It was only as she dragged herself up in the morning and sat at the table with a bowl of porridge and a coffee, still wearing a baggy nightie and without her wig, that she realised, for the first time since she’d arrived here, that she hadn’t so much as glanced at herself in the mirror this morning. Any mirror. She knew she didn’t look the way she used to, and might never do again, but there was nothing she could do about that. The constant checking of her scar and her lopsided profile and her stubbly head could do nothing to change anything. Only time and nature and specialist underwear could work that kind of a miracle. Even her paranoia about forgetting or losing things, and the dread of succumbing to some awful dementia-type illness like Tom’s poor wife, had finally begun to subside. She had lost a breast, but that was all. As Faith had said, what real use was a breast anyway, at her age? Of course she wasn’t losing her mind as well. It was all just black thoughts, too much time sitting alone and feeling sorry for herself, her mind playing cruel tricks. She had even wondered, for a while, if there was some crazed fan out there somewhere, watching her, stalking her, making her feel so uneasy about something vaguely threatening that she couldn’t even put her finger on, but that was just ridiculous. She wasn’t famous enough for any of that nonsense, and how on earth could someone on the outside be making things happen inside her flat? No, she had just got herself into a state, had not been ‘quite herself’ for a while, and understandably so, what with a nasty lump growing inside her and a cabinet full of drugs addling her brain. It was clear now that she had simply imagined it all. It was time to put it all behind her, and to start thinking positively. Slowly but surely, she was on the mend. Now all she wanted to know was whether the same could be said about Flo.

Phoning wouldn’t do. On the dot of nine, Madi walked up the lane and was the first through the doors of the surgery as Sian opened them up for the day.

‘Hello, Ms Cardew. Here about Flo? You can come through and see her if you like. Visiting hours are pretty flexible. Get well cards are fine, but I must tell you that we don’t allow flowers or grapes.’

It took Madi a moment to realise Sian was joking.

‘She’s had a good night. Ralph’s drained the abscess and started her on some antibiotics. She’s even managed a little bit of food this morning.’ Sian yawned, leading Madi through to a small room at the back of the building and to a row of wire cages, most of which were empty. Flo was right at the end, curled on a blanket, and lifted her head to look through the bars at them as soon as she heard their voices. ‘We can show you how to administer those yourself, ready for when you take her home.’