Before I flew over, I had my speech planned out. This trip is about resolving unfinished business, starting with telling Kerry that I know she got closer to Joel than she’s ever admitted. The counselling I’ve had to prepare for adoption has made me see I prefer everything out in the open. Except right now, I’m less sure if it’s the right thing for her too.

I approach the eight circular pots of curry in a clockwise direction, starting with dal. The taste is so reminiscent of my elective, and I close my eyes to let it overwhelm me. For a few seconds, I’m back there, in that compound in the jungle, losing myself in research, finding Kerry again. Proposing to her . . .

When I open my eyes, she’s looking at me.

‘It’s ten years since we went to India,’ I say.

She nods. ‘I was thinking the same. You haven’t changed a bit.’

But she has. When she picked me up at Heathrow yesterday, I almost didn’t recognize her. Maria teases me about my lack of observational skills, but even I can tell that Kerry’s too thin, and there are grey hairs peppering her parting. Although, I’m exhibiting clear signs of male pattern baldness, so I shouldn’t draw conclusions from our respective scalps alone.

‘Well, you haven’t lost your reckless streak,’ I say. She’s been telling me about the various scrapes she’s got herself into during her F2 year. It’s her usual fools-rush-in tendency, but what’s new is the feverish way she talks, like a comedian trying to squeeze too many jokes into his set.

She’s off again, with a story about a woman with a headache who turned out to have cerebral venous thrombosis. I try to eat but I’ve lost my appetite.

‘What’s the team like?’

‘Really cliquey.’

I wait till there’s a brief pause while she chews on some chapatti. ‘There must be some decent people. You need allies to make the job bearable.’

Kerry sighs. ‘I guess. I’m not the easiest to work with either, to be honest, though I’ve been trying to be less snappy. But sometimes it’s so overwhelming that I struggle to be nice.’

‘You’re always nice.’

‘I don’t know if I am anymore. I feel I’ve hardened. Like . . .’ She looks up. I know that expression of hers, it’s the one she gets when she’s trying to come up with a way to explain deep feelings to someone as emotionally unintelligent as I am. ‘OK. There was this guy in his thirties who came in a couple of weeks ago. Sweaty, skin blue-white with intermittent flank pain.’

I look up from the second pot of curry – a cauliflower and tomato dish. ‘Renal colic?’