Free In My Sister's Shoes by Sinéad Moriarty

park.
    Derek looked at the drain in Fiona’s side, then at her pinched face and winced. ‘So, like, was it savagely painful?’
    ‘Well, I was out for the count during the operation, but it is a bit sore now,’ she admitted.
    ‘Like, really bad pain?’
    ‘About as sore as having a big lump sliced out of one of your balls,’ I said, losing patience with Derek’s need for gory details.
    ‘Chill, I was just asking. I wanted to do something for you, like, make a gesture, and I couldn’t think of anything, but Roxanne came up with a brilliant idea. While you were having your operation I was having one myself. It was total agony, but it looks deadly,’ said Derek, turning round and pulling up his T-shirt to reveal a large tattoo on his lower back, which read ‘ CARPE DEIM ’.
    I began to laugh. Fiona joined in, then Dad.
    Derek glared at us. ‘It’s not supposed to be funny. Don’t you know what it means?’
    ‘I think, Derek, you’ll find that your fuck-buddy suffers from dyslexia.“Diem” is spelt backwards, you turnip.’ I giggled.
    ‘What the hell? Are you having me on?’
    ‘No, Derek, she isn’t,’ said Fiona. ‘You now have a huge misspelt tattoo on your backside. But I appreciate the thought.’
    ‘Roxanne’s a legend. She’d never get it wrong,’ said Derek.
    ‘In all fairness, Derek, she didn’t strike me as a Latin scholar,’ said Dad.
    Derek ran into the bathroom to check it in the mirror. ‘I don’t fucking believe it. I suffered two hours of torture for this. I’m outta here. Man, I’m gonna kill her.’
    ‘It’s proud moments like these that a father dreams of,’ said Dad.
    ‘Hey, Derek,’ said Fiona, as he was storming out the door.
    ‘What?’ he asked grumpily.
    ‘Thanks for cheering me up.’

11
    I left the hospital and was on my way to pick up the twins when my phone rang. It was Tara. ‘How’s Fiona?’ my friend asked, full of concern.
    ‘She’s OK. We still have to wait for the test result but they don’t think it’s spread to her lymph nodes, so they say that the chances of her recovery are good but she has to go through chemo.’
    ‘Poor Fiona.’
    ‘I know, and she’s trying to be brave, but I can tell she’s terrified. I feel so sorry for her.’
    ‘At least the diagnosis is good, that’s the most important thing, and I’m sure you being home to help is a relief to her. How are you getting on with the twins?’
    ‘Not great. They were late for school and I got a bollocking from the teacher. I’m on my way to pick them up. They’re hyper – and it’s going to be a long afternoon. Seven and a half hours to be precise.’
    ‘Do you want to hear something that’ll distract you?’
    ‘Is the Pope Catholic?’
    ‘I bumped into an old pal of yours today.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Sam,’ said Tara, then paused for dramatic effect.
    ‘Oh, right. How is he?’ I said, trying to sound casual as I narrowly missed slamming into the car in front.
    ‘Very well…’ said Tara, and she told me the story, leaving nothing out.
    *
    She was sitting in the café around the corner from her office, munching her sandwich, when she heard, ‘Tara? Hi.’
    She looked up. It was my first love – Sam Taylor. She hadn’t seen him in at least five years.
    ‘Oh, my God! Hello, stranger, how are you?’ she said, and got up to kiss him. They smiled at each other with a mixture of awkwardness and familiarity– the way people do when they used to know each other very well but haven’t met in a long time. ‘Will you join me for a coffee?’ she said, pointing to the chair opposite her.
    ‘I’d love to. How the hell have you been? What’s new?’ asked Sam.
    ‘I don’t even know where to begin.’ Tara laughed. ‘It’s been so long since I saw you. Well, the short version is that I got married and settled down. What about you?’ she asked, pretending not to know that Sam had married Nikki Jennings four years ago, a fact she had dissected in minute detail with me