Alanna with huge black pupils on her ninth or tenth day in the job; a new franticness about her, like a rodent, a spaced-out little bunny. I pulled her into the towel cupboard before anyone else could see her. She flattened herself against the back wall, looked up at me with her round, dark eyes.

‘I am just so tired,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to make sure I could keep going.’

It was the most infuriating excuse she could’ve offered. I lost it.

‘Everyone gets tired. You have to teach your body to get used to it,’ I said, my mouth close to her ear, her Swarovski earring. I crushed her body against the bath towels, her tiny bones, tinier than mine. If I’d pressed down a little harder, I might have heard her spine crack. I felt her breathing hot against my neck.

The next day I found her at my desk, sober and conspiratorial. ‘I owe you one, Ruth Beadle.’ She pushed a bucket of Cadbury’s Roses towards me. I told myself I wouldn’t eat a single one. I left them next to the kettle in the kitchen for everyone else to share and then, when the tub was empty, I brought it back to my desk. I keep it there for paperclips and as a warning to Alanna. She has always behaved since then.

‘Don’t be silly,’ I say. ‘You were a very quick learner.’

‘Listen, I wanted to ask you something,’ she says.

‘Of course I’ll cover for you,’ I say. I might be bitter, Alanna, but only a monster wouldn’t cover for you on your wedding day.

‘No, Ruth. What? You silly cow! I want you to be my maid of honour.’ Her eyes are very large, very earnest, and I surprise myself by wanting her to mean it – wanting me, Ruth Beadle, her oldest friend, as her maid of honour.

But then the wariness hits. I check myself. I swallow. I remind myself that I’m the more experienced nurse. I keep it together.

‘Are you kidding me?’ I ask.

‘Kidding you?’

‘Rebecca and Emmeline will never forgive you.’

She sighs, ‘Look, there was never going to be a way to get that right. You only have one maid of honour and there are two of them. They can be bridesmaids.’

‘Surely that’s not a good reason …’

‘No. It’s not. And the real reason is this isn’t about Emmy and Bex. I want you.’