As Carla approached the desk two young receptionists smiled and chimed a hearty 'Hello' at the same time. She decided that they must have completed the 'How to greet the Patient' module in the training course and passed with flying colours. She took her seat feeling self-conscious and surveyed the room as she sat down. She imagined that her face gave away the fact that she was here to collect results, and everyone else knew that second-rate news was in the offing. She imagined the others in the waiting room looking at her pityingly; they looked calm and sickly sympathetic, she had a racing heart and sweaty palms. One of the receptionists glanced over with a half smile and a sympathetic tilting head, she caught Carla's eye and then looked away slightly embarrassed. Carla smiled to herself, the young girl had obviously not reached the part of the course that teaches you the skill of covering clues with your body language. Carla had convinced herself that this biopsy was the one that would herald the news that it was back, and that this time it would be untreatable. Before the operation last week everyone was encouraging and efficient, afterwards there were those smiling faces on tilted heads and arms put gently around shoulders. They said the results would take about a week to come, here it was four days later and the results were back, bad news travels fast. She had been asked to come down to the surgery; good news could be given over the phone, bad news only face to face. The waiting room buzzer made everyone sit up; all heads looked up to the message board, awaiting instructions. 'Olive Sandy to the treatment room' the words unravelled themselves along the screen. Name in lights, fame at last. Olive was elderly with a large untidy body, which took some time to manoeuvre, tight bandages choking swollen ankles. A body, Carla imagined, weathered by many years of use. Over the last couple of years since the start of her 'troubles', as some of her friends and family insisted on calling it, Carla had not been able to imagine herself getting old, and over the last couple of weeks the images of a rapid and painful decline, at the age of only forty-seven had become sharply drawn in her mind. As Carla inspected Olive making her way across the room she suddenly became aware of someone approaching from the side. ‘Hello, how are you?’ said Jennifer in what for her was an unusually quiet voice.
Carla looked up and hoped that the sight of her heart sinking was not visible to her sister, Jennifer was definitely her mother's daughter. Carla always imagined that if her mother and sister had been on the Titanic they would have been the ones, who when confronted with the news that there were no life jackets or hope of a place on a life-boat, would have insisted on singing as the ship went under. 'I'm fine......... fine, how about you?'
'If you were fine you wouldn't be here' she said in her normal bossy tone, blunt as a butter knife, as always. Jennifer was just about to start the interrogation when the buzzer sounded........... 'Jennifer Thompson to Dr Thornton's room'. Name in lights, lucky Carla.
Jennifer stood up and shouted back instructions about meeting in the waiting room when they had finished. Saved by the buzzer, Carla sighed with relief; she would make sure to take the other door out.
The fact that there had never been any sisterly affection between them used to sadden Carla, she was certain that Jennifer, like her mum, had never noticed the void - too busy with her own affairs and ordering other people around in their lives. Jennifer walked briskly out of the room with handbag flying behind her. A few more customers had taken up their seats in the waiting room when a muffled mobile phone began to ring, everyone looked up, some reaching for pockets and bags. A young woman began delving into her handbag capturing the offending item. She had read the sign saying turn it off but hadn't obeyed. Embarrassed firstly by this breaking of the rules and secondly by her choice of ring-tone, which sounded rather good in the pub last night with her mates, but now sounded ill advised. Hawaii 5 O was never meant for waiting rooms, although everyone over forty smiled. Carla had only recently got a mobile phone, relenting under pressure from Tom and the girls. She felt that phones invaded privacy, interrupted people's lives with senseless conversations about which type of ham should be purchased when the honey-roast had sold out. Carla wondered what Tom would do with the house when she was no longer around; a romantic vision of a half finished extension formed in her thoughts, a small plaque 'In Memory of Carla'. Nice idea, terrible thought. The buzzer sounded, everyone looked up again ........... 'Carla James to Dr Andrew's room'. Her name in lights, lucky lady - maybe. Now everyone knew her name as well as what was wrong with her. Janice Andrew was an older woman and had been Carla's GP since she first moved to the town after marrying Tom. Carla remembered her mother's reaction when she told her that she had enlisted with a female doctor. Her mother believed that women were never as intelligent as men and therefore it verged on lunacy to have one as your doctor. Carla sometimes thought that she would have liked someone interesting like Janice as a mum, instead of the one she got. Carla felt the arm gently around her shoulder as Janice met her at the door. They both sat down, exchanged some niceties about the weather and how busy Janice had been and then Janice pulled in her chair towards Carla and looked her in the eye. | 
