Eventually I found a chewed-up 5B pencil near the back. I shut the drawer and completed the message, the words thick and shiny. When finished, I opened the drawer once more. Just to drop the pencil back in. Nothing more. But there it was again. The fob. Bright and goading. And no sooner had the pencil dropped back in than the keys were clinking in my pocket next to Edward’s.

Linda tapped an invisible watch when I arrived back. I was late due to Edward’s complex and annoying list. I had no idea where any of the items were in the supermarket as I flustered down each wrong aisle, growing ever more conscious of the now duplicated keys in my pocket and the wrongdoing that the overly chipper Timpson man had helped me commit.

Alison was still stuffing her face in the staffroom. Unfairly unreprimanded. Quizzing me about Edward’s shopping.

‘You know, once when I was about nine, I ate too many prunes and—’

‘Sorry, Alison, I really want to hear this, but I’ve got to do something for Dr Stevens.’

‘Oh, that’s OK . . . I think you can guess how it ends, anyway.’

As I rushed back towards your office, vaguely aware of Linda’s voice calling my name, I noticed that I must have forgotten to switch the light off in your room as the bright line shone beneath the door.

‘Constance? Constance, hang on a second.’ Dr Franco was coming down the stairs. I stopped, though my heart continued at speed. ‘I’m afraid my diary is rather full at the moment, but how about the 29th of this month? Shall we say at one?’

‘Yes. Yes, that’s great. Thank you. I’ll put it in my phone.’

My clammy fingers circled the keys in my pocket.

‘You look stressed. Are you OK?’

‘Yes . . . yes. I’m just a bit late back from lunch.’

He tapped his nose like it was our little secret. ‘I shall look forward to our chat,’ he said, and carried on down the corridor as I entered your room.

‘You didn’t knock. You really should knock, Constance.’ You were standing over your desk patting paperwork, picking items up only to put them straight back down again.

‘Sorry. I—’

‘Did Linda send you in to help look for my phone?’

‘Yes. Yes, she . . . No joy, then?’

‘What’s wrong with me, Constance? On one hand, I’m a doctor who can literally save people’s lives, and on the other, I’m a moron who constantly leaves things behind . . . It’s the second time this week.’

The keys scratched against my thigh as if possessed. You sighed before throwing a heavy medical journal down on the desk. Then you opened the drawer.

‘Do you ever put it in there, though?’ My voice cracked.

‘No . . . no, I don’t . . . but where the fuck is it?’ You slammed it shut again and I let out a loud breath.