The MRI was Grace’s first opportunity to confront her paralysing fear of needles. It was also a test of her strength and endurance. It did not go well. It took every ounce of mental and physical strength to get into the room. Lenny was there; he’d have carried her in on his back if he had to. She cried silently, she shook and her face was so pale that it became necessary to place her head between her legs for five minutes. I’m being a baby. For God’s sake, Grace, buck up. Rabbit did this on lunch breaks. She finally held out her arm; she was looking away and crying more loudly and her nose was running and her legs felt so heavy that she worried the pressure would pop her knees right off. Tick-tock. It’s your decision. Tick-tock . . . It became obvious in an instant that her veins were deep, narrow, fragile things. They were hard to reach, they couldn’t withstand too much pressure and they collapsed easily. When the dye was finally inserted and she was lying on her front, still and crying, in a space age tunnel, she knew she couldn’t do this twice or three times a year. It was just too much.

‘That wasn’t so bad,’ Lenny had said afterwards when they were at lunch and she was just using a fork because the swelling from the damaged vein in her arm made it difficult to bend her elbow to use a knife.

He made little of her trauma. ‘It was just an X-ray, Grace. If that’s the drama we can look forward to for a simple MRI, can you imagine surgery?’

She could imagine surgery. It infected her every waking thought. It awakened her worst fears, gave them life and power over her. It was a nightmare. Tick-tock. It’s your decision. Tick-tock . . .

It didn’t feel like a decision; it felt like a burden. Lenny refused to engage. ‘You don’t have cancer.’

She asked to be put on the waiting list for surgery straight away because the list was long and it gave her time to think. She could always pull out. Better to be safe than sorry, but deep down inside and buried under layers of questions and fear she always knew what she was going to do. It took four months of tests, counselling, mammograms, an MRI and one Skype call with her niece before she finally made her decision.

‘Please, please don’t die, Grace.’

And that was it.