‘Great, thanks.’ I offer up a box of Celebrations with a small thank-you card from a patient stuck to the front. Sweet treats are an up- or downside to our job, depending on your point of view. Emma reaches into the half-empty box of chocolates and twists open a wrapper.

‘So, how was it?’ she asks through a part-chewed micro Mars bar, casually leaning against the desk. She studies the empty wrapper; it crackles as she folds it.

‘How was what?’ I bite the side of my mouth, trying to remember the various excuses I planned for the inevitable return-to-work question. A porter jokes with a patient as he pushes him down the corridor and their laughter draws my attention. I pretend to smile in the hope she’ll drop the conversation.

‘Your hol-i-day!’ She spells the word out, then purses her lips, eyebrows raised.

Sigh. She knows that I know what she’s asking. And I know that she knows I don’t want to answer. She twists the empty chocolate wrapper, dropping it back in the box. I catch it out of the corner of my eye, along with her expression – daring me to react to the unspoken law of empty wrappers in the bin, not back in the box. There are few things worse than going to treat yourself mid-morning and finding nothing but empty wrappers.

‘It was great, actually. Lovely.’ I flash a quick smile in her direction, then, head down to hide the twitch in my right eye, I push the chocolates out of sight. ‘Just what I needed,’ I finish, hoping I sound light and breezy, as opposed to constricted and very much swallowing back the urge to cry. Again. My newly cut fringe escapes its loose clip. A side bang is all the rage, according to the hairdresser. I admit it comes in handy for hiding behind.

‘Was it though?’ asks Emma. She tries to catch my eye.

I pull my sleeves down to hide the lack of suntan. ‘It was great,’ I trill, smiling wider. I place suddenly sweaty hands on my hips and take a shallow breath. ‘It was brilliant, in fact. Much better than I expected. I’d love to go back, explore more, you know?’ I laugh, throwing some sort of weird coquettish innocence in her direction and she quite rightly looks at me like I am an idiot.

‘Did it rain the whole time then?’ she asks.

I should have gone for that fake tan in the back of my bathroom cupboard. I mean, who really comes back from a holiday abroad without some sort of colour? Emma stares at me. ‘Look,’ I sigh. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine. Honestly. Everything’s…’

‘Fine?’ She holds my gaze.

‘It was six weeks ago, Emma!’ Actually, I could tell her it was six weeks, two days and three hours ago, but the detail’s unimportant. ‘I know you think I’ve thrown myself into work, that I’m losing sleep over it, but I promise you, I’m not.’ I stifle an ill-timed yawn and try not to think about this morning’s call from Lou, where she casually dropped into conversation the rumour that my ex-boyfriend has a new girlfriend. Adding in the word ‘allegedly’ didn’t stop it hurting.