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Back Going Under Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  3. DEDICATION
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART I BIRTH
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EIGHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. PART II LIFE
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. TWENTY-ONE
  28. TWENTY-TWO
  29. TWENTY-THREE
  30. TWENTY-FOUR
  31. TWENTY-FIVE
  32. TWENTY-SIX
  33. TWENTY-SEVEN
  34. TWENTY-EIGHT
  35. TWENTY-NINE
  36. THIRTY
  37. THIRTY-ONE
  38. THIRTY-TWO
  39. THIRTY-THREE
  40. THIRTY-FOUR
  41. PART III DEATH
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. THIRTY-SEVEN
  45. THIRTY-EIGHT
  46. THIRTY-NINE
  47. FORTY
  48. FORTY-ONE
  49. FORTY-TWO
  50. FORTY-THREE
  51. FORTY-FOUR
  52. FORTY-FIVE
  53. FORTY-SIX
  54. FORTY-SEVEN
  55. FORTY-EIGHT
  56. FORTY-NINE
  57. FIFTY
  58. FIFTY-ONE
  59. FIFTY-TWO
  60. FIFTY-THREE
  61. FIFTY-FOUR
  62. FIFTY-FIVE
  63. FIFTY-SIX
  64. FIFTY-SEVEN
  65. FIFTY-EIGHT
  66. FIFTY-NINE
  67. SIXTY
  68. EPILOGUE
  69. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  70. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I met Winnie when I was nine years old and we have been inseparable ever since, other than a period when her family relocated to the UK for a few years during our teens. We don’t talk about that time too much, because Winnie’s mother died over there after a sudden diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. I know she thinks about it, though—sometimes a dark cloud will come over her face, and Max and I sense to leave her alone.

‘The fitness instructor?’ I say.

Winnie rolls her eyes. ‘I should have known. A fitness freak who doesn’t drink. Stupid.’

‘Non-drinking is a huge red flag,’ Max offers helpfully. ‘Madness.’

‘Anyway, forget about the fitness instructor—we want to have a house party,’ Winnie tells me. ‘This house would be great for a party.’

I can feel number 19 smiling.

By the time we finish another bottle of wine it’s settled. We were born to party, and number 19 is a house born to be partied in.

‘How was the rest of your day, mate?’ Max asks. ‘Do you reckon you’ll have to stay that late every day?’

I shrug, feeling demoralised. ‘I hope not.’

‘Did you meet any sexy doctors?’ Winnie asks.

‘Just one guy, the junior consultant,’ I say, suddenly realising I’ll have to see the Joker again in the morning and feeling even more dejected.

‘And?’ Winnie looks hopeful.

‘And I’ve nicknamed him the Joker because he’s so horrible.’

Max looks pained. ‘One of those then.’

‘Yeah.’

Winnie leans over with the wine. ‘Shit, mate, that sucks.’ She tops up my glass, then launches into a hilarious account of her date.

I lean back into the old couch, and feel myself relax into laughter. By the time I go to bed an hour later, I’ve almost forgotten I have work in the morning. I am reminded by the view of the hospital through my bedroom window. I sigh and close the shutters.

I set the alarm then get into bed and try to will myself into sleep. It’s only day two of doctoring tomorrow, I remind myself. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Just take it one day at a time.

I hug my pillow for comfort and, just for a minute, forget myself and wish that Fabien was lying next to me. He always knew how to lift my spirits. But you don’t think about Fabien anymore, I remind myself. I banish the thought, immediately.

My phone pings on my bedside table. I pick it up and see a message from Max.

BREAKING NEWS, it reads. Surgical intern contaminates sterile field with tears!

I LOL for real.

THREE

three

‘Every step of the way in this profession, someone will try to derail your career. No one tells you that, of course, but it’s true. Every. Step. Of. The. Way.’ So says Dr Bird, the head of the neurosurgical department.

I am underwhelmed with inspiration.