‘Tim, please, it’s my sister’s wedding, don’t make a scene . . .’ Kerry sounds like she did that time on the drive at Curlews, when she begged me to let her help me and I sent her away. ‘It’s not worth it.’

She wants him, doesn’t she? I don’t blame her. He has a future, and that’s what Kerry needs.

Decision made.

‘Come on, mate, you don’t want to do this, we were only talking.’

‘I’m not your mate. I know what I saw.’

‘You didn’t see anything, Tim. I haven’t seen Kerry in years; we hugged to say hello, she’s glad I’m doing so well.’

There’s doubt in Tim’s eyes. I’m getting somewhere. I reach into my waistcoat for a cigarette. ‘Do you smoke? Looks like you could use one.’

He glances nervously at Kerry. Yeah, I reckon goody-two-shoes Tim does smoke but he thinks she doesn’t know. I play along.

‘Breath of fresh air while I have one, then? Clear your head. You’ve been working, right? I can smell antiseptic. Respect, man. I couldn’t do your job for all the money in the world.’ I try to flip the dynamic, make him feel superior.

‘They don’t pay me anything while I’m training.’

He wants to back down too, so it’s easy to lead him outside and down a side street.

‘Yeah, Tim, but soon you’ll be loaded. I’ve seen the motors in the hospital car park when I go in for appointments. The consultants rake it in.’

‘That’s a long way off,’ he says grimly.

As I get my lighter out of my pocket, my fingers touch the joint I saved for after. Weed switches off the bad thoughts. I take it out and see him clock it. ‘Wanna share this instead of a cigarette?’

He shrugs and takes the joint, lights it casually, takes a long drag. Interesting.

‘Not your first time, then.’

Tim shrugs. ‘Doctors and drugs. The clichés are true. I prefer the prescription kind but it’s been a long day.’

I smile. ‘We all need something to get us through.’

He inhales the weed and the tension leaves his body as he exhales. ‘How’ve you been?’

I don’t want to tell him, but the more I reveal about my own shitty existence, the less of a threat I seem. ‘I’m . . . still working stuff out. Been through my Elvis phase, eating like a pig, feeling sorry for myself. But I’m trying to come out of it. Ant is helping me.’

He nods. Offers me the joint and I take it back unwillingly: I don’t want to lose the taste of Kerry on my lips.

‘Ant’s a decent bloke. Did he get the weed?’