Winnie doesn’t look convinced. ‘Maybe,’ she says. ‘Do you reckon he was trying it on? Like, did he ask you for a drink after? Or try to get you alone in the change room?’

I shake my head. ‘No, he just left,’ I say.

‘He wants to sleep with you,’ Winnie says knowingly, sipping her coffee. ‘When he says, “Interesting”, he means, “I want to put my penis into your vagina.”’

We start to laugh.

‘It’s really not like that,’ I say, still laughing. ‘I’ve got a massive crush on him and he feels sorry for me. Although he’s also really nice. He’s asked me to help him with this research paper. He reckons if I do an all right job I can go to Sweden in a few months and present it.’

Winnie looks surprised. ‘Wow! That’d be cool!’

I agree. It does sound cool.

‘You can combine your annual leave with a conference and make it tax deductible,’ she says, suddenly reminding me she is a tax lawyer. ‘Heaps of doctors do that.’

‘Good idea.’

‘Anyway, I have to get ready for work,’ she says, jumping up. ‘I like this guy who works on the floor below me and I want to make myself look so attractive he’ll be forced to ask me out for a drink after work.’

‘That sounds—’ I stop ‘—almost normal. For you, I mean.’

Winnie grins. ‘Apparently he’s into weird fetish parties,’ she says casually. ‘Like where people get whipped and shit.’

‘Oh, of course. He couldn’t actually just be normal.’

‘He told me he’s only into ice cubes and stuff, though,’ she says, her grin widening. ‘He’s not full fet, apparently.’

‘So no dungeons, just the freezer?’

We both collapse into hysterical laughter.

‘Sometimes I think we choose our romantic conquests based on how funny the story will be to tell each other,’ I point out, gasping for air. ‘Between my old surgeon and your “it’s just ice cubes” fet guy from work.’

‘You’re an idiot,’ she says, draining her coffee down to the dregs. ‘He could be my soulmate.’

‘Better get a bigger freezer then!’

Her laughter floats down the hallway behind her as she leaves for work. I let the lightness swirl around me and recognise it as an unusual sort of feeling these days, when everything is generally stressful. I wish, for a moment, the hospital was less intense and that Dr Prince was young and single and that we could go for a beer together and make a few slightly off-colour jokes, rather than hover over exposed brain tissue.

I’m pulled from this fantasy by Max emerging from his bedroom.

‘We need to sign our timesheets, Kitty. We forgot last week and that’s why our pay was late! Let’s go do it now while we remember.’

Max grabs his stethoscope and bag, then my coffee.