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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

‘I’ll be all right,’ I say, and he closes the door and it’s just me and the piece of paper. I look down at the first words, Dear Kitty, and part of me wants to tear the letter into tiny pieces and throw them out the window. I imagine the white bits of paper falling through the air and down onto the grass under the hospital. I see them falling, like snowflakes, the words of a woman who has nothing else to say fluttering in pieces onto the earth, raining down onto the heads of the doctors underneath. The doctors won’t notice. They’ll be too busy rushing to their next ward round.

Dear Kitty,

Can I even call you that? I know it’s what your friends call you, and some of the surgeons whom you seem to know, and like. When I was an intern I was too scared to speak to senior surgeons—you don’t seem to be afraid. I never understood it. Maybe that’s what it’s like when you don’t really want to be a surgeon; you have less fear and more words, and you can see life as an adventure rather than a set of chains. Once, when I was working late, I walked to the train station and saw you having drinks at the pub down the road with some friends. You were all laughing. You looked really happy, totally different from the way you were around me on the ward. Your friends were calling you Kitty, and I didn’t even know that you had a nickname. I think it suits you. I’ve never really had a nickname. My ex-boyfriend called me Rachy and sometimes it annoyed me, but other times I liked it. I never spoke to you about my boyfriend. You probably think that I’m into surgeons and weird sex, and I don’t blame you for thinking that after what you heard that night, but my boyfriend was normal and fun and sometimes we used to waste entire Saturdays watching episodes of The O.C. Not even the latest series, but the really old ones. We’d pretend we were Marisa and Ryan. Sometimes we were Seth and Summer, but the further I got into surgical training the more I started to realise I’d always be Marisa.

The tears are falling freely as I read the words. I see her face, pausing, thinking as she puts her thoughts to paper. I almost laugh at the O.C. comparison; I’d done the same thing with my first boyfriend, years before.