Before I can stop him, Max is opening a new message and typing. When he’s done, he holds my phone up in front of me, teasing. ‘I’m going to send this.’

He has written, You like? Have a great weekend, sexy, underneath my not-unimpressive (if I do say so myself) Italian lace-clad breasts.

‘Give it back!’ I shriek, making a desperate grab for my phone while also trying not to draw anyone’s attention to the fact that we aren’t having a heated argument about the best antibiotic protocol for post-op cholecystectomy patients.

Max is laughing so hard he’s crying. ‘Of course I won’t send it. I just wanted to see your reaction.’

He hands me my phone and I press delete, only my hand is shaking so much from the close call that my finger slips …

I let out such a loud scream, the people at the table next to us look over, concerned.

‘Fuck, I think I’ve sent it! I’ve sent it to him! Delete it! Call Vodafone! Get it sent back! Is that, like, a thing?’

Max is bright purple by now and he’s having trouble breathing. ‘It’s too late, Kit,’ he says. ‘It’s gone.’

‘Oh my God! No! This can’t be happening!’

‘It’s not such a big deal,’ Max reminds me. ‘He’s seen your tits in real life anyway.’

‘This is different!’ My stomach is churning with anxiety. ‘What the fuck am I going to do?’

‘Wait!’ Max says, looking down at my phone, which is sitting on the table between us. ‘He’s replying!’

‘WHAT?!’

‘Look! I can see the three dots that mean he’s typing.’ Max sounds excited. ‘Do you reckon he’s sending you a photo of his cock?’

I nearly scream again but as we look at each other I feel the laughter bubbling up. I try to suppress it but fail.

‘He might be in his rooms, between patients,’ Max says. ‘He’s probably masturbating!’

‘Shut up!’ I hiss, trying to look angry but unable to stop laughing.

We both stare intently down at the phone, waiting for the dots to reveal the sentiment behind them.

There’s a ding.

‘It’s here!’ Max says. He grabs the phone.

‘Give it back!’ I screech.

Max rolls his eyes. ‘Kind of boring really.’

We both look down at the message.

Babe … you’re killing me. That is sooo fine!

‘Wow, he’s calling you babe these days?’

I shrug. ‘Maybe that’s what a tit shot does to men, mate. You should try it.’

Max looks at me. I look at him. We both look down at my phone and start laughing again, so hard I feel the muscles of my abdomen cramping.

I’m a very bad example of a junior doctor, and so is Max, I remind him as we take the lift to our respective destinations, still giggling.