Marjorie called once a week on a Saturday morning or a Sunday afternoon for the first six weeks. She’d always bring a little something, a plant or a scented candle, flowers or perfume. She knew Grace’s brand. Marjorie was good at gifting. They’d talk about her new job. Marjorie was excited, buzzed even; she looked brighter and happier than she had since Rabbit got sick. It was nice to see. They talked about ‘Davey and the hotel’ once and it was brief, with Marjorie telling her it was nice but they were done and she was moving on.

‘Good for you, Marjorie.’

Grace and Lenny didn’t talk about sex for six weeks. It wasn’t even an option; Grace could barely enjoy a cup of tea, never mind Lenny lovin’. Then eight weeks passed and she was feeling stronger and getting back to herself. Then twelve weeks passed and she was fit – not one hundred per cent, but eighty per cent. She had no desire, really, but Lenny had been brilliant and he deserved her to take the initiative, he deserved his wife back. It was a Friday night and Stephen was out with Charlene, Bernard and Jeffrey were playing sports and Ryan was God knows where, doing God knows what, and she trusted it wasn’t illegal.

She bathed, and in her bubble bath she realised she was growing accustomed to her new breasts – nipples aside, they had a good shape and as soon as she’d removed the ports and tattooed on some nipples she was confident she’d feel almost whole again. Lenny’s expensive creams and ointments had helped reduce the angry scars. She put on her favourite sexy bra, but it didn’t fit. Oh, yeah. I was told about this. Still, for some reason it was a shock. She sat on the edge of her bed and cried for a few minutes before taking the bra off and putting it away. She didn’t have the energy to go shopping, and she was still anxious about walking into a crowd; she needed to have the safety net of space around her at all times. She also couldn’t face shopping and sex – it had to be one or the other. She put on a black silk robe and a pair of red silk knickers and she tried on the red stilettos, but they reminded her of being carried towards the operating theatre – bollocks, there goes a good pair of shoes – so she popped on a pair of black ones.