Perhaps letting this happen wouldn’t be the worst thing, especially if I’m not going to be a doctor. I could stay with the ambulance service, go part-time, share childcare with Marilyn who has baby Alfie now as well as Ava. Being a younger mum isn’t all bad, either, I’ve heard. You bounce back sooner, don’t you?

The train pulls into a station and the woman gets off. There are another twenty or so stops before I get to Tim.

That’s when it’ll feel real. When I see his face, it’ll tell me if this is something we can do together.

Even though, I guess, it’s something we’ve already done.

The hospital is a fraction of the size of the Sussex, yet I can’t find my husband.

‘He’s meant to be on shift,’ I tell the nurse once I get to the gastro ward.

She shakes her head. ‘I don’t know about that.’

Behind her, a junior doctor looks up from tapping into the computer. He meets my eye for a moment, before hurriedly returning to whatever it is he’s doing.

‘What’s going on?’

No one replies.

The unsettled feeling in my belly tells me something’s up. ‘Is he sick? You have to tell me because right now I’m fearing the worst.’

Back on drugs? Surely not after everything he put me through . . .

The nurse sighs. ‘The relatives’ room is over there. I’ll see if I can find the registrar.’

The room is nicer than they usually are. The little potted rose is coming into bloom, the magazines are new, and I can just about see treetops through the high window. I crave cities, but I’d hoped a quieter deanery might be the perfect space for Tim to develop his skills. It feels safe.

Felt safe. Now it feels anything but. Has he been attacked? Or caught stealing drugs? My chest tightens, pain spreading across my shoulders.

Tim’s boss steps into the room. Young, balding, so tall that the room suddenly feels half the size. He introduces himself. His name is Fred but I don’t register his surname because I’m more worried about the fact he’s the consultant, not the registrar. This is bad.

I try to read his body language – warm handshake, anxious eyes.

‘Tim hasn’t called you?’

I shake my head.

‘There’s been an . . . incident. He’s taken leave for a few days, I assumed he’d gone home. Brighton, isn’t it?’

At least Tim’s not sick or off his head on something. ‘What sort of incident?’

‘I can’t go into detail but it involves a patient. It would be better if he could tell you himself.’

‘Yes it bloody would, but he’s not fucking here, is he?’ I regret the words as soon as I’ve said them. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry, I’m . . .’ Tears are welling up.