‘I’m supposed to be the one who’s at death’s door,’ continued Juliet quite cheerfully, ‘but if a stranger came in and had to say which one of us was ill, he wouldn’t hesitate.’

‘It was a long drive, that’s all.’

‘You don’t lose all that weight and have bags under your eyes and worry lines all over your face and skin like a tired mushroom just because of a long drive.’

‘Hey!’

‘No offence.’

‘I’m fine. I’ve come to look after you, not the other way round.’

‘You can forget that right now. It’s bad enough with Jem rushing around treating me like I’m cut glass. I can look after myself perfectly well. You’re here to come to our wedding and have a nice time.’

‘Tell me first, how are you? Really?’

Juliet shrugged. ‘Fine, actually. It was just a lump that was cut out. It’s odd how quickly you get used to the idea of it, really. For the first week or so I woke up every morning and had this sudden lurch of terror when I remembered all over again. That’s gone now.’

‘Are you being well looked after?’

‘Of course. I work at the hospital, remember. Everybody’s falling over themselves to be helpful.’

‘Do you mind me asking you about it?’

‘I’d mind if you tiptoed around the subject like it was a trap that might spring shut – after all, it’s pretty central at the moment. It’s why you’re here. It’s why we’re getting married. You can even say the words. Cancer,’ she said loudly and emphatically. ‘Death.’

‘Not death.’

‘Probably not death. But maybe. You have to say to yourself: maybe I am going to die. And then you have to put it away, otherwise you’ll go mad thinking about it, and thinking about yourself as an invalid. I am not an invalid.’

She didn’t look like an invalid either, but solid and robust. She was tanned from the summer, and her black hair sprang out in an energetic tangle round her head. She wore white cotton trousers and an orange halter-neck top round her strong shoulders. Her toes, in their sandals, had scarlet nails.

‘You look gorgeous,’ said Irene sincerely. ‘Jem’s a very lucky man.’

‘That’s what I keep telling him.’

‘We’ll be sisters.’

‘We always were anyway really.’

‘True.’

‘So sorry about Adrian.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Bastard.’

‘Quite right.’

‘Has it been hell?’

For the first time, Irene didn’t mind someone asking her. ‘Yeah,’ she replied slowly. ‘Kind of hell, I guess. Or I’ve been hell. It’s getting better though.’

‘Good.’ Juliet grinned across the table: her slightly crooked face, her warm brown eyes. ‘So you’ve been left by your husband and I’ve got cancer and here we are together.’

‘Yup,’ said Irene feeling suddenly and ridiculously happy.