‘Not yet,’ I say firmly, tucking my errant fringe back in its clip. I give him my sternest stare but his lack of eye contact means it goes unnoticed. He moves to stand beside me, his head still buried in her file.

‘Is there anyone you’d like us to call, Susan?’ he asks.

I resist the opportunity for sarcasm. Ooh, that’s a good question. Did they teach you that in medical school? Instead, I simply answer on her behalf. ‘We haven’t established anyone as yet.’

‘Okay, well…’ Mark drops his voice to an ineffective am-dram stage whisper. ‘See if you can gain her trust.’ He narrows his eyes and directs his pen at her. ‘Try to find out what’s going on. She needs a support network; this lack of communication is a concern.’ ‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I’m waiting to talk to someone on MH.’ I use the code for mental health so as not to alarm Susan.

Mark nods, folding his arms across his chest to sum things up. I’m not sure if it’s the impression he’s aiming for, but he has the look of a peacock: all front and display. ‘We’ve reset your leg, Susan. You were lucky there were no additional problems. No internal bleeding, no pins required. Obviously you’re badly bruised and you need to take time and the help offered to get back on your feet, but you’re alive. So, you know, that’s a win.’

A win. Yes, I bet that is exactly how she feels. You can tell that by the look on her face…

‘Steer clear of buses for a while.’ He lifts his chin. It’s freshly shaven and looks remarkably smooth up close. And then a hint of his aftershave hits me. Just a suggestion, but it’s unmistakable. Bleu de Chanel. I bought it for Daniel last Christmas. He opened it and put it on as we sat beneath the tree. I can still feel his neck as I kissed it, taking in his new smell. We had nobody to visit that day. We lounged around the house, wrapped up in each other, chocolate and Prosecco. My heart aches. What changed? ‘Obviously, we need to keep you in, Susan. Work through your rehabilitation,’ Mark continues as I step away from him. ‘Perhaps though, when you’re ready, we can talk through the best way to get you discharged and back home.’

Susan stares at him, the eye she can open bunny-in-the-headlights wide. She’s locked into his gaze as he waits for a response that doesn’t come. He reaches for his penlight, leans in and flashes it in her eyes before I can intervene. Susan doesn’t flinch, and even from my standpoint, I see her pupils dilate in perfectly functioning response. Her lid stays open for a while; striking hazel eyes with flecks of green, stare back at Mark.

Mark moves away, sidling back up next to me. Actually, he probably isn’t sidling, I may be judging him unfairly given his lack of bedside manner and that aftershave. I resist breathing in.