I’ve just been gifted the perfect opportunity to extinguish any threat this annoying woman might present to my son, my marriage, or my peace of mind. I don’t have to do anything: I just have to perform a little less than my best. No one would ever know.

I’ve never performed at less than my best in my life.

It takes nearly six hours to complete the surgery, and my back aches from standing by the time I’m done. I check the flow in the branch vessels with a Doppler ultrasound, and then instruct my team to reverse the blood thinner medication.

My attending steps forward to close the incision, but I wave him away. He has all the finesse of a blind pathologist when it comes to stitching. After all she’s been through, Harper deserves a little better.

‘Beautiful work,’ the anaesthetist says, when I’m done. ‘Did you do needlepoint at school?’

I ignore him. ‘Let me know when she’s awake,’ I say, snapping off my gloves.

I’ve been on my feet now for more than twenty hours, and I’m due back at the hospital for a transplant surgery in the morning. I don’t want to leave until Harper is conscious, so there’s no point going home; I’ll snatch a few hours’ sleep in one of the on-call bunks. I change out of my scrubs and text Tom as I pass through the deserted waiting area to let him know I won’t be home until tomorrow evening.

A man suddenly lurches towards me and I jump, nearly dropping my phone. It’s 2 a.m. and I’m tired: it takes me a few moments to recognise the man as Harper’s husband, Kyle.

It’s obvious he’s been crying. His eyes are red-rimmed and raw, and his hair stands up in tufts at the back of his head. He looks about twelve.

‘Is she going to be OK, Mrs Downton?’

He sounds like one of Meddie’s schoolfriends. I don’t have the heart to point out that Downton is my married name: at work I go by Lennox.

I glance around the empty lounge, looking in vain for one of my team. I’m really not comfortable dealing with patients’ families. ‘How long have you been waiting, Kyle? Someone should have been through to talk to you—’

‘They said it’d gone well, but I wanted to hear it from you.’

I guide him towards a knot of empty armchairs near us. In the small hours of the morning, we’re the only people here: most patients requiring an all-night vigil are upstairs in the ICU.

‘The surgery did go well, Kyle,’ I say. ‘It’ll be a while before we know for sure, but the procedure went without a hitch, and I think Harper’s going to make a full recovery.’

He lets out a gasp. ‘Oh God!’