Kerry pours us both a glass of white wine and we sit next to each other on the sofa. My hand hovers over the remote control and I am so close to turning on the telly, to emulate the loud chatter and disagreement that filled the Smith family dining room.

No. Stop being a coward. She deserves advance warning of what is coming.

‘Kerry. I don’t know if I can do this.’

‘Hmm? Do what?’ She’s picked up the Radio Times, and is scanning the columns for something to watch. Her brow furrows, trying to focus despite being a bit drunk. She looks adorable, and I want to kiss her, not hurt her.

But I must, for both our sakes.

‘I don’t know if I’ll ever be a good enough doctor.’ My deepest fear, expressed in one sentence. Not only a fear, but reality. Other people might have forgotten what really happened on millennium night, but I haven’t. I don’t think Kerry has either.

My words hang in the room like the stench of blood-darkened melaena stools, and I wait to see if she’ll choose to ignore them. The Easter Bunny in Mum’s home-made nest decoration stares at me with its crossed button eyes. Strabismus: caused by vision problems or, occasionally, retinoblastoma. Always investigate. Rarely gets better on its own . . .

She doesn’t move for a very long time, just stares at the magazine as though she’s trying to choose between Songs of Praise and 24.

Her answer could change everything or nothing, and I am sure she senses that.

‘Don’t be daft, Tim. You’ll be great.’

Denial.

‘But what if I’m not?’

‘We all get low moments. You’re tired, after your exams.’

I am tired, though I can’t sleep without the fuzzy embrace of Wilcox’s benzos. I had to go back to him for supplies in January, partly because Joel got a lot less reliable, but also because I couldn’t bear to see how low he’d fallen. A proper junkie.

When I first realized, I racked my brains to see if I could help. But even if I knew what to do, who am I to advise on kicking an addiction?

Compared to him, I am functioning. At least now I only use medicines, the kind that come in boxes and blister packs.

Maybe the Adderall has worked and I have passed. I’ve got it wrong before. I was sure I’d failed my A levels but got three As. Though in retrospect, was predicting my failure a case of wishful thinking? If I’d got lower grades, I wouldn’t be in this mess now.