I saw my surprised sisters turn instinctively towards our mother.

‘And forget what Mum thinks. Mum always has to have the last word. But this time I’m having it – engraved on my epitaph.

‘So, there’s not much else to say, except to thank you once again for coming to celebrate this special night with me. Quite a birthday present, right? Hooray. Happy Birthday! You’re fifty . . . now die!’

2

The registered letter was lying on the doormat when I woke the next morning. It was from my doctor.

Dear Ms Ruby Ryan,

Please ignore the letter you were sent in error yesterday. It was addressed to the wrong patient. You do not have cancer and are perfectly healthy, to the best of our knowledge. We are terribly sorry for the mix-up and hope that this unfortunate clerical error didn’t cause you undue distress. The staff member responsible has been disciplined.

Yours sincerely,

Dr Zahra Hanbury

Golden Sands Medical Practice

I flumped onto the hall floor. Oh, fudge. Oh, fuckity, fuckity, fuckity fudge.

3

Scrunching up the letter, I realised that my world had humpty-dumptied, never to be put back together again. By the time I’d thrown up and taken a cold shower, my hangover had left my temples and was now throbbing behind my right eye like a displaced heart. I had absolutely no idea how to cope. I’d always been known as the soft, self-deprecating, easygoing, knockabout Ryan sister. This was like going from a beginner’s slope straight to a black diamond ski run with no instruction. When I’d opened the doctor’s letter saying I had terminal cancer, a steel vice had wrapped itself around my chest. But today’s letter explaining the misdiagnosis had squeezed the vice so tight, it left me gasping to the point of asphyxiation.

There was no going back. I hadn’t just burnt all my bridges, I’d nuked them to oblivion. Sprawled on the cold bathroom tiles with my head above the toilet bowl, waves of regret washed over me as I remembered the hurtful things I’d said to my friends and family the night before. It all came crashing back – a kaleidoscope of horror. I couldn’t recall how I got home, but I could remember throwing Harry out with the words: ‘Never darken my vag again.’

My kids, torn between agonising grief at the news of their mother’s illness and mortification at my humiliating performance, had decamped in shock to stay with friends.