It’s the Joker. ‘Prince wants to do a round,’ he snaps. ‘I’m needed in theatre. Go to the ward. Now.’

He hangs up before I can ask if he means the north or south side of the surgical ward, which is huge. On top of that, I have no idea what Dr Prince even looks like.

‘No one knows that much about Prince,’ Max told me last night when we were discussing our new bosses. ‘Like, he’s a bit of a mystery. Apparently, he’s loaded. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t speak to anyone. He’s so rich he doesn’t need workmates.’

I don’t care about Dr Prince’s financial situation one way or the other, nor about who he chooses as his friends; I just hope he isn’t a total jerk.

I walk quickly to the north end of the ward and hail a nurse.

‘Have you seen Dr Prince?’ I ask.

She shakes her head.

I walk back to the south end and sit down at the nurses’ station. My phone beeps with a message from the Joker.

I need a coffee. Bring it to theatres.

I imagine buying the Joker a coffee and lacing it with arsenic.

Lawrence walks into the nurses’ station. ‘Hey, Kitty, I’ve been look—’

‘God, he’s such a fuckhead,’ I say with feeling, waving my phone at him. ‘Read this! Like, what does he think I am? His fucking receptionist? You know, I’d love to turn his knife on him,’ I say, savouring the thought. ‘Next time he quizzes me about some arterial supply—bam! It’s a scalpel straight to the carotid.’

Lawrence is looking uncomfortable, I notice.

‘Not enough to kill him,’ I explain hurriedly. ‘I’d just incapacitate him for a while. Like maybe … eleven weeks,’ I specify, since that’s how long I have left of my term. ‘I mean, he can go back to operating when he’s properly recovered.’

I hear someone clearing their throat behind Lawrence.

There’s a short silence.

‘Ah, I was looking for you because Dr Prince wants to do a round,’ Lawrence says awkwardly. ‘But now we’ve found you, so …’

‘Thanks, Lawrence,’ the man behind him says, stepping into my line of vision. ‘I’m sure Dr Holliday and I can take it from here.’

I wait for the floor to open up and swallow me, but unfortunately nothing happens. I can feel my entire body flaming red. I wonder if Dr Prince has a fire extinguisher handy.

We stand there, looking at each other.

Dr Prince is taller than me, but not by much. He’s wearing navy surgical scrubs and the hair poking out from beneath the cap is dark brown. His blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at me; he’s at least forty-five, I realise. Maybe even fifty.