We reach the sushi place as she finishes talking. I take the volume down to an inside voice. ‘Penny, people could never forget you. You are not a forgettable person.’

We take a quick break in our conversation to pick our sushi, pay and perch on the bar stools in the window.

As I distribute the pickled ginger, I keep going. ‘I do see what you mean though. I just don’t know how to help. I’ve never been someone who shouts about their strengths and achievements.’ I also feel my own particular strengths and achievements can be slightly harder to find.

‘It’s fine. I think I’m just in a slump.’ She does actually slump when she says this. It’s not a look I normally see. She’s usually very poised. ‘I need to not care so much.’

I shrug. ‘This has been my solution.’ I dip a piece of sushi into the soy sauce and shove it into my mouth so I can’t finish the second half of my thought. The half that admits this solution is a great way to get forgotten about.

The waiting room at the doctor’s surgery is too warm and I’m already sweating thinking about taking my clothes off behind that useless curtain they use. Oh God. I hope I’m not sweaty down there. I should have thought about this earlier, but I can’t do anything about it now – my name has been called.

Eventually I knock on what I hope is the right door and peek in before I enter.

‘Sorry – it took me a while to find the right room.’ The totally illogical numbering system didn’t help.

A happy-faced, friendly nurse looks up at me from behind a computer screen.

‘Bea?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wonderful. Take a seat. My name is Mary and I will be carrying out your exam today.’

She then makes sure I am who I say I am and confirms who she thinks I am, weighs me (why don’t they do this after you have undressed?) and takes my blood pressure.

‘Your blood pressure is quite high. Is your blood pressure normally high?’

‘Erm, no, I don’t think so.’

‘Probably white coat syndrome.’

That sounds bad.

‘Oh God – what is that?’

She looks at me with a weighted gaze. It takes me a moment to catch up.

‘Ohhhhh. White coat syndrome. I get it. Patient panic.’

‘Exactly. I see you’ve had a smear test before, so you know what to do. I’ll pop behind the curtain so you can get undressed. Let me know when you’re up on the bed. There’s a sheet there for you to cover up with, and a blanket. It’s quite chilly today.’

Here goes. Bag off. Coat off. Sit down. Shoes off. Stand up. Tights off. Nope, underwear came with them. Every time. Assess height of bed. Can’t hop up bum-first, way too high. Knee-first it is. Done. Apart from ripping the paper sheet a bit during the twist to lie down, I handled the partial undress pretty well.