‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘No. Yes.’

The words triggered a memory of a similar conversation they’d had together, many years back, sitting on a garden bench.

‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’

Angie laughed so hard that she started coughing. As Sophie watched her struggling to catch her breath, the nasty feeling that something was terribly wrong returned.

‘Not pregnant no,’ Angie said, once she had recovered. ‘I’ve got cancer.’

‘Oh, Angie, I’m so sorry.’ Sophie gripped tightly onto her hand.

‘I’ve started chemo and it’s knocking me a bit for six to be honest.’

‘What’s the prognosis?’

‘Not great.’

Sophie put her hand to her mouth, tears pricking her eyes. The poor woman. She tried to think of something positive to say, to urge her to stay strong, not to give up hope. People lived for years with cancer these days. Perhaps there was a clinical trial or a new treatment coming up. But the words kept getting stuck in her throat.

‘I’m sorry, Sophie, you came here to talk about the kids and now I’m throwing all this drama on you. I promise I’m not trying to guilt trip you into liking me again.’

‘You daft cow,’ Sophie said, looking at her fondly. ‘I could never like you.’

‘Well that’s a relief.’

‘How are the kids coping with it all?’

‘They don’t know.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Because I haven’t told them.’

‘Well obviously, smart-arse, but why not?’

‘I just can’t do it,’ Angie said, dabbing her eyes with her mangled tissue. ‘I can’t bear the thought of seeing their faces when I tell them.’

‘Does Jack know?’

‘No.’

‘So who knows?’

‘My doctor. And now you.’

Sophie’s heart broke. No one should have to bear this kind of thing alone.

‘You need to tell Jack,’ she insisted. ‘You need to talk to him now, and then he can help you tell the children. I’m serious, Angie, this is really important. You can’t go through this alone and when the kids find out that you kept it from them, they’ll be devastated.’

‘I know,’ Angie said.

‘Have you been going to your treatments alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well that stops right now. You send me your list of appointments and I’ll be there with you, each time. Do you understand?’

‘Why are you being so nice to me, Sophie? I was such a bitch to you.’

‘You really were. But you’re my bitch and I’m not letting you go through this on your own.’

After she had said her goodbyes to Angie, threatening to call her the next day to check that she’d spoken to Jack, Sophie drove down the road until she was out of sight of the house and parked the car again. She put her head on the steering wheel and cried. She cried for everything that had happened ten years ago, for the life that she had left behind in Pemberton Road, the friend she had lost. But, more than any of that, she cried for Angie.