But, after having spent a few days feeling a little out of her depth, the idea of meeting others in a similar position appealed too. The more she tried to speak French, the more she realised how far she actually was from being ‘fluent’. She’d get there, sure, but it would take months. In the meantime, she had to admit that it would be good to have people she could chat with without worrying about the sex of her verbs.
Feeling slightly more at one with the world, she lay back again in her shady spot and began to replay her conversation with Emily.
17
The breakfast room at La Petite Maison had a pleasing smell of coffee mixed with the faint aroma of pastries. As she sat at a small oak table in the cool, silent room, Lily lost herself in her drawing. Acquiring the house, despite its faults and rodent infestation, had inspired a long-dormant desire in her – to take something and truly make it her own. She smiled as she began to sketch the perfect window dressing for the front room, then sat back to…
‘What’s all that?’ asked Emily behind her, making her pencil skitter across the page.
‘Bloody hell, Em!’ Lily said, reaching for her eraser.
‘Sorry.’ Emily sat down beside her. ‘Just wondered what you’re up to?’
‘Sketching,’ Lily said, pushing the pad towards her. ‘Just a few ideas – you know – for the house.’
‘You’re really good, you know?’ Em said, flicking through the pad, her brow furrowed. ‘You should be a designer or something.’
‘Ha ha. Well, it makes a change from designing logos for solicitors’ firms and hairdressers’ websites.’
‘I’ll say,’ said Em, turning a page and screwing up her eyes. ‘This is the kitchen, right?’
‘What gave it away? The sink? The fridge? The island of cupboards in the middle?’
‘Sorry. I mean, I know it’s the kitchen. Obviously. What I meant to say was – wow. I love it.’
‘You do?’ said Lily, self-consciously taking the pad back and looking at her own design with new eyes.
‘Have I ever held back when I haven’t liked something?’ Emily said, arching a slightly dishevelled eyebrow.
‘Very true.’
Lily reached her hand out and touched Emily’s arm lightly. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Better. Bit hungover. But it’s sort of wearing off.’
‘Good. Although, I meant about the other thing.’
Emily shrugged. ‘C’est la vie,’ she said. ‘What will be, will be, I suppose.’
‘Isn’t that Que sera sera?’
‘Depends what country you’re in. Anyway, you have to agree with me, remember? I’m the one in the midst of a health scare.’
‘Oh, Em.’
‘I’m not joking. It’s one of the few perks of being potentially very ill. People have to be nice to you. It’s the law.’
‘Shh, let’s talk about something else.’
When Emily had told her that she’d hopped on the plane after having an outpatient biopsy at a private clinic, Lily had been horrified. ‘Shouldn’t you have been resting?’ she’d said.
‘Well, maybe a bit,’ Emily had admitted. ‘But then I thought – how exactly does one rest one’s cervix? And I thought I’d be better off, well, keeping my mind off the results.’
‘Which you’ll get…’
‘Which should have arrived yesterday, only they didn’t.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yep.’
Like most women, Lily had been going to smear tests for years – complaining about the discomfort, both emotional and physical, of having someone peer at her nether regions, open up an enormous speculum for a better view, then scrape off cells to send to some unfortunate scientist in the post.
She and Emily had shared anecdotes with each other over the years – the time Lily had lost her knickers when the doctor had inadvertently kicked them under the radiator, the time when Emily had coughed, only to see the speculum fly out of position. They’d laugh, and dread them, but neither had ever missed one.
But, Lily realised, for all their talk of vaginas and speculums and knickers and examination tables, they’d never spoken about what might happen if a test result came up positive. She realised she’d had absolutely no idea what might happen next.
Now she knew. Emily had had a call from her GP, who’d told her there had been some abnormal cells, and booked her in for a biopsy as an outpatient procedure. Only she hadn’t been able to wait the three weeks for that appointment so had paid privately, without telling Chris.