‘Palmer. Don’t worry, it’s been two years since I did my rotation with you. Kerry is my wife. Is she . . . has it gone OK?’

‘Yes.’ She nods, though there is caution in her eyes. ‘Let’s sit down. The abdominal bleed was significant, but she’s had three units and she’s otherwise healthy so I would expect her to make a full recovery. Except, well, as I’m sure you know, unfortunately there was no way an ectopic pregnancy could progress successfully so . . . I’m sorry, but she’s lost the baby.’

The baby I didn’t even know about until three hours ago.

I don’t say that. ‘It was very early, wasn’t it?’

‘Around five weeks. Her left fallopian tube has been too badly damaged to repair, but as you know, with monitoring, she should be able to have a normal pregnancy in future.’

‘Right.’

‘Would you like me to take you to recovery now?’

As we walk down these familiar corridors, I wonder if Kerry will send me away, because of what I’ve done. But her folks and sister are on holiday in the Canaries so it’s me or no one, though I guess she’ll have a steady stream of work friends once she’s on the ward.

The nurse steps aside as I approach the bed. Kerry’s make-up-free face reminds me of the first time I saw her, the day after we moved into the bungalow, and her sister drenched us with a hose before Kerry dried us off and we ate four packets of Wagon Wheels to make us feel better.

‘Hey.’ I kiss her forehead. She smells of theatre, but underneath that, I can almost taste Tropical Sun coconut tanning oil and the warm PVC of the Smiths’ paddling pool . . .

‘I went all the way to your hospital to tell you about the baby,’ she says, her voice hoarse from intubation. ‘As soon as I realized, I came.’

‘Don’t worry. It’s all going to be all right, you—’

‘Who is Maria?’

‘We shouldn’t do this now. You’ve only just come round.’

Her eyes fix onto mine. ‘I’m not that woozy. And it’s not like I’m going to forget.’

I get closer so people can’t overhear us. ‘Maria is a friend from NA.’

‘I didn’t think you had any friends except me.’

Ouch. I don’t respond.

Kerry winces, though I don’t think she can be feeling physical pain. ‘She looked like a lot more than a friend. Do you love her, Tim?’

The question is too soon and too blunt. I don’t have time to invent a lie. ‘I don’t know.’

Kerry closes her eyes and I hope she’s drifted into sleep again. But when she opens them again, they’re full of reproach.

‘I . . . I haven’t cheated on you, Kerry, I promise. We’re close, but nothing like that has happened.’