Free Change of Life by Anne Stormont Page B

boss. So I phoned and asked if I could see her at lunch time. If she was surprised she didn’t let it show. Perhaps Lucy had prepared the ground. Anyway, when I arrived at school she’d put Lesley, the deputy head, on duty over lunch and put the ‘Meeting in Progress’ sign on her office door. She’d even organised coffee and sandwiches for us.
    “I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch hour,” I said, as I sat down opposite her at her desk.
    “Don’t be daft. I wouldn’t be getting a lunch hour if it wasn’t for you! You know how it is here.” She was right of course. A head teacher rarely gets an undisturbed lunch time. But Lesley was obviously on the ball and we were left alone as I told Kirsty what had been happening.
    Like Lucy, she listened. And like Lucy, she was shocked. But she was more direct in offering her opinions and advice. “Don’t shut Tom out, Rosie. I’m sure he never meant to hurt you over Robbie. How can you even think he was unfaithful? Tom loves you and, yes, he’s protective – but I think that’s nice. I’ve always envied you on that score you know.”
    “You envy me? Right now, I envy you your independence. Actually, I feel quite pathetic compared to you. I’m fed up being protected and treated like some dependent child. Tom had no right to keep Robbie a secret. Why would he do that? What was he protecting me from? No,” I shook my head, “he was protecting himself more like – that has to be it.”
    “I just think you’re going to need Tom – with - you know – well now you’re - you’ve got cancer.” Even the normally forthright Kirsty had difficulty saying the ‘C’ word.
    “Don’t be afraid to say it, Kirsty. It’s a fact – I’ve got cancer.” I spoke more sharply than I meant to. The last thing I wanted to do was fall out with Kirsty. Her complete honesty and inability to say one thing and mean another, was one of the things I loved about her. But I didn’t like that she saw me as in need of Tom’s protection and support, and in need of shielding from the fact of having cancer. I wanted to think I could be as strong as Kirsty. She reached her hand out to me across her desk.
    “I know,” she said gently. “I know you’re strong, Rosie. I know you can cope. I’m trying to be helpful – and making a mess of it. I can’t believe you’ve got cancer. I don’t know what to say, to tell you the truth. I’m more in my comfort zone doling out advice about husbands.”
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.” I squeezed her hand. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Lucy.”
    “We won’t ever have to do without each other. You haven’t managed to shake me off after thirty years, so it’s not going to happen. The three of us will grow old disgracefully together.”
    Kirsty and I met each other in our first year at St Andrews University. She had the room next door to mine in the hall of residence. She was a striking girl – tall and athletic, with auburn hair. She came from the Isle of Skye and spoke Gaelic. I thought her quite exotic when I first met her. On the face of it we didn’t have that much in common. She was studying science and I was doing arts. She was into sports. She played in the hockey and badminton teams and was a keen hill walker. My passions were playing the piano, singing in the university choir and reading, what Kirsty called, soppy novels. However, in spite of how different we were, Kirsty’s level-headedness and her ability to be simultaneously kind and direct, were qualities that I found reassuring and stabilising. She also had a wicked sense of humour, something that stood her in good stead over the years. We remained friends throughout our time at university and beyond. I was especially pleased that she and Lucy also became friends when I introduced them to one another.
    Thirty years later she was still good looking and she’d kept her lovely accent. “Rosie,” she said – I’d always liked how she pronounced