‘I am eating.’ I tear open the sandwich pack and take a bite as if to prove it. ‘I just don’t want to ruin my efforts unnecessarily. Especially as I’ve been told I won’t be doing any running for a couple of weeks – at least.’

As the creaminess of the mayo hits my taste buds and the soft avocado squirms around my mouth, I feel a sudden gagging reflex in my gullet, followed by a wave of nausea. I fake a small cough to cover this up, all too aware that Dom noticing will lead him to the view that I need to stay in hospital overnight.

‘OK, sure.’ Dom regards me with some doubt. ‘You know I love you for you. Right? Not for how you look.’

‘Oh, stop it. I know that. I’m doing this for me, not you. I had you trapped a long time ago. You’re not getting away.’ I give him a mischievous wink, ignoring the unpleasant swirling feeling in my stomach.

‘It’s so good to see you smiling, kitten.’ He hovers over me closely, giving me a waft of his delicious eau de toilette, and plants a firm, affectionate kiss on my lips. ‘You worried us all there.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ I continue to chew reluctantly. ‘You must be hungry too. Eat the other sandwich. I’ll be getting out of here later, so I won’t need both.’

‘Did they tell you that while I was away?’

‘Nope. But there’s no way I’m spending the night here.’

‘Lex.’ Dom takes my hand in his. ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to be coming home. And I’m not sure you should have unrealistic expectations. Only hours ago, you were lying unconscious on your office floor.’

‘And I’m fine now. I can see properly again and everything.’ As I offer him my most confident smile, my mouth unexpectedly begins to water and there’s a sudden lurch in my abdomen. ‘Oh, man… I’m going to— sick bowl.’

Dom demonstrates Olympic medal-winning reflexes as he grabs the bowler-hat-shaped sick bowl from the end of my trolley and whips it in front of me, just as my undigested sandwich makes a sudden and unpleasant reappearance. Holding my hair out of the way with his other hand, Dom tries to soothe me as I battle between trying to control the spasms in my oesophagus and coping with the searing pain in my head that explodes like fireworks with every fresh round of retching.

As I’m starting to regain some composure, the curtain is pulled back and the first doctor I saw when I arrived in A&E, Dr Amani, enters with a nurse. The nurse takes the sick bowl from Dom and leaves, while the doctor swooshes the curtain back over again to safeguard my privacy.

‘How are you doing?’ Dr Amani offers me an empathetic smile. ‘Not so good, it seems.’

‘I’m fine. I really am.’ I try for upbeat, but the tremor in my voice and the spatters of puke down my hospital gown tell a different story.