‘I’m having the surgery,’ she said, lying in bed beside Lenny. He was reading a Tom Clancy novel and she was staring at a spider crack in the ceiling. He dropped the book and took his spectacles off. She could hear them slam on the locker and worried he’d break them – those spectacles were varifocal and cost over five hundred quid. He didn’t speak; instead he put the light out and turned away from her.

Grace broke the news to her parents over Sunday dinner. It was just the adults present. Molly had made a roast chicken and sent Lenny out for chipper chips when she realised she’d forgotten all the trimmings.

‘Me head’s up me hole,’ Molly said by way of explanation. It didn’t matter; Grace and Lenny weren’t there to eat. They were at war and looking for allies.

‘Ma, Da, I have some news.’

‘Make it good, love,’ Molly said.

‘Sorry, Ma. Can’t. I have the gene.’

‘What gene is that, love?’ Jack said.

‘The one that gave Rabbit cancer.’

Jack dropped his fork. Molly sat rigid.

‘You took the test,’ Molly said.

‘Yeah.’

‘And you have the gene.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And now she wants to cut her breasts off and pull her ovaries out,’ Lenny said, stealing her punchline.

‘I don’t want to,’ she corrected her husband.

‘But you’re going to,’ he said.

‘I have no choice,’ she screamed. She was so sick of repeating herself.

‘You have a choice, you can just keep up with the checks. Tell her, Jack. Tell her, Molly, tell her not to fucking carve herself up for no reason.’

Jack’s chair screeched as he pushed it back, stood up and walked out of the room.

‘Da,’ Grace called after him, and she was crying again, always crying, she was so fed up with crying.

‘I can’t,’ he said, and the door closed behind him. Lenny and Grace both looked to Molly for support.

‘Please, Molly,’ Lenny said. ‘Talk some sense into her.’

‘Do it. Save yourself,’ Molly said to Grace, and Grace was so relieved she sobbed into her hands. Finally. Thank you.

Molly stood up, gathered the plates and moved towards the sink. Lenny followed her.