Written Off
Written by Cheryl Poulter
“Have you heard about Ellie?” asked Sophie.
Jo frowned and gave a small shake of her head.
Sophie held her gaze for a moment, before delivering the news. “She’s got cancer again.”
“Oh God. Poor girl.”
The conversation stalled briefly. Jo stared ahead, stirring her coffee slowly, methodically.
“And that’s not the worse bit,” added Sophie, “It’s spread.
Jo’s eyes hid under spidery lashes. “That’s awful…she was such a lovely girl, so attractive too.”
“I know. I used to be quite jealous of her, but not now, I mean, her whole life has fallen apart, what’s left of it…you know.”
“Is she still working?”
“No, she can’t work. She did for a bit, and to be honest, she still looked pretty good. I was surprised. But she didn’t lose her hair the first time, you see.” Jo waited for her to continue, spoon hovering mid-air. “Radiotherapy. You don’t lose your hair with that.”
Jo replaced the spoon.
Sophie peered out the window. “I wonder if that was her choice, you know, not having chemotherapy the first time. It probably was. No one would choose to lose their hair, would they? But then look where that’s got her? Nowhere.”
Voices swam and swelled around them, unfathomable snaps of conversation, metal on crockery, the low steady pulse of some cheerful pop song.
“Have you seen her lately? Or spoken to her?” asked Jo.
“I saw her in Tesco.”
“Really? How did she look?”
“Oh terrible. Absolutely terrible.” Sophie took a sip of coffee, then lifted the serviette to her lips, blotting away a speck of foam. “She’s got no hair at all now. Well, none that you can see. She’s buzzed it off and its sort of grey and patchy. Awful.”
“I think I’d wear a wig, wouldn’t you? A long, pink wig.” Jo touched her shiny bob and smiled. “Or lots of wigs. Different colours and styles, perms, fringes, blue, green. I’d have fun with it.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I would, actually.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow.
“What would you do then?”
She sighed and brought the coffee back to her lips, cup hovering, micro-bladed brows pinched. “Depends how long I had.”
Jo picked at her fingernail. “Did you talk to her?”
“No. She looked pre-occupied. It was almost kind of embarrassing. I mean, I felt embarrassed for her, do you know what I mean?”
“It’s so brave to go out without a wig.”
“I’m not sure I’d want to go out at all. What’s the point if your life is over?”
Jo played with the foam that clung to the edges of the cup, lips unfurling slowly into a smile. “I’d buy a round the world ticket. Drink champagne every night. Die happy.”
“I would just stay at home in bed. Let people remember me how I used to be.”
“I wonder how long she’s got?”