Before I leave, Mum gives me a pile of post to read on the train back to London. I’ve moved digs half a dozen times in the last few years so all the important stuff goes to Brighton, along with the increasing pile of medic-related junk mail.

Once I’ve settled on the train, one of the envelopes stands out: A4, with my name handwritten on the front. I’m curious enough to open it now, but it’s just another brochure. I’m about to add it to the recycling pile, when I see that the letter paperclipped to it is personalized.

Dear Kerry,

Happy birthday!

Do NOT throw this away. Because this is not a circular, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn to fly.

I shake my head in irritation at the sales bullshit. My eyes skim the rest of the note.

You have been gifted three one-to-one flying lessons in a Piper PA28 aircraft by a benefactor who wants to stay anonymous.

This is your chance to take to the air. Many of our PPL trial students have gone on to get their licence – some even make their living now as commercial pilots.

Your voucher is valid for six months so do NOT delay. We look forward to helping you make the most of this amazing gift.

I call Mum straight away. ‘This is so lovely of you. But why didn’t you give it to me in person?’

She plays dumb and when I read out the letter, she insists they had nothing to do with it. ‘We couldn’t afford anything like that. It must have cost hundreds. You got a secret admirer?’

‘I doubt it very much.’

‘A grateful patient, then? It beats a box of Milk Tray.’

‘They wouldn’t have my address, plus I’m not really that kind of doctor.’

‘What’s that meant to mean?’

‘I’m too junior.’ And too stony-faced for anyone to give me presents. ‘I can’t accept.’

‘Bollocks, Kerry. You used to love madcap stunts.’

I’m transported from the sweaty carriage to somewhere high above, remembering how much I loved the flight for my parachute jump. How amazing would it feel to sit in the pilot’s seat this time? ‘It might be cool.’

‘Well, then. All work and no play has made Kerry a dull girl. And if you don’t go, I’ll go myself!’

I think about my mother’s driving. ‘It’s my duty to the people of southern England to make sure that doesn’t happen.’

It’s another fortnight before I get back down to Sussex again to take my first lesson. I try to persuade my instructor, Des, to spill the beans on who paid for my gift, but he tells me only the office would know, and they’re more secretive than MI5.’