I tell him, and he repeats it.

‘Don’t poach my intern,’ he says into the phone, like he’s trying to make a joke but failing. He presses end and looks at me, his mouth a hard, mean line. ‘Why does Lucas Lang want your number?’

‘I’m sending him a research article,’ I explain, wondering what the hell is happening. Have I finally cracked the Grey’s Anatomy life of medicine? Is this what I have been waiting for?

My phone starts to ring. I pretend it isn’t, and busy myself with fixing the end of my stethoscope, which isn’t broken.

‘Answer it,’ the Joker says, curiosity getting the better of him.

‘Hello?’

‘Kitty,’ says Lucas’s voice on the other end of the line. ‘I just want to check I gave you the right number.’

I don’t know what to say, and choose not to ask the obvious question: how many phone numbers does the guy actually have?

I confirm that, yes, he has given me the right phone number.

‘Good,’ he says, and hangs up, leaving me to continue the ward round with a seething Joker.

‘He must have two phones,’ Max says as I relate this tale in the cafeteria. ‘It’s the only explanation—I mean, he’s married, right?’

‘I think he’s going through a divorce … but who knows.’

‘Gee, the secret life of surgeons,’ Max muses. ‘I always knew they were filthy bastards.’

I don’t ask Max how he knows this, but I don’t doubt he’s right.

‘So now I have Lucas’s phone number,’ I say, ‘what am I going to do with it?’

‘Maybe send him a nude,’ Max suggests.

We both go quiet, considering.

‘Boobs, would you reckon?’ I ask. ‘Or an arse shot?’

‘Tricky to capture the arse,’ Max says thoughtfully, being a connoisseur of the nude selfie. ‘Would vag be too much? I mean, that’d be an easier angle.’

‘I can’t send Lucas Lang a photo of my vagina!’ I exclaim, going red. ‘What if someone saw it?’

We both start giggling. I feel like I’m starring in an episode of The Real Doctors of Holy Innocents Hospital. Sitting in the cafeteria with my mate as we debate sending photos of my genitalia to one of the married surgeons at work. Another hard day spent saving lives.

‘Give me your phone,’ Max demands.

‘No way!’

He grabs it out of my hands and goes straight to the fake calculator app where I keep a collection of artistic erotic photographs in case of emergencies.

‘God, this one is great!’ He zooms in on my breasts in a white lace Italian bra I bought on a trip to Europe.

‘I know, right? I got that at Milan airport—like, it was at the airport. Europe’s the best.’