I don’t know what to say to any of this. I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket and this time I’m sure it’s Max. I picture him and Winnie drunk and happy on cheap white wine, and feel an overwhelming urge to cry.

‘Keep scrolling.’

I keep scrolling.

‘Normally Rachel, the registrar, would be dealing with you on the ward, but since she’s away I’ve had to cover for her.’

Scroll, scroll.

‘Stop scrolling.’

I stop scrolling.

He peers at the image. ‘What do you see?’

I look. Subdural, I think to myself. Subdural haemorrhage, but not totally white, so maybe a bit old. Subacute subdural, then?

‘I don’t know,’ I say finally, scared to get it wrong.

‘It’s a subacute subdural,’ he says. ‘You should have known that.’

I hate myself.

‘I thought that—’

‘You didn’t think anything,’ he says flatly. ‘Don’t pretend.’

Our eyes meet for a moment. He has brown eyes, and is tall with blondish hair. If I’d met him at a bar, I would have thought he was good-looking—sexy even. He would tell me he was a doctor—a brain surgeon, no less—and I would be impressed. I’d hope that he would buy me a drink. Maybe more than one. I would tell my mother about him and hope that he wanted to be my boyfriend. A real-life brain surgeon. Wow.

‘Interns always pretend,’ he says, ‘but we always know when you’re lying.’

I stretch my lips in a smile, as if he has made a joke. I read an article once that said even if you’re feeling really unhappy, when you smile it triggers off the happy response in your brain. So even in the worst of situations, the article advised, force yourself to smile and you’ll feel better. Simple brain connections and chemistry. Happiness is just dopamine, a few neural pathways, and a big, fake smile. I should know. I am a happy young doctor, after all.

He smiles back at me. We sit there, stretching our lips at each other. His teeth gleam, reflecting the light of the computer screen. I have an image of the Joker, with his painted-on red grin, teeth bared.

I am saved when his phone starts to ring. It’s recovery. The last patient on the list, the cervical spine fusion, has a neck swelling that is getting bigger. His presence is required.

‘Don’t forget the morning trauma meeting is tomorrow,’ he says as he stands up. ‘It’s held every Tuesday. We go through all the emergency trauma cases that have come in. You need practice, and you need to look at more scans. I can’t believe you didn’t pick up that subdural. Dr Bird will be there. He’s the head of department so make sure you’re on time.’

‘I’ll be on time,’ I say to his retreating back.