‘This holiday’ – the word catches in my throat – ‘totally gave me perspective. Daniel wasn’t happy, and maybe I wasn’t either.’

Lou had taken great pains to inform me of the social media research that led to her allegation, then said she was going on a shopping spree in Leeds to make herself feel better about it all. She’d hung up before I could point out I was the one who needed to feel better about things and her revelation wasn’t exactly helping. I’d all but held it together until I found his favourite shower gel casually taunting me in the bathroom. I stood with my face beneath the shower jet, letting the scalding water drown my tears. Five years, a joint bank account and a flat-share apparently meant nothing to him.

Emma coughs, pulling me out of my thoughts. A week’s supply of concealer and too much kohl is really all that’s between my red-rimmed eyes and her watchful gaze. ‘Perspective, you say.’

She was there on the day his text came through. We were on our lunch break. She saw me choke on, then completely unravel into, my roast chicken salad. ‘I’m totally over it,’ I say, thinly.

She peers at me to see if I really mean what I say.

‘Its fine,’ I insist, arms now crossed, the corner of my smile twitching along with my eye. Please, God, don’t let my chin wobble. ‘His loss,’ I finish, then hold my breath, hoping this will mean the discussion is over.

Though she clearly suspects something, it wouldn’t help for Emma to know I actually spent the last ten days in my pyjamas – sleeping, eating, watching trashy telly and reading Jilly Cooper’s back catalogue. No crime per se, we all love Rupert Campbell-Black, but it wasn’t exactly the booked and paid-for holiday of a lifetime that I should have taken; the holiday I bailed on because the very thought of going alone made me want to eat my own face. The glossy magazines tell me I don’t need a man to make me feel complete, and they’re right, I know they are, but when you’re cruising towards thirty as a newly single woman, because the love of your life got bored, it’s tricky to just move on. Or start afresh. Or even feel remotely okay when you hear he’s met someone new. I loved him.

I love him.

I look around the ward, my ward. Thank God for this, is all I can say. ‘Go home, chuck,’ I sigh. ‘I’m back. I’m on it and you came to the end of your shift ages ago. Go. Sleep. Eat. Whatever.’ I stop before adding let me hide in my office until home time.

‘You know you don’t have to do this alone, right?’ she says, kindly.

‘I know.’ I smile and let her give me a big hug, suddenly realising how much a bit of human contact can go towards healing… and also weakening my resolve. I gently extricate myself from her tight hold. ‘I’ve got a job to do, Emma, and crying is not an option.’ I sniff it all back.