by a middle-aged woman carrying a polka dot umbrella – through the window Abby sees it’s started to rain.
I’ve got an umbrella a bit like that somewhere, thinks Abby. Though Lord knows where it is – I never have time to bother with using one these days.
‘So this is where you’ll be for group,’ says the man with the goatee beard. ‘If you’d like to take a seat, Johnnie is running it today, and he should be up in about
ten minutes.’ He turns to go.
The woman puts her damp brolly on the floor and tentatively arranges herself on the sofa next to Abby. She has long, wavy chestnut hair; it’s fantastically thick, like a curtain.
She probably doesn’t want to get her hair all wet, thinks Abby. In case it goes frizzy. I used to be like that about mine . . . How I miss my long hair. I want it back.
* * *
Karen has no idea what she expected the inside of Moreland’s Place to be like, but it wasn’t this. The lounge is more homely than she’d anticipated, and
everything is on a generous scale, with sofas lining three of its four walls, armchairs angled out from the corners of the room and a giant flat-screened television. On the windowsill is a huge
vase of fresh flowers and on a coffee table in the centre of the room is a box of man-size tissues and a bowl piled with fruit. The shelf beneath houses the latest editions of glossy monthlies and
a copy of today’s
Times
.
She checks round to see who else is in the room – presumably they will be in the session too. Directly opposite is a guy with salt-and-pepper hair, concentrating on filling in a form. He
glances up as Karen sits down, and she thinks she might recognize him from somewhere, but can’t place him. He’s good-looking, but appears agitated, and instinctively she feels wary.
On the adjacent sofa is a blonde woman; Karen guesses she’s somewhere between five and ten years younger than she is. She is pale and slender, with the toned limbs of someone used to
exercise, hair cut into a short shaggy bob and not a scrap of make-up. She looks washed-out and drawn, but Karen can tell that she’s pretty. Next to her is a nurse called Sangeeta, Karen
gathers from her name badge.
She looks at the clock – only five minutes to go. This is all so unnerving – she’s never done anything like this before. She remembers Molly on her first day at school; how
proud she was, how excited. My little girl is braver than I am, she thinks.
An elderly Asian woman hobbles into the room with the aid of a walking stick. She has a cloud of white hair, and as she hitches up her turquoise sari to edge carefully into an armchair, Karen
sees that one ankle is very swollen and feels her discomfort. Next is a young woman with glossy lips, eyelashes thick with mascara, tawny hair twirled into spirals, big breasts and a washboard-flat
stomach. She’s so glamorous Karen is immediately conscious of her own misshapen sweater and unwashed hair. I thought we’d all be here for similar reasons – how, Karen wonders, is
she capable of looking that well turned out? Maybe she’s been here for a while, and the treatment really works . . . For a moment Karen feels hopeful, then the sadness that’s been
weighing on her for weeks consumes her again and she has to gulp back tears. I can’t imagine ever feeling better, she thinks. What have I got to feel better
for
? I suppose
there’s Molly and Luke, but I’m tired, so bone-tired.
She reaches for a handkerchief, and as she blows her nose she realizes the glamorous woman is looking at her and smiling. Karen blushes at being caught on the verge of weeping, but is relieved
to have had some friendly contact. She smiles back as best she can.
Is she a film star? There must be famous people in here, thinks Karen, Moreland’s is renowned for it.
‘I’m Lillie.’ The young woman stretches out her hand. Her nails are beautifully manicured.
‘Karen,’ says Karen.
Then she notices Lillie’s fingers are shaking, and
I’ve got an umbrella a bit like that somewhere, thinks Abby. Though Lord knows where it is – I never have time to bother with using one these days.
‘So this is where you’ll be for group,’ says the man with the goatee beard. ‘If you’d like to take a seat, Johnnie is running it today, and he should be up in about
ten minutes.’ He turns to go.
The woman puts her damp brolly on the floor and tentatively arranges herself on the sofa next to Abby. She has long, wavy chestnut hair; it’s fantastically thick, like a curtain.
She probably doesn’t want to get her hair all wet, thinks Abby. In case it goes frizzy. I used to be like that about mine . . . How I miss my long hair. I want it back.
* * *
Karen has no idea what she expected the inside of Moreland’s Place to be like, but it wasn’t this. The lounge is more homely than she’d anticipated, and
everything is on a generous scale, with sofas lining three of its four walls, armchairs angled out from the corners of the room and a giant flat-screened television. On the windowsill is a huge
vase of fresh flowers and on a coffee table in the centre of the room is a box of man-size tissues and a bowl piled with fruit. The shelf beneath houses the latest editions of glossy monthlies and
a copy of today’s
Times
.
She checks round to see who else is in the room – presumably they will be in the session too. Directly opposite is a guy with salt-and-pepper hair, concentrating on filling in a form. He
glances up as Karen sits down, and she thinks she might recognize him from somewhere, but can’t place him. He’s good-looking, but appears agitated, and instinctively she feels wary.
On the adjacent sofa is a blonde woman; Karen guesses she’s somewhere between five and ten years younger than she is. She is pale and slender, with the toned limbs of someone used to
exercise, hair cut into a short shaggy bob and not a scrap of make-up. She looks washed-out and drawn, but Karen can tell that she’s pretty. Next to her is a nurse called Sangeeta, Karen
gathers from her name badge.
She looks at the clock – only five minutes to go. This is all so unnerving – she’s never done anything like this before. She remembers Molly on her first day at school; how
proud she was, how excited. My little girl is braver than I am, she thinks.
An elderly Asian woman hobbles into the room with the aid of a walking stick. She has a cloud of white hair, and as she hitches up her turquoise sari to edge carefully into an armchair, Karen
sees that one ankle is very swollen and feels her discomfort. Next is a young woman with glossy lips, eyelashes thick with mascara, tawny hair twirled into spirals, big breasts and a washboard-flat
stomach. She’s so glamorous Karen is immediately conscious of her own misshapen sweater and unwashed hair. I thought we’d all be here for similar reasons – how, Karen wonders, is
she capable of looking that well turned out? Maybe she’s been here for a while, and the treatment really works . . . For a moment Karen feels hopeful, then the sadness that’s been
weighing on her for weeks consumes her again and she has to gulp back tears. I can’t imagine ever feeling better, she thinks. What have I got to feel better
for
? I suppose
there’s Molly and Luke, but I’m tired, so bone-tired.
She reaches for a handkerchief, and as she blows her nose she realizes the glamorous woman is looking at her and smiling. Karen blushes at being caught on the verge of weeping, but is relieved
to have had some friendly contact. She smiles back as best she can.
Is she a film star? There must be famous people in here, thinks Karen, Moreland’s is renowned for it.
‘I’m Lillie.’ The young woman stretches out her hand. Her nails are beautifully manicured.
‘Karen,’ says Karen.
Then she notices Lillie’s fingers are shaking, and
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