Tasha’s legs are suspended mid-air in stirrups with only a hospital-issue sheet to protect her modesty.
‘I can tell you, this is not Egyptian cotton. Thread count minus 800. A lovely way to start a Monday!’ she declares, scrunching up the edge of her covering, which looks scratchy even through the screen.
‘So undignified … although, Tasha, you do look incredibly comfortable.’
The distinct pattern on the privacy curtain takes me back to four-hour marathon chemo sessions with Mum, the chemicals washing into her bloodstream, trying to fight her hopeless battle. We knew the treatment was about more time together, that nothing was going to alter the inevitable. But this is my chance to be a rock for my best friend, to return the favour.
‘So, I beg of you, distract me from my uterus and tell me what’s happening.’ Tasha adjusts the pillow behind her head while we wait for the nurse to scan her ovaries to check the number of follicles ready for egg retrieval the day after my return from Greece.
‘Well, a lot and also nothing. Oh, and it rained.’
‘Thrilled to hear it,’ she laughs. ‘If I can’t have sunshine then it’s only fair you miss out, too. Given that my cervix is currently exposed, it’s the least I deserve.’
‘The latest is that someone from the area does or did own Mum’s painting, as it was taken to be framed in the nearest town.’
Tasha gasps when she hears that, but I stop her, not wishing to get her unnecessarily overexcited.
‘But it wasn’t signed – only initialled by someone else, I think – and there’s no documentation to prove it’s actually Mum’s, although I’m almost certain it’s the painting I’m looking for. And Dimitri, the owner of the gallery who’s seen it, can’t remember the name of the guy who brought it in, only remembers the picture. So, their identity remains a mystery. Nobody knows who it was. And it was years ago. So, in summary, all I know is that a man once had it. Hardly groundbreaking news.’
‘But we know it was once somewhere around where you are?’ she asks hopefully.
‘Yes, but this man could be anyone and may not have even lived in Pylos, let alone Methoni. I feel like a door opens the teeniest bit and then slams shut in my face.’
‘But you’re getting closer, Soph.’
‘Am I? I haven’t found the staring man because I’ve been puking my guts up for the last few days and I still haven’t got his photograph on email yet from Tony, so I can’t ask anyone who he is. I felt like the universe was pointing me in the right direction, but now I think it’s telling me to abandon this.’
‘Don’t you dare give up so easily. Just phone Tony what’s-his-name and insist he emails the picture immediately. Stop being so bloody polite. You’ve not got long to crack this, so get on with it!’
‘All right!’ I hold up my hands to the screen. ‘Could you please calm down, Tasha, and concentrate on what we’re here for.’
She sighs and adjusts her legs.
‘I feel like I’ve been in this room forever. Not just today but constantly for the last three years.’
‘I know, Tash. We have to believe that someone upstairs can make something good happen for us.’
‘And there you were, swearing off the spiritual realm, yet that sounded very much like a request of faith.’
‘You’ve got an irritating elephant brain, you know that? You forget nothing.’
‘Better than elephant thighs, darling. Speaking of which, have you started eating properly? You look very skinny to me.’
‘I’m fine, honestly. I’m over my bug and I promise I’ll be back on the baklava as soon as I can.’
‘The Fish and Heartbreak Diet … that should be the name of your cookbook.’
‘Bugger off.’ I can’t help but giggle, even if it is at my expense. ‘I may have exhausted my supply of free seafood. I’m still not sure what to do about Theo. So, I’ve decided to do nothing.’
‘Excellent choice. Let something life-changing slip through your fingers. Perfect solution!’
‘Look, he has some issues – complex stuff that seems pointless to get into. I’m coming home soon and the whole thing will be a distant memory. I believe you told me to leave it and now you’re suggesting I pursue things.’
‘Shagging Underwater, an aquatic bonkbuster from bestselling chef, Sophie Kinlock.’
‘Right, I’m hanging up now.’
‘Nooo! I didn’t mean it. Well, maybe a little bit. Are you going to do everything I tell you to forever? You can’t go around spouting “life is too short” and then waste something special. If you’ve caught such strong feelings, you either act on it or spend the rest of your life regretting what might have been. It’s quite simple.’
She annoyingly makes a good point. Talking to Tasha, among the daftness and teasing, is like holding up a mirror. Parts of myself I can’t escape because my reflection won’t let me. She won’t let me.
‘Just think about it, Soph. And now more than ever, after what went on with Robert, don’t you deserve a slice of happiness, no matter how long it lasts? Even if it’s only a holiday thing.’
I smile at her. ‘Who made you so wise?’
She laughs out loud, preparing to launch into one of our stock silly jokes from when we were children.
‘Your mum and the little baby Jesus, of course!’