‘I don’t understand why Prince asked you to do this research.’ He sounds more disdainful than usual as he starts to shave the head of the unconscious person on the table. ‘You’ve been doing surgery for months and you’re still hopeless.’

‘Maybe he thinks I’ve got potential,’ I can’t resist saying.

‘Potential to do what? Kill someone?’ He laughs loudly.

The Smiling Assassin, who has joined us and is silently standing behind me watching what I do, joins in, laughing much too enthusiastically.

Maybe one day I’ll tell them what I think of them, I muse. Maybe the day I quit. Maybe that will be today.

Yeah, right, a little voice in my head scoffs. Who’s going to pay your rent and credit card debt then, Doctor?

The Joker starts quizzing me on brain anatomy, which I answer more proficiently than usual after my weeks spent reading about recurrent glioblastoma multiforme.

After an hour of me making him angry by not making as many mistakes as usual, he accuses me of ruining the sterile field and tells me to scrub out and stand in the corner to watch instead. The Smiling Assassin eagerly takes my place.

I relocate to the corner of theatre six and stare at the clock, willing it to move faster. Mercifully, my phone starts to ring. Even better, it’s the hospital switchboard.

‘It’s switch,’ I announce joyfully, waving my phone around as if I’ve just got engaged. ‘I’ll duck out and answer it.’

The Joker and the Smiling Assassin are trapped elbow deep in brain tissue, which means I’m able to exit without delay. Once outside I consider not answering, but then remember the Shark wants to do a round so, with a sigh, I put the phone to my ear. ‘Hello?’

All I can hear is static, and a weird loud whooshing sound. I walk quickly out of theatres to the meeting room. I don’t want the Shark to think I’m ignoring him.

But even away from the lead-lined rooms I still can’t hear anything.

‘HELLO!’ I shout into the phone. ‘DO YOU WANT TO DO A ROUND?’

I hear some clunking, as if the phone is going down a ladder.

‘Sorry about the wind,’ a voice says, now fairly clearly, into my ear. ‘I’m out on the harbour.’

‘Oh …’ I stutter, realising I’m not talking to the Shark.

‘It’s Jack. Jack Prince.’

Even though I’m standing alone in the dictation room next to the operating theatre and he’s many nautical miles away, I feel my cheeks start to burn. I nearly laugh. Of course he’s out on the harbour, while I’m at work, struggling through a day that feels like it will never end.

‘Hi, Dr Prince!’ I manage. ‘Sorry, I thought it was one of the other consultants wanting to do a round.’