Wilde, I dream about the deaths I certify, I admire doctors like Dr Prince who care about their patients—but I don’t know how to. I feel like a fraud.

Winnie is watching the waves in pensive silence, and I presume she is remembering her mother. Pancreatic cancer is one of the worst cancers to get, with a terrible prognosis and a quick decline. They would hardly have had time to get used to the idea that she was sick before she was gone.

Winnie turns to me abruptly. ‘I never told you, did I, what happened at the hospital?’

I shake my head.

‘There was one doctor, this young guy called George,’ she says. She leans back again to stare up at the sky. ‘He was so nice and attractive—you know, like the doctor you think you’ll meet from stupid TV shows.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘And when Mum died, I was the only one with her. Dad and my brother had gone out for the afternoon, just to get away, and I said I’d sit with her.’

I nod. Winnie is lost in the memory.

‘Anyway, Mum started breathing sort of weirdly. The nurse came in and looked at her and said she was close to the end. I started crying and she went out to get me some water. She must have run into George, because he came in.’ Winnie shook her head. ‘And when Mum died—like, five minutes later—I just couldn’t stand up, I couldn’t do anything.’

I reach out and touch her shoulder, but she doesn’t seem to notice.