‘Yes!’

‘The one you always used to crap on about?’

‘Yes!’

‘Well done, mate.’

‘Where’s Winnie?’ I asked.

He looked confused.

‘You know—the other person who lives here!’

‘She’s gone to stay with one of her English mates who’s out here from London,’ Max said after a long pause, before lying back down among the chips.

‘Good. So just stay in here!’

He was sound asleep again by the time I shut the door.

‘Um,’ I say in answer to Lucas’s question. ‘Sort of …’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘Are they home?’

‘Well, yes and no,’ I fumble.

There’s a loud snore from the direction of the front bedroom.

‘So that’s a … yes?’ Lucas guesses.

‘You’re too clever for me, Dr Lang,’ I say, smiling.

‘Does your housemate work at the hospital too?’

‘Oh, definitely not,’ I lie.

Unfortunately, he turns to the shelf next to the couch and lifts an empty bottle of champagne from it. Stuck to the bottle are two name badges.

Dr Katarina Holliday is typed on one, Dr Max Henry on the other. Both have the Holy Innocents logo on them.

Dr Lucas Lang raises his eyebrows, again.

‘Look, he’s super drunk.’ I’m trying not to laugh. ‘He won’t even know you’re here.’

This all may be a bit too close to home, or hospital, and he might decide it isn’t worth the risk and leave. I wouldn’t blame him. Instead he takes a sip of horrible red wine from his Christmas mug and starts to laugh.

We talk for ages. We talk, and talk, and talk. We talk so much we become long-lost mates who’ve finally reconnected. Maybe Lucas wants new friends; I guess even surgeons need mates.

There’s an unfortunate moment when he asks me about my surgical term.

‘Who was your boss again? Jack Prince?’

I nod into my mug, feeling it’s safer not to elaborate.

‘What’s he like?’

I shrug. This is typical of surgeons. They love having a gossip about their counterparts. They know juniors always hear the juicy bits, which is why it’s a good idea to get us drunk and let us spill the beans. In this case, the juice is so concentrated I feel like he might choke on it.

He tries to catch my eye, which I avoid.

‘I don’t really know him that well,’ I offer.

To my relief, Lucas nods. ‘I don’t think anyone really knows him,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘You know, I grafted him a few weeks ago.’

I swallow a huge gulp of wine so quickly I spill some down the front of my dress. Thank God it’s black. ‘You grafted him?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Urgent bypass. I saved the guy’s fucking life, and when he finally came out of it a few days later he told me I’d not done a bad job.’

I smile despite myself. Typical.