‘Yeah, I wanted to be an actress. I can do all different voices. I could play Scottish junkies, or Welsh junkies from the vaaalleys, American cheerleader junkies—’ She stops abruptly and looks down at her body.

‘Come on, Zoë. This could be a new beginning for you. I’m sure the hospital could help put you into a rehab programme . . .’

‘I don’t want this. Any of it. I don’t want to be having a baby!’

Instantly, she’s on the edge of tears. I think back to my obstetrics lectures: she’s on a hormonal rollercoaster. Perhaps she needs me to hold her hand while she rides it. ‘Did you not mean to get pregnant then?’

She scowls: that’s better than crying. ‘I didn’t think it’d be like this.’

Something about the way she says it makes me think that she did want this baby, once. ‘Tell me what happened, Zoë. If you want to, I mean.’

To my surprise, she does. There was this guy she liked, a bit younger than her. Kinder and less messed up than most of the addicts she hung out with, or so she thought. So yes, maybe she wasn’t too upset about getting pregnant at first. Maybe she even wanted it to happen.

‘I was gobsmacked, after all the shit I’ve done to my body. I’d already stopped using when I fell pregnant and it gave me the best reason to stay clean. But then . . .’

I wait, not knowing whether she’s stopped because of physical pain, or sadness. ‘What changed, Zoë?’

She sighs. ‘When I told the dad, he was so angry. He told me . . . well, stuff that made me realize the whole thing was fucking doomed. He even paid for an abortion, but I did a runner at the last minute. I was back on my own, thought I could manage, but I was too weak. Started using again. Smoking. Thought it might do less harm to the baby, no dirty needles, right?’ She looks at the cannula in her hand. ‘I wanna get out of here . . .’ Her face crumples.

She needs someone who loves her, not a tongue-tied student like me. But I’m all she’s got right now. ‘Even if you don’t want your baby now, you do want to do the best for him, don’t you?’ I remember that she doesn’t know it’s a boy. ‘For him or her?’

‘I’ve already screwed it up. Poor little sod is going to come out disabled and addicted, all because of me.’

‘Disabled?’

She’s becoming agitated again and the midwives will not be impressed if she rips out her cannula and does a runner while I’m meant to be calming her down.

‘Look, I’m not a doctor yet. But you can tell me or ask me anything. I promise I’ll be completely honest with you in return.’