My knock lacked confidence. When you called me in, I noticed the room contained less of Dr Williams. His certificates had been removed from the wall, exposing rectangles of original crisp white paint. You hadn’t replaced them with yours, which added to my concerns.

‘Constance . . . hey . . . You’re back.’ You finished scribbling in your diary, then put your pen down and looked up at me.

‘Yes . . . well, I didn’t want to let people down.’ I thought perhaps you’d offer me a seat.

‘And how’s the foot?’

‘It’s OK . . . You know . . . still bruised but getting there.’

‘Well, these things take time, unfortunately. Use it, but don’t overdo it.’

‘Yes . . . yes, I will.’

An uncomfortable silence hit.

‘Well, it’s good to have you back.’ You took your pen in hand once more, jiggled it between your fingers.

‘Thank you. So . . . so Linda says you’re going to Harley Street this afternoon?’

‘Yes, they’re struggling without me, apparently.’

‘Right. So you’re going back to work there now?’

‘Oh no . . . At least, I hope not. It’s only for a couple of days, they said.’

I controlled the extended expulsion of air from my lungs. ‘OK . . . That’s nice . . . that you can help them out.’

Once again you scrawled onto the pages. ‘Anyway, I had better get on. I’ve got a patient coming in.’

‘Of course. Sorry. I just wanted to say hello . . . and thank you again for last week. So, thank you, Dr Stevens.’

‘No need to thank me, Constance. I’m a doctor – that’s what I’m supposed to do.’ You spoke down towards your desk, muffling your words.

‘OK, Dr Stevens.’ For the second time I waited for you to correct me. Insist I called you ‘Samuel’. You didn’t. Merely stopped writing and turned. Fixed a smile. But it wasn’t warm like the smiles we’d shared that night. It was a smile that said the conversation was over.

I tried to work as best I could, pasted on a cheerful demeanour, but couldn’t stop going over and over the night of the hospital. The change in you. And I had no choice but to begin a new list of negatives, which started with the rogue wiry nasal hair I’d noticed would poke out when you held your head at certain angles. I reached into my bag for my phone to add this observation to my notes but dropped it back in immediately when surprised by the unusual presence of Dr Harris looming in reception. His face even more humourless than usual.

‘Girls, can I have a word, please?’

Alison and I stopped what we were doing. Linda was already not doing anything to stop.

His tone was softer, quieter than usual. ‘We’ve got a date for the funeral. Three weeks today, 25 August. So, I think it would be right and proper if we all attended and showed our respects.’