‘You’ve just lost the habit. Setting up home with Tedious Tim before you were even out of your teens, no wonder you’ve forgotten how to have fun. Grab it, now, sis. You’re twenty-four, not seventy-four.’

I let her talk me round, so here I am, in jeans and T-shirt, nothing that suggests trying too hard. But right now, I almost wish I was back in the bungalow in Brighton.

‘Hey, what are you doing here?’

I turn to see a group of four students, two girls, two boys, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I recognize them from the day one pep talk, when the dean told us that basically all non-medic students are pissing about and we are the best thing since sliced bread, the Future, the crème de la crème.

I loathe that attitude, the idea that doctors are gods, but I hadn’t realized it started so early. My experiences in the ambulance service, watching Elaine die and being in hospital myself, have made me determined I will always put patients first.

‘You were at the lecture,’ the dark-haired girl says.

‘I was, yes. Hi.’ I give them an awkward wave. I can do this.

‘Are you here to keep an eye on us?’ one of the boys says. ‘We are going to behave, you know.’

It takes me a second or two to realize what he means. They think I’m one of the lecturers.

‘I . . . I’m not on the staff. I’m a student, like you.’

‘Oh.’ The dark-haired girl looks embarrassed. ‘Sorry. We knew we recognized you but we thought you were a lecturer because you were . . .’

‘Older?’ I suggest.

‘Maybe a bit. Not that being older is a bad thing.’

‘Right.’ I should make a joke now, cut through the tension by saying something like, Shall I go to the bar for you, you guys surely aren’t old enough to buy drinks yet? But I don’t want to make them uncomfortable.

They shuffle a little before heading into the bar, and as the doors close, I hear a burst of laughter. Perhaps they’re laughing at me.

I don’t judge them. They’ve arrived thinking that the world is theirs now, that their straight As, their impeccable work experience, their Duke of Edinburgh Gold Awards will protect them from the ordinary suffering they’re going to relieve. But I know that’s not true, that we are all a heartbeat from disaster. And that’s why I don’t belong with them.

As I trudge back to my halls, I try to remember my eighteen-year-old self: did I feel that level of certainty? Because now I am spikier than I’d have liked her to be. Even a mutual divorce takes its toll, and I am missing Tim: not as a husband but as a best friend.

The one thing I do know is that once studying begins, I won’t have time to feel lonely.