Serious Sweet by A.L. Kennedy Page B

again. You had to walk round and into the room, as if you were volunteering, as if you weren’t a good friend to yourself and wouldn’t dodge this all and run away.
    But at least you knew Kate’s name was Kate.
    And thank God she didn’t call me Margaret. Or Maggie. Being either of them for the whole of this would do me in, it would really.
    â€˜You can hang your coat up on the hook there.’ Kate smiling and indicating a hook on the back of the door, as if its availability was great news and it was, indeed, a bit of a departure – you’re used to just piling everything on to the chair. That’s the chair which comes later. Within the track for the drawable curtain, behind which you undress, there always is a waiting chair.
    You don’t remove your coat because you want it round you.
    I don’t want to be here, not today.
    There was another chair in here, over by the desk – in the administrative area of the examination room. This chair came first and so Meg sat down on it and answered questions offered by someone who was probably a student doctor and whose name escaped her when he said it – all long and fluttery and spoken in a gentle accent of some kind – unfamiliar. She couldn’t quite see the whole of his name badge. She guessed that he was perhapsGreek, or else hoped he was Greek for unexplained and irrational reasons.
    A childhood in sunshine, classical inheritance, the roots of European medicine. That could all be an asset for us both. Cheery thoughts. Wherever he’s from I would like him to be cheery. Please.
    And he has clean hands and neat nails. Two tidy-handed people looking after me, both of them possibly used to better weather.
    Breathe in fear.
    No.
    Breathe in faith.
    No.
    No.
    No.
    He asked about her physical regularity and fitness.
    This part left Meg feeling inconsistent and unwell. As usual.
    Then it was time for the nurse, for Kate.
    The nurses were trained to call you by name and bond with you, because what would happen next was degrading and they didn’t want it to upset you. It would upset you, no matter what they said, but they made this effort to improve the theory of your situation. The nurses never asked the questions, not unless they were nurse practitioners.
    Or, really, they just asked the questions that weren’t important enough to be written down.
    Nobody asks the important questions.
    And now it was time to stand and walk to the next chair – the one in the corner, behind the curtain.
    Kate offered, ‘How are you?’
    â€˜I’m fine.’ Meg’s voice came out dry and half-swallowed, resentful. ‘Hello.’ Which wasn’t fair on Kate who was being actively kind.
    And this was only Meg’s early-morning-and-get-it-over-with kind of check-up which was no cause for alarm. It shouldn’t be missed, but needn’t make her stressed.
    It’s hardly any kind of a procedure and I don’t have to mind it.
    I do, though, I bloody do. I can’t forgive it.
    Kate ushered Meg over towards the curtain, the chair, still smiling, ‘If you undress below the waist and maybe pop your sweater off, too, because you might get hot. And then you wrap one of those sheets around you before you come out.’
    Meg proceeded as she was told and did not deviate and this was a relief, this lack of choice. She wanted to smile, as if she was happy two women could get each other through something horrible. There was no mirror so she couldn’t tell, but she felt as if her face was mainly looking savage.
    The nurse left her and Meg drew the curtain – although why bother when everyone was going to see everything soon? Why was undressing allowed to be delicate when nakedness incurred an immediate audience?
    Beyond the dull mauve and green of the drapes, Meg could hear that the specialist had arrived. He told his colleagues that he’d needed to take a call and check on