There were five letters in the post that morning. A brown envelope addressed to us both, detailing what we had left to pay on the mortgage. A bank statement for each of us. A begging letter from the NSPCC. And the one marked private and confidential for his eyes only. It was postmarked London. I didn't ask what it was, as he left the house, shoving it into his briefcase. Maybe I should have done.

All day long, the letter haunted me. What could it be? He didn't know anyone in London, he never had. Maybe it was yet another bank account he'd forgotten about which would pay off the mortgage once and for all. That would be nice. But even he couldn't be that forgetful. A job offer? Not in London again. Not after the last time. My mind wouldn't leave the subject alone, as it worked overtime trying to think what it could be.

Finally, he appeared on the department. He hadn't been down here for nearly two years. In some ways, it was strange to see him again, in these familiar surroundings. His hair had the beginnings of some grey around the sides. He was the same but different. Maybe it was me that was different. The last time he'd been on this ward, I'd been Lara Stone. I'd been another person.

"What's wrong?" I asked, noticing the slump in his shoulders and the tight line of his mouth. "Has something happened?"

He shook his head. Brushing me aside. "I need to speak to Charlie. Is he around?"

I nodded and pointed towards his office. "Patrick." My voice faltered. Was this connected with the letter? Why did he need to speak to Charlie? Why not me?

He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. There was a flicker of irritation in his eyes, imperceptible to anyone but me. I'd done the wrong thing. He knew what I wanted to ask. I was doing what we'd said we'd never do. Prying into his business.

"Nothing," I ended weakly. "I've got work to do." I turned away from him, hoping that he hadn't heard the catch in my throat. Of course he had; it was hard to miss. It wasn't like he hadn't heard it before.

Dillon had noticed the interchange. As I headed towards the nurses' station, carrying a patients file, I could feel him following me.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, as he stood behind me.

I nodded. "Yeah, fine." Keeping my back to him, shutting him out.

"Only I couldn't help over-hearing…"

"It's fine, Dillon." I spoke over sharply. My shoulders lost their tension as I turned to face him. "It's all fine."

He hesitated, studying my face carefully, before nodding. "Cool. I better get on with some work." He walked away. My best friend, the one who'd helped me through the worst time of my life. The one I couldn't talk to anymore.

I'd said I was. I must have been, it wasn't an option for me not to be fine. I was always fine. I'd always been fine. Who was to know if I didn't tell them? It was all fine. I told myself that repeatedly, as I went about my work. And yet every inch of my body was on edge, waiting for Patrick to come back. If he ever would. Somehow, I knew when he walked back onto the ward, even though I was on the other side of a curtain. Something in the air changed, and I knew he was there.

"If you can excuse me for a minute," I apologised to the patient I was dealing with. I was wasting time there anyway; it was a broken arm, nothing more complicated than that. It shouldn't have taken twenty minutes of examining the arm repeatedly, looking at X-rays, suggesting further tests be done. I should have moved on.

Everyone was gathering, at Charlie's request. All the nurses, all the doctors. Even the paramedics had been found. Bex had wandered in from the front desk. It made me wonder who was on the front desk now. Maybe no one. The whole department had stopped for a moment to listen to the speech Charlie was now making.

"Sorry to disturb you all," he began. "I've got an announcement to make. I'm not sure how many of you this will concern, my memory's not what it was… Anyway, it's not good news, I'm afraid. Holly Miles, I'm sure some of you remember her… well…" He was struggling. I looked round. The name had rung a bell with some people. Josh. Fin. Some people, not many. "Well… the thing is…" Charlie never struggled for words. Never. He was the invincible man. "The thing is, she died a few weeks ago." It had cost him a lot to say that. He looked physically exhausted.

"What?" Josh spoke, frowning. "Holly? But… how?"

"That's all I know at the moment," Charlie continued. All he knew. How did he know at all? My eyes met Patrick's and then I knew. The letter. There was something to do with her in that letter. But why? Who was she? I'd never even heard her spoken about before.

I followed Patrick back out of the department as everyone began dispersing again. He didn't know I was behind him. He was about to step into the lift.

"Patrick." He turned slowly as I spoke, holding the lift for me. I slipped in next to him, knowing I shouldn't really be leaving the ward. "The letter?"

He nodded. "Yeah, it was from Holly's solicitors. They want me to go and sort some stuff out."

"You?" Why? Who was Holly to Patrick? Just some ex-colleague who had left before I'd arrived. Three years ago or more. Barely anyone remembered her here. Why was Patrick being asked to deal with her stuff now she was dead?

He didn't reply to my question, just nodded.

"Who was she?" I asked.

"Just a colleague," Patrick shrugged as the lift pinged and stopped. He got out. I followed. "She was the SHO before you arrived." He never stopped walking. I wanted to make him stop. Something was wrong, something felt strange. It felt like the world was starting to shift around me, like everything else was moving and I was just staying the same. I felt like something was happening with every second that ticked past that would change things for ever. I'd had that feeling before; I hated it. I needed to hold on to something, anything, but he wouldn't stand still long enough for me to get my bearings. Maybe he was doing it deliberately.

"Was she good?" Why couldn't I drop it? I didn't want to talk about it, I knew there was something wrong. But my mind wouldn't leave it alone. I had a name to go with the letter now: Holly Miles. It didn't make it feel any better.

Patrick looked at me for the first time, a cursory glance. Quizzical, almost surprised. I wondered what he had expected me to ask. He nodded eventually, and he sighed almost imperceptibly. "She was very good."

We'd reached his office. Part of me was still so proud of that room; his name on the front "Mr Patrick Spiller. Consultant". Half-instinctively, I ran my fingers over the cool engraved metal plate as I went in and let the door swing shut behind me.

Patrick shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed heavily with his back to me. He was looking out over the department. His department. I wished I could go over and put my arms around him, be a part of his thoughts. But it had been a long time since I'd felt that close to him.

Finally, I awkwardly managed to say, "So why are you going to see her solicitors?"

There seemed to be no response. There wasn't even the slightest twitch in his shoulders. I thought he hadn't heard and I was about to speak again. Then he replied.

"I'm the major beneficiary in her will," he said bluntly. The world shifted ninety-degrees, as I tried to digest that information. The major beneficiary in her will. That was usually family or partners… But he was married to me.

"What about her family?" I asked carelessly.

"I don't know," Patrick admitted, sounding confused. "I guess… I don't know, maybe her parents are dead or something…"

I managed a tiny laugh. "Well, funny of her to pick you, even so. An old colleague she hadn't spoken to in years."

He finally turned to look at me. And I knew. His eyes glistened with the beginnings of tears and his face was drawn. She wasn't just some colleague. She'd been more than that.