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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

But where do doctors go when they wake in the early hours and want reassurance and someone to talk to? It isn’t inside a hospital. I suppose we think we know better than that. Or at least know that the answers we want won’t be found in here. All we’ll find are people just like us, who know no more or less than all the things we already know.

Ay, I think as I close Sandra’s chart and click off on the next patient, there’s the rub.

THIRTY-NINE

thirty-nine

‘Have you spoken to your old registrar?’

I look up from my glass of prosecco, poured from a bottle that Winnie has gone and bought for me from the bottle shop up the road—kindly refraining from mentioning that it’s only 9 am—and sigh. ‘Mate, I’m really tired,’ I say, trying to avoid the question. ‘Can we talk about this when I finish this week of nights?’

‘I bought you the prosecco so you’d talk to me!’ she says belligerently. It’s been weeks since our argument and we’re yet to have a proper conversation about it. I’ve used the excuse of my weird hours and general fatigue to avoid any deep and meaningful discussions with Winnie, and we’ve kept it to pleasant exchanges.

‘I thought you were just being nice.’ I smile at her.

She shakes her head.

‘You would have been a great surgeon,’ I tell her. ‘You really know how to cut to the chase.’

‘I really think you should speak to her,’ Winnie says, ignoring my remark. ‘You don’t know what could be happening to her now. He might be raping her for all we know.’

‘She is a grown woman,’ I point out, tired of where the conversation is going. ‘She is above the age of consent.’ Even as I say this, I know that, in my heart of hearts, I agree with Winnie. I just don’t know what to do about it. ‘You haven’t said anything to Max, have you?’ I ask.

Winnie shakes her head. ‘God, he’s been as distant as you lately. The night shifts really aren’t great, are they? He’s back at his mum’s this week. Good thing he’s going to Europe soon—the guy needs a happy infusion … Ah, fuck it,’ she says suddenly. ‘I’m going to have a prosecco too. I’m working from home today.’

‘Gastro again?’ I can’t resist teasing.

She smiles. ‘They’re renovating the office,’ she informs me, ‘so we’re not allowed to go in.’

As she pours herself a glass my phone pings with an incoming email. I glance down.

‘It’s from Wolfgang Dietrich!’ I say to Winnie. ‘The German guy living in Sweden. He and his mate Tomas are coming to Australia soon.’

I open the message and read it aloud.

Dear Kitty,