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 had known how you were feeling or if you’d given even the slightest indication of the effect this worry was having on your life.”
“How could it not?” 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 had also decided she’d had enough of being lonely, and she had tentatively stepped back out into the world. As she was a Web designer who worked from home, she decided instead to rent an office in a building 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 would be 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 envisioned. 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 with 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 half her age, she had become fond of Elle early on.
So the fact that she had so recently ventured back into the world and actually made friends meant that the comments from her annoying neighbor really bugged 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.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Please forgive the smell. I’m about to clean.”
“Will do,” he said, and he got to work.
Much later and after a new door had been hastily fitted by the caretaker, Leslie poured a glass of wine, picked up her phone, and dialed a number she hadn’t dialed in over ten years.
“Hello?”
“Jim?”
“This is Jim.”
“Hi, it’s Leslie Sheehan.”
“Leslie. Jesus. I can’t believe it’s you!”
“I know. It’s odd. I hope I’m not intruding.”
“No, I’m just sitting in.”
“Me too.”
“Happy New Year, by the way!”
“Happy New Year.”
“So what made you call after all this time?” he asked.
“I don’t know …well, it sounds stupid.”
“You’re sick?”
“No, no, not sick,” she said. “I’m thinking about having preventative surgery, actually.”
“I think you should,” he said without missing a beat.
“Wow.”
“If Imelda had had that choice I know she would have done it.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Are you scared?”
“No.”
“Have you got anyone in your life?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to be there for you?”
Leslie couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t spoken to Jim in so many years and before that she had usually been rude or standoffish.
“That is really kind of you,” she said, “but no.”
“So why have you called?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice,” she said, and she laughed a little. “People are mad, aren’t they?”
Jim laughed. “Yes, Leslie, people are mad.”
After that she asked him how he was and what he was doing and if he’d ever remarried. He was fine, doing well, and no, he hadn’t. He’d been seeing a Russian woman for a year, but she’d returned
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 had known how you were feeling or if you’d given even the slightest indication of the effect this worry was having on your life.”
“How could it not?” 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 had also decided she’d had enough of being lonely, and she had tentatively stepped back out into the world. As she was a Web designer who worked from home, she decided instead to rent an office in a building 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 would be 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 envisioned. 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 with 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 half her age, she had become fond of Elle early on.
So the fact that she had so recently ventured back into the world and actually made friends meant that the comments from her annoying neighbor really bugged 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.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “Please forgive the smell. I’m about to clean.”
“Will do,” he said, and he got to work.
Much later and after a new door had been hastily fitted by the caretaker, Leslie poured a glass of wine, picked up her phone, and dialed a number she hadn’t dialed in over ten years.
“Hello?”
“Jim?”
“This is Jim.”
“Hi, it’s Leslie Sheehan.”
“Leslie. Jesus. I can’t believe it’s you!”
“I know. It’s odd. I hope I’m not intruding.”
“No, I’m just sitting in.”
“Me too.”
“Happy New Year, by the way!”
“Happy New Year.”
“So what made you call after all this time?” he asked.
“I don’t know …well, it sounds stupid.”
“You’re sick?”
“No, no, not sick,” she said. “I’m thinking about having preventative surgery, actually.”
“I think you should,” he said without missing a beat.
“Wow.”
“If Imelda had had that choice I know she would have done it.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Are you scared?”
“No.”
“Have you got anyone in your life?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to be there for you?”
Leslie couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t spoken to Jim in so many years and before that she had usually been rude or standoffish.
“That is really kind of you,” she said, “but no.”
“So why have you called?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice,” she said, and she laughed a little. “People are mad, aren’t they?”
Jim laughed. “Yes, Leslie, people are mad.”
After that she asked him how he was and what he was doing and if he’d ever remarried. He was fine, doing well, and no, he hadn’t. He’d been seeing a Russian woman for a year, but she’d returned
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