I’m waiting on the corner at 11.30, out of sight of the surgery, when Dad’s car pulls over. I’d thought Mum was meeting us at the hospital but she waves at me from the passenger seat and I’m touched they’ve set aside their differences to both support me today. I climb into the back, wrapping myself in the musty red plaid blanket Dad always carries ‘in case of emergency’ and it’s like wrapping myself in comfort. I could be small again, strapped in the back of the car, Dad crunching a sherbet lemon; Mum telling him he’s going the wrong way.

We all walk into the hospital shoulder to shoulder and I feel a rush of gratitude there are two people I can still depend on. The waiting room is hot and quiet, save the distant rattle of a trolley. We pump antibacterial gel into our palms and I grimace as it stings the paper cut I’ve got. Perched on hard orange seats I ignore the out of date magazines piled on the table and ask: ‘Well? Are you two…?’

They glance at each other, and for a split second I wonder if I’ve got it wrong but Dad takes Mum’s hand and says: ‘Yes. We had a good talk after all that business with Harry and we’re trying again.’

‘That’s brilliant,’ I say and I mean it.

‘We’ve booked an appointment with a therapist like your Vanessa, to talk things through,’ he says.

‘You’re going to talk about your feelings with a stranger?’ Dad can’t even ask directions from a stranger when he’s lost.

‘Whatever it takes, Jen.’

I burst into tears. Hot, noisy tears.

‘Jenna? Darling. I thought you’d be pleased?’ Mum fishes a tissue from her bag.

‘I am.’ I blow my nose. ‘It’s nice to hear of something good. It’s just everything’s been so awful lately, so hard and I think… I think I’ve lost my job.’

‘Why?’ Mum’s voice is sharp.

‘I’ve been making so many mistakes. Ordering too much stock. Giving out the wrong medication. There has been a complaint of me being rude to customers. I don’t remember doing most of it. The medication makes my mind fuzzy sometimes. It’s hard to concentrate. This morning…’ I wipe my eyes. ‘Casper died and Kelly found a vial of insulin next to his drip. She accused me of spiking it deliberately.’

‘Oh, Jenna.’ Dad squeezes my hand. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘But, Dad, I accused Kelly of doing it. I thought she was after my job and when she denied it… I accused Rachel. I said she wanted me sacked so she could take over the senior position for the money. I said some awful things about her family. God knows it probably was me who mixed insulin with the saline. I’m so bloody tired. I really don’t know what I’m doing at the moment.’

‘I don’t think it was you for a second.’ Dad passes me a clean tissue.

‘You don’t know that. I completely forgot to call by your house the other day, didn’t I, Dad, to pick those books up for Linda? And I didn’t ring you, Mum, like I’d promised. I’m forgetting things all the time. Messing up. Poor Casper.’ I blow my nose.

Mum and Dad exchange a look.

‘See even you two think I’m useless.’ A fresh bout of tears washes over me.

‘For God’s sake, Ken. Tell her,’ Mum snaps.

‘Tell me what?’

Dad stands and paces the corridor.

‘If you don’t, I will,’ Mum says.

‘Jenna.’ Dad crouches down in front of me and takes my hands in his, as though he’s about to give me terrible news.

‘When you were ill…’ He swallows and looks away as if ordering his words before he continues. ‘It was hard. For everyone. I felt so helpless not being able to help you and I needed someone to talk to. Linda has always been such a good friend, but one night I made a massive, massive mistake.’ He bites his lower lip. ‘Let’s just say Linda and I, well, we got too friendly.’

At first I don’t realise what he’s implying and I look questioningly at Mum but she won’t meet my eye. And then I know. ‘You slept with Linda?’ I yank my hands away. ‘How could you? What about Mum? John? He’s your friend!’ It explains why Dad stopped golfing with John so suddenly.

‘I’m not proud of what I did. The hurt I caused. It was a moment of madness but, well… it got more complicated than that. Linda wanted more. She hadn’t been happy with John for years. I told her she and I were a silly mistake. She didn’t like that, though she had to accept it, but she wanted a clean break. No more us all being friends. She didn’t want to be around you.’

‘That’s why you and Mum were against me going back. You weren’t worried about me getting an infection from the animals at all.’

‘Darling, we were. Of course we were,’ Mum says. ‘But…’

‘And Linda. She’s always asking if I’m up to working there. Telling me she’ll understand if I leave.’

‘Of course she couldn’t just sack you. How would she have explained that to John? And she wouldn’t want to appear heartless in front of everyone. Not after your surgery. I think she’s been doing these things out of spite. Hoping you’d leave or she’d have a proper reason to dismiss you.’

‘And you let me go back to work there?’ I’m glaring at Mum now and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I can’t believe this. How did Mum stand me working for her? But I think of the way she’s tried to push me in different directions since my op, to gently persuade me to think of other things to do.

Mum expels a long juddering breath. ‘It was an extreme situation. Your Dad and Linda were a one-off. A mistake, and you’d lost so much already. Sam, the baby, your health. Your job was the one thing you were clinging on to. I couldn’t be responsible for taking that away from you too.’

‘You’ve lied to me.’ I stand as the nurse approaches and, as much as I’m dreading what’s to come, it’s a relief to follow her down the winding corridors. I don’t once look back at my parents.

* * *

I’m taken to change into a hospital gown and one of the ties at the back is missing and I hold it together as I shuffle forwards, conscious that my bottom is visible for all to see. I’m glad I’ve worn my biggest pair of pants today.

Dr Kapur is pleased to see me; he always greets me as though I’m his favourite patient and, despite knowing what’s to come, it’s good to see him too. He’s become such a huge part of my life, it’s almost like seeing an old friend. I climb onto the narrow trolley and cling on tightly as the nurse works her foot up and down on a pump. I rise higher and higher and each jerk upwards makes my muscles tense as I try not to tumble to the floor.

I fall silent and try to quell my rising panic as Dr Kapur fills the silence with tales of his twin daughters who have recently started school. The first time I had a biopsy I thought it was a joke that a piece of my heart needed to be extracted and tested and I’d nervously laughed as Dr Kapur told me this would take place under local anaesthetic, not a general, but he was deadly serious. I had lain on the cold, hard trolley staring at the bright lights shining from the stark white ceiling and tried to relax. I had believed Dr Kapur’s soothing words that I would barely feel a thing. A catheter was threaded through the veins in my neck to reach my heart, and when the grabbing device extracted a piece of living tissue the slight tug he said I would feel was a sharp yank. Tears sprang to my eyes as a piece of my heart was snatched away and I felt as though I was falling down a rabbit hole.

This time I’m having an angiogram too. I screw my eyes tightly closed and try to transport myself somewhere else as my groin area is shaved and I tense as the sharp point of the needle enters this tender area. The background sound of the radio, the soft Irish lilt of the nurse, fades away and I’m breathing deeply. Forcing my body to relax until, despite being semi-aware of what’s happening around me, I’m drifting, floating, soaring into a memory that instantly terrifies me.