‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Of course.’ I’m torn between dread and excitement at the prospect.

‘I thought perhaps I could try to improve your experience of neurosurgery,’ he offers.

I laugh nervously. ‘That’s really decent of you.’

‘Well, the only way to know if surgery really is for you is to come into theatre,’ he points out, sounding like my boss all of a sudden.

‘Of course, yes, absolutely,’ I agree.

‘Theatre six,’ he informs me. ‘Tomorrow just after midday.’

I’m about to thank him again when the phone goes dead.

‘Well, that obviously wasn’t the Joker,’ Estelle remarks, as she and Max stare at me. ‘Why is your face going red?’

‘I reckon Prince likes you, mate,’ Max says. ‘You obviously like him.’

‘Of course I like him!’ I snap defensively. ‘He’s the only person who isn’t a total arsehole!’

Max smirks. ‘Why’d you straighten your hair this morning, Doctor?’

Estelle raises her eyebrows. ‘You never even brush your hair.’

‘I am a normal human being!’ I protest. ‘I am capable of basic hygiene!’

‘Wouldn’t know it by your bedroom,’ Max says.

I try to glare at them, but I start to laugh instead. ‘Guys, he’s like fifty,’ I point out.

‘Since when has that stopped you?’ Estelle says reasonably. It’s true that my less-than-stellar romantic history is littered with inappropriate liaisons with inappropriately aged men. ‘Remember David the lawyer?’

‘Though there was that guy Kitty met in Switzerland,’ Max says in my defence. ‘He was only thirty. I seem to remember her calling him her soulmate.’

‘Yeah, what happened with him anyway?’ Estelle asks.

‘He’s skiing in Switzerland and having the time of his life while I’m sitting here in this stinking cafeteria with you two,’ I reply, irritated.

My appropriately aged soulmate, Fabien Pho, is a tall good-looking man I met on a ski holiday the previous winter. He’s so different from me that it never would have worked, I remind myself whenever I’m overcome by longing or regret. I skype with him every now and then, and tell myself the joy I feel on seeing his brown eyes and white smile is only a comparative reactive emotion, contrasting ski holiday happiness with my current stress levels, and the entire thing is just a silly fantasy.

Still, even just hearing his name in conversation makes my heart squeeze a little uncomfortably, and I’m oddly relieved when my phone rings yet again.

Everyone’s eyes go to the screen.

‘This time it probably really is the Joker,’ Max warns.

Thankfully, it isn’t. It’s my new registrar, wanting me to meet her on the ward to go through the patient list.