We were at a music festival the summer ‘Dry Your Eyes’ came out. It was infectious, addictive. Everyone would break into it over the weekend, especially throughout the campsite with its big fuck-off chip vans, pancake stalls, knicker-hawkers, monster beer bars, filthy dirty portaloos, spray paint and garbage, tins and cans, tents on fire. The Streets weren’t even on the line-up. But nothing really mattered then. Starting out.

‘Yeah, yeah, I remember.’ The red nail was waving back and over like a bobbing life buoy.

‘Shit … where’s my chair?’ he said, looking around quickly. ‘Whoa, you moved me out fast.’ He smiled and winked at me. A thaw. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I know we need to talk,’ rubbing my left hand, right down over my knuckles, catching and squeezing the middle joint of my pinkie between his index finger and thumb.

I was useless with kindness.

‘The kids are good, they’re great, you know, they’re fine, totally grand …’ he said, unsure, finally, not letting go of my finger. He was predicting a difficult conversation he would try to avoid. He spoke faster. ‘You didn’t miss much, the match wasn’t great, they were slow on the pitch, laboured, and actually, you missed nothing.’ He laughed, nervously, grasping at anything that might disconnect us from Magpie, and from her shitty offerings. I never went to Joshua’s matches. They were played late on Friday evenings when I drank espresso Martinis in some posh joint in town.

Ms Jo Moran landed in then to call it. Give our weekend a big lift. Push us in some direction, to deliver news. She looked blankly at the bed first and then lingered a while, staring at my knees.

Tall. Needy. Roomy. Nice tits. Pet scans. Thymus. Thyroid. Tonsils. Sentinel lymph node mapping. Hepatic capsule. Elizabeth Taylor. Perfect lips. Going. To. Run. A. Marathon. Thingy.

Metastasising.

‘But look, in all honesty you can buy yourself time, Sinéad, maybe, if you just try to consider your options. But you know, it is ultimately up to you. I don’t want to force the issue.’

I nodded. Half-hearing her.

‘I’ll leave ye for some time … think on it. Sure, look, I’ll pop back in later.’ She motioned to leave, and twisted back around the curtain. ‘They’re really lovely in oncology. I know you all got off on a bad foot. But I’ve talked to them.’

Buying. My decision. Her decision. Shhhhh now. To buy. Buying. I have bought. I will buy.

Mine. I could see Alex’s lips moving, as though saying it made him less culpable. Or even blameless. He remained quiet. Maybe he wasn’t blameless. But it was poor timing for this, to ascertain his role in our marriage. To give that thought.

I made no decision. I only waited. Please leave me. Please. It was horrid timing.

Of course I still love you.

Of course I still love you.

I will always love you.

Come here to me.

After Moran, words sounded forced, stupid almost, our world spiralled into a frantic free fall as if these results were news to me. It was somehow very different, now there was a witness.