The beeping of the alarm clock was totally unnecessary: she had barely slept all night. She'd lain for ten hours, drifting from fitful sleep to even more fitful wakefulness, regretting her decision to go back to work, regretting how she had spoken to him, regretting… everything.

She stumbled out of bed, not even bothering to flinch as her feet touched the cold wooden floor. Truth be told, she barely even noticed it. The icy floor was nothing like the block of ice that seemed to have settled inside her.

Not bothering with breakfast, she allowed herself longer than usual for getting dressed. If she looked good enough, then maybe no one would notice how she was feeling. Society is superficial; as long as you look passable, then you're bound to be fine. That was what she was counting on as she applied her make-up with a shaking hand, as she carefully selected clothes, as she combed and straightened her hair, taking as much care as she could with it.

She turned away from the mirror after longer than normal, and was comfortably conscious that she looked… fine. Her make-up was heavier than usual, but at least that way she could avoid comments such as "You look like you haven't slept in a week!" Which was true. But she still didn't want to hear it.

Managing to quell the slight feeling of nausea and dizziness that came with not having eaten, she left for work in a daze. A daze of confusion, each part of her giving her contradicting views on going into work.

You should've stayed at home.

You'd have to face them sooner or later, it's better that it's sooner.

Later would've given you more time to prepare.

Get it over with.

Turn around now.

She turned on the radio… anything so that she wouldn't have to think, to think these endless conflicting thoughts that she couldn't drown out, no matter how hard she tried. Maybe being around people, real people, not just the voices in the radio or the cheery presenters of daytime television, maybe that would help. She hoped so, oh God she hoped so.

And, the moment she arrived at work, it seemed like that might be the case. She first thing she heard was Ric's voice shouting. "Diane, we need you over here!"

"What?" she asked, spinning around to see what was going on.

He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side. "I'm sorry to drop you in at the deep end the moment you came back…" And was it her imagination or did he still seem concerned? Was the expression in his eyes more than just the frantic need of the consultant to find someone, anyone, to delegate to? Was he searching her face, looking for signs that everything was not alright? Was he finding them?

"No, no, it's okay," she insisted, smiling falsely. "What is it?"

"Are you okay to take control of this one?" he asked her, pulling her nearer to the wall as a trolley was wheeled down the corridor.

"Sure, just fill me in…" She hoped that he hadn't noticed how she had stiffened at the beginning of the sentence… "Are you okay…?" She hadn't wanted to go into depth on how she was, and she was glad that – so far – he hadn't pushed the issue.

"Fifty-year-old woman, brought in after an RTA…" She pushed her own concerns to the back of her mind and let Ric's voice fill her mind, let herself be captured by what he was telling her. Her job, and she loved it.

Just before he walked away, he took hold of her arm gently. "Are you alright?" he asked her, concern showing in his eyes.

She shook him off. "I'm fine, Ric."

"Sure?"

"Amazingly." She smiled falsely, knowing in her heart that he wasn't convinced. She never wore as much make-up as she was doing that day, and however unobservant he was, there was no way that he could bypass the fact that she was dressed with a lot more care than normal. But it was all for a reason, she told herself, and she'd tell him when she told him. That would be soon enough.

"Diane," Zubin greeted her, smiling as he walked past. "Where have you been this past week?"

"At home," she replied, hoping he wouldn't ask any more questions.

"Skiving?" he teased, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" She bit her lip and sighed as she realised that she'd snapped, yet again. "Sorry Zube, it's complicated. I'll explain – to both of you," she added, for Ric's benefit, "another time. I promise."

Zubin looked at her curiously. "Are you okay?"

"Really, I'm fine." She smiled brightly. "So… this patient, theatre, let's go."

But as she was scrubbing up for theatre, she began to get a feeling that she wasn't fine. To block the feeling from her mind, she chattered incessantly, asking Zubin about his week, about Sahar, about other people at the hospital… anything and everything. She didn't want to know really, but she wanted to block the dizziness from her mind, to dispel the ringing in her ears.

"So why can't Ric do this one, then?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard above the blood pounding around her body.

"No need to shout," he told her, smiling slightly as he washed his hands. "He's got a full list today, and you're more than capable…"

She smiled in spite of herself – she never objected to praise, especially not about her surgical skills. Zubin continued talking about Ric's full list, but she could barely hear him… his words were just that: words, noise, indistinct. She clutched onto the table to keep herself steady, taking deep breaths as she tried to calm herself.

"Zube…" she managed to say, as she felt herself reeling. She couldn't hear herself above the ringing in her ears, but it was loud enough for him to hear. He turned to look at her, and was next to her immediately, his arm around her to keep her from falling.

"Okay…" he told her, soothingly, as he led her to a chair and made her tilt her head downwards. "Deep breaths, Diane. Are you alright?"

The world – her feet – slowly began to come back into focus, and she nodded. "I don't know what just happened there," she replied weakly, as she lifted her head up and gave a slight laugh.

"I don't think you need me to tell you that you nearly passed out," he joked, as he stood up. "When was the last time you ate?"

"I…" She paused, needing to think hard about that question. "I've not been hungry," she told him feebly.

"Hungry or not, I think you need something to eat." He helped her up, before reaching in his pocket and handing her a few pound coins. "Go and get yourself something to eat – I'll page Richard Smedley if I have to."

"Zube, I'm okay, I can do this…" she insisted, trying to give the money back to him. "And I have money of my own, y'know. I'm not Ric," she added with a slight smile.

"Maybe you can do this, but I'm not going to let you – and I mean that as a friend, not as a consultant," he added, smiling. "You've been away for a week and you're obviously not completely well yet, so take it easy – get something to eat, and come back when you're feeling better. We can manage without you."

She smiled. "Thank you, Zubin." She allowed him to open the door for her and practically push her through. The moment she'd walked through the door, she leant against the wall, and closed her eyes.

Don't be so stupid, Diane. Pull yourself together.