I knew now that the time for putting off those hospital tests was long past. This wasn’t just going to go away by itself. However frightening the results might be, something was seriously wrong and not knowing exactly what it was wasn’t going to make it any better. There was, I supposed, some sort of black irony in realising I was still suffering from the effects of my injuries during the one and only time I’d returned to the place where I had sustained them.
Just let me get through this wedding weekend, I promised myself, and I’ll make the appointment first thing on Monday.
By now I realised I had probably exceeded the amount of time I could reasonably be in the Ladies without having Sarah come looking for me. I didn’t want her to think the reason I’d been missing so long had anything to do with tonight’s territorial display put on by Cathy. And I certainly didn’t want her to come in and figure out the real reason was because I was suddenly terrified there was something seriously wrong with me.
I got to my feet and was pleased to find that I didn’t feel nearly as shaky as I had before and my vision was no longer blurred. I rinsed my hands under cool water and then carefully saturated and squeezed out one of the small folded flannel towels from the basket beside the basins and pressed the wadded cloth against my forehead. I was on the point of leaving to return to the others when the door of the cloakroom swung open and Cathy walked in.
‘Everything OK?’ she asked, and though she’d used the right words the tone was all wrong. Or perhaps it was just that her eyes held zero interest in my response. When had Cathy become so hard? Sure, there had always been an abrasive side to her, but we’d still been friends. What had I done to her to warrant this attitude? If anything, she should be grateful. It was clear she had always been interested in Matt; so I’d have thought she’d have been pleased that I’d voluntarily taken myself out of the picture on that score. And besides, that was all years ago. Teenage stuff. Surely we were beyond all that now?
‘I’m fine. Just a little tired, it’s been a hectic week at work,’ I fabricated.
‘Sorry, what did you say you do again?’ Nice to know she’d been paying attention when I’d been talking about it earlier.
‘I’m a secretary.’
‘Oh, yes. Never did get to go into journalism then? That was what you were going to do, wasn’t it?’
Bitch. How could she be so thoughtless? Surely she knew only too well why and how my plans for that particular life had been cut short and how I’d never been able to go to university as had been intended.
‘No.’ I hoped my voice sounded less venomous in reality than it did in my head. ‘Obviously everything changed after…’
She nodded, and may have looked just the smallest bit shamefaced for the clumsy way she had forced the topic in a difficult direction. But just when I thought she might be showing just a modicum of compassion, that was completely obliterated when she made a great show of brushing back her blond mane of hair from her perfectly immaculate face and leaning closer to the mirror as though scrutinising for imperfections. There were none, I could have told her that. Whatever she saw, be it her own perfect reflection or my own scar-damaged one, the malice seemed to instantly dissipate. Clearly deciding that there was no competition to be feared here, she turned and gave me an artless smile.
‘I hope you won’t take offence, Rachel, but have you ever thought of seeing someone to see if something could be done about your face? You used to be such a pretty girl.’
Her use of the past tense was certainly not lost on me. For a wicked moment I considered playing dumb and innocently asking: ‘My face? Why? Is there something wrong with it?’ But I didn’t. And anyway, as much as I was unhappy with the way I looked, I had no intention of visiting any plastic surgeon she was about to recommend to me. And I’d be crazy if I expected the shallow and unthinking person Cathy seemed to have become to understand that the problem wasn’t that nothing could be done, but more that I didn’t feel I deserved to have things improved. Certainly my father and Sarah, who had both raised this topic years before (with a great deal more tact and diplomacy) had been unable to comprehend what they saw as my martyred logic.
Fortunately the door of the cloakroom swung open at that moment to herald Sarah’s arrival. There was an urgency about her entrance that was almost comical. She swept the pair of us with a knowing look and I knew she had instantly assessed what had been going on. I recognised a look on her face from many an altercation in our past, and shook my head almost imperceptibly. Reluctantly the fire in her gaze was doused. I realised then she had almost been looking forward to saying something to Cathy that definitely should remain unsaid.