matted into the carpet near the electric fire. Then the realization of how she was perceived in her building hit Leslie like a ton of bricks. I’m the crazy-loner cat lady, who drops dead and rots in her apartment . The irony was not lost on her as she had only recently rejoined the society she had shunned for so long.
A mere two months before this night Leslie had been sitting in a chair opposite her oncologist. He had cared for her mother and both her sisters through their cancer. He had also been testing Leslie twice a year for more than twenty years. He was smiling. “Good news,” he said. “You’re clean as a whistle.”
“Right,” Leslie said. “Fine. Thanks.” She stood up to leave.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
“Nothing. Apparently I’m clean as a whistle.”
“You sound disappointed.”
She sat. “Well, would it be odd if I said I was?”
“Very odd.”
“I’m sick of waiting,” she said. “I’m sick of waiting for this stupid tick-tocking time-bomb to go off.”
“Oh,” he said. “I see.”
“The truth is, when Imelda died I stopped living.” She hunched her shoulders. “Now I’m a woman about to turn forty with a cat for company. I thought I’d be well dead by now but yet here I am, alive and lonely.” She smiled at her doctor to assure him she wasn’t going to cry. He must have been shocked at her revelation as it was possibly the most she’d ever said to him.
“You know that you might never get cancer,” he said, “but a lot has changed in recent years. Although I’m not a huge advocate of preventive surgery I can give you some brochures.”
She looked at him. “We talked about this years ago. You were adamant it was just self-mutilation.”
“A lot has changed,” he repeated, “and, besides, I might have thought differently if I’d known how you were feeling or if you’d given even the slightest indication of the effect this worry was having on your life.”
She stared at him and asked abruptly, “Are you talking about a double mastectomy?”
“Yes. And in your case I’d recommend a full hysterectomy also, for peace of mind.”
“Wow,” she said. “Jesus. Holy crap.” She nodded. “Give me the information.”
This new prospect was daunting but even as Leslie pulled out of the hospital car park she had made up her mind. I’m going to do it .
It was around that time that Leslie also decided she’dhad enough of being lonely and tentatively she had stepped back out into the world. As she was a web designer who worked from home, she decided instead to rent an office in town. She had yet to move on this but the plan was in place. As she had no friends she decided to visit museums and art galleries so that, even if she was alone, at least she was outside and partaking in life.
It would be a slow road back but, thanks to that night stuck in a lift, not as slow as she had first envisaged. Elle had become a fixture in her world over the past two months and to a lesser extent Tom and Jane. She had created a website for Alexandra and was in contact with Tom, giving him updates, and Jane filled her in on how the exhibition idea was coming along so that she could blog about it. But Elle wanted more than her help. Elle wanted her friendship and, although it was unnatural to Leslie to be a friend to a woman so much younger, she had become fond of her. So, the fact that she had so recently ventured back into the world and actually made friends meant that the comments from her annoying neighbour served to really bug her. “I’m not a loner, Deborah!” she shouted at the wall. “I have friends. I go out. I have a life.”
Someone coughed. It was the caretaker. “Sorry to disturb you,” he said.
“It’s fine,” she said. “I was just talking to the wall.”
“I’m here to fix the door,” he said.
“Okay,” she said. “Please forgive the smell. I’m about to clean.”
“Will do,” he said, and got to work.
Much later, after the
A mere two months before this night Leslie had been sitting in a chair opposite her oncologist. He had cared for her mother and both her sisters through their cancer. He had also been testing Leslie twice a year for more than twenty years. He was smiling. “Good news,” he said. “You’re clean as a whistle.”
“Right,” Leslie said. “Fine. Thanks.” She stood up to leave.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
“Nothing. Apparently I’m clean as a whistle.”
“You sound disappointed.”
She sat. “Well, would it be odd if I said I was?”
“Very odd.”
“I’m sick of waiting,” she said. “I’m sick of waiting for this stupid tick-tocking time-bomb to go off.”
“Oh,” he said. “I see.”
“The truth is, when Imelda died I stopped living.” She hunched her shoulders. “Now I’m a woman about to turn forty with a cat for company. I thought I’d be well dead by now but yet here I am, alive and lonely.” She smiled at her doctor to assure him she wasn’t going to cry. He must have been shocked at her revelation as it was possibly the most she’d ever said to him.
“You know that you might never get cancer,” he said, “but a lot has changed in recent years. Although I’m not a huge advocate of preventive surgery I can give you some brochures.”
She looked at him. “We talked about this years ago. You were adamant it was just self-mutilation.”
“A lot has changed,” he repeated, “and, besides, I might have thought differently if I’d known how you were feeling or if you’d given even the slightest indication of the effect this worry was having on your life.”
She stared at him and asked abruptly, “Are you talking about a double mastectomy?”
“Yes. And in your case I’d recommend a full hysterectomy also, for peace of mind.”
“Wow,” she said. “Jesus. Holy crap.” She nodded. “Give me the information.”
This new prospect was daunting but even as Leslie pulled out of the hospital car park she had made up her mind. I’m going to do it .
It was around that time that Leslie also decided she’dhad enough of being lonely and tentatively she had stepped back out into the world. As she was a web designer who worked from home, she decided instead to rent an office in town. She had yet to move on this but the plan was in place. As she had no friends she decided to visit museums and art galleries so that, even if she was alone, at least she was outside and partaking in life.
It would be a slow road back but, thanks to that night stuck in a lift, not as slow as she had first envisaged. Elle had become a fixture in her world over the past two months and to a lesser extent Tom and Jane. She had created a website for Alexandra and was in contact with Tom, giving him updates, and Jane filled her in on how the exhibition idea was coming along so that she could blog about it. But Elle wanted more than her help. Elle wanted her friendship and, although it was unnatural to Leslie to be a friend to a woman so much younger, she had become fond of her. So, the fact that she had so recently ventured back into the world and actually made friends meant that the comments from her annoying neighbour served to really bug her. “I’m not a loner, Deborah!” she shouted at the wall. “I have friends. I go out. I have a life.”
Someone coughed. It was the caretaker. “Sorry to disturb you,” he said.
“It’s fine,” she said. “I was just talking to the wall.”
“I’m here to fix the door,” he said.
“Okay,” she said. “Please forgive the smell. I’m about to clean.”
“Will do,” he said, and got to work.
Much later, after the
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