I laugh it off. ‘They’re only watching me as relief from all the stuff about what Kate Middleton’s wedding dress will be like.’

Dad raises his eyebrows. ‘I think you’re in for a surprise.’

The offers start coming before I’m even out of hospital.

I’m not on the Zoella scale, but TV producers chasing the elusive youth audience begin to phone Dad and, together, we pick and choose a few smaller scale presenting gigs, to see if I like it.

Kids’ telly isn’t me: I only like playing the fool for Leo. An afternoon as a guest doing football punditry on local radio doesn’t work either. I get too frustrated with the players and their stupid moves.

But features is different. I do a trial on the same regional documentary programme that made the series about The Unbeatables, and I enjoy every minute. Interviewing people about their experiences – whether it’s gnome-collecting or foreign aid missions – intrigues me. The producer tells me I’m a natural.

Another thing I thank Leo for: it’s like he regenerated the part of my brain that makes me able to care.

Chapter 51: Kerry

7 July 2011

The rules I made in my first week at med school help me graduate top of my class five years later.

‘And I’m delighted to award the Davis Medal for the highest mark in the clinical exam to . . .’ The dean hams it up, as though this is Best Picture at the Oscars, rather than an award I already know I’ve won. ‘. . . Dr Kerry Smith!’

My parents, my sister, Ant and Tim are here and they applaud and whoop, along with Hanna, who is graduating too.

Afterwards, we go to a restaurant overlooking the Thames; the city has never looked so stunning and full of promise. When the Olympics come next year, I plan to volunteer at Stratford. Be part of something. Belong.

Dad orders champagne. I offer to pay but he waves me away.

‘It’ll barely make a dent in what we had set aside for your wedding. Or what Marilyn’s cost us.’

My sister looks mildly put out but it doesn’t take much champagne before she perks up again.

At long last, they’ve stopped hoping I might get married again. I am twenty-nine and happy to stay a spinster, though not celibate. I’ve kept my self-imposed rules when it comes to my sex life: no men with any connection to medicine, and no making things official. I’ve not allowed anyone to distract me from the finish line.

‘You’re going to make a brilliant doctor, Kerry,’ Tim says.

‘I know.’

He laughs. ‘I like the new Kerry. She takes no prisoners.’