Free Girl on the Run by Jane Costello

ever develop the mild version. So, I’m trying to look on the bright side. I’m trying really bloody hard. But it’s virtually impossible for the doctors to give a prognosis. I have no idea whether I’m going to end up in a wheelchair with nasty complications or with some insignificant disability in my left foot.’
    I glance at her hands as she slowly folds and unfolds her sweetener packet.
    ‘You seem incredibly calm, Heidi.’
    She takes a deep breath. ‘Although the diagnosis has just been confirmed, this has been going on for ages. I’ve had a while to get used to the idea.’
    ‘When did it all start?’
    ‘A couple of years ago my foot went numb,’ she explains. ‘It went away after a while, but then came back again, with tingling down my leg. Then some weird stuff happened with my eyesight. I’ve had tests since the start of last year. But MS isn’t an easy thing to pin down.’
    ‘It must have been terrible.’
    ‘The weird thing is, part of me is relieved to know that that’s definitely what I’ve got. That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? I’ve got an incurable disease and I feel relieved. But for the first time in God knows how long, I know what’s wrong with me and I know what I’ve got to do about it.’
    I’m struck by Heidi’s lack of drama.
    Then I notice her lip trembling and the glaze of tears over her eyes. ‘What am I going to do, Abby?’ she says, quietly crumpling. ‘I’m not ready for this. I’m not old enough. What on earth am I going to do?’
    ‘Oh, Heidi. I’m so sorry,’ I whisper as my own eyes grow hot. ‘You’ve got people around you who’ll help.’
    I feel so weak saying this. What the hell do I know? Abby Rogers who, despite her permanently elevated stress levels, hasn’t got any real problems.
    Heidi looks up, her face so pale it’s almost ghostly. ‘I’m scared, Abby.’
    I squeeze her hand and try to think of a response. But nothing’s good enough. Not a single thing.

 
Chapter 14
    My car trouble pales in comparison with Heidi’s news. Everything pales in comparison with Heidi’s news.
    So by the time I finally get round to speaking to the insurance company on Saturday morning in a bid to put Tom, Joan and little Lydia – or whoever – out of their misery, I can’t help feeling distinctly blasé about it.
    Then they deliver the verdict – or rather, Jimmy, a chirpy call centre Geordie – does. He’s friendly and polite, though he’d need the oratorical skills of Cicero to soften this blow. If Tom’s firm successfully claims against mine, next year’s premium will shoot up so high that my only option will be commuting via pushbike. Which would be environmentally friendly, but about as practical as sling-back ski boots.
    I trudge across a muddy field to Jess and the kids in time to witness a shire horse emptying his bowels at a positively operatic volume.
    We’re at Windy Animal Farm, a place that’s apparently enormously entertaining when you’re four. As well as the shire horse’s offering, the air is filled with a pronounced aroma of goat. It’s been drizzling for the past hour and a half.
    ‘What exactly is MS?’ asks Jess as she battles to negotiate Lola’s pushchair through the mud. ‘I know hardly anything about it.’
    Since Heidi broke her news, I’ve spent three days obsessing. Women of twenty-three aren’t supposed to get incurable illnesses. Except they do.
    ‘Damage to the protective sheath surrounding your nerve fibres,’ I tell Jess. I’ve read so much about this in thirty-six hours I could start editing Neurology Weekly . ‘That interferes with messages between the brain and other parts of the body. For most people, it’s characterised by relapses: the symptoms appear then they go into remission and you are back to normal. And then the symptoms reappear. It gets worse as you get older, but how much worse is down to the luck of the draw. It’s completely unpredictable.’
    The cow next to us lets out a