A Year at the French Farmhouse(50)

‘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.

‘I just wanted to get it over with,’ she’d explained. ‘Didn’t want him going through all the stress if there was nothing to get stressed about.’

‘So you took it all on yourself.’

‘Yes.’

‘Which, as it turns out, wasn’t the best idea.’

‘No.’ Emily had told her how she’d argued with Chris the night before she’d flown to France. ‘He knew something was wrong,’ Emily had said, ‘but by that time it seemed almost worse to admit that I’d kept it all from him. So I came here to get my mind off things.’

‘But you couldn’t…?’

‘Turns out, my mind is pretty focused when it comes to people snipping samples off my body for analysis and then taking an inordinate amount of time to produce the results.’

‘Well, yes, I can imagine. And drinking the stress away didn’t exactly work out.’

‘Not really.’

‘Oh, Emily, you’re such an idiot.’ Lily had said, leaning forward and gathering her still alcohol-breathed friend into her arms. ‘You should have told me sooner.’

‘I know.’

Lily had pulled free of the hug and had taken her friend firmly by her upper arms, looking into her eyes. ‘Well look. You’ve told me now. And whatever comes next, I’m here.’

‘Thank you,’ Emily had said. ‘Sorry. I thought I was stronger than this.’

‘It’s not about being strong, Em. You’re the strongest woman I know…’

‘Coming from you, that’s an enormous compliment.’