She had told nobody of the seriousness of her illness, just blamed a bad bout of flu, withdrew from the play she had been rehearsing in favour of an understudy, and slipped out of the loop for a while. The last thing she needed was pity. Best that nobody knew. Not even George. Especially George.

While she was here, just as if she was acting a part, she did not have to reveal anything of her real life or her true self if she chose not to. In Norfolk she could be anyone she wanted to be. In this little corner of the world, she could be whole again. No cancer, no scars, everything still in its place. That, more than anything, was what she needed right now. That anonymity, that normality, the chance to re-adjust to her new self, before going back to face whatever life decided to throw at her next.

One thing she could not do, try as she might, was lie to herself. As soon as she took off her dressing gown and opened the wardrobe to select an outfit for the day, the full-length mirror reminded her of that. It still came as a shock, seeing her newly altered body, so unfamiliar, so lopsided, her scars still raw and so difficult to look at. The easiest thing, the safest thing, was simply not to look at all, to select something to wear, something loose and all-concealing, cover herself up and shut the door on the mirror as quickly as possible, but she couldn’t do it. Every mirror she approached seemed to compel her to look into it, as if it was forcing her to confront the truth.

The cat was rubbing around her legs now, almost tripping her as she stepped into her trousers. She bent down and picked her up, holding the thin little body close and listening to her purr. ‘It doesn’t bother you, does it, sweetie? What I look like, whether I have one breast or two, as long as I give you cuddles and fill your bowl.’

People were a different matter though. In a business like hers, appearance was everything. It was a world of costumes and camouflage, make-up and make-believe, where its players came on stage for a while, fooled the audience into believing just about anything and then left again through different doors, a world where nobody was entirely who they seemed. Perhaps that was the best way to live, given a choice. Just pretending all the time. Avoiding real life altogether, because real life, as George would no doubt say, sucked.

She wondered, briefly, where George might be at this moment, what he was doing and who he was with. It had been almost five months since she had last seen him, at the small party she had held for her birthday, backstage in her dressing room straight after coming off stage. She hadn’t known about her cancer then. The lump lurking in her left breast had not yet made itself known, and life was still busy, hectic, normal. George had wanted to take her out for dinner, said there was something he wanted to talk to her about, but she had already made the arrangements. Assorted bottles of booze and a cocktail shaker were lined up beneath her mirror, the lights positioned around it sparkling off the glass, and the cast were elated after a successful opening night. George had hovered in the corner, out of place, and had left early. As far as he was concerned, he told her afterwards, it was yet another snub, proof that she preferred the company of her fellow actors and had never put him first. Oh, how wrong he was. If only she had taken the time to notice his distress and give him the love and attention he needed, but she had been caught up in the buzz all around her and it had never occurred to her that there might not be a chance the next day to put things right.