Lizzie tells me about a text she’s sent to some of her local friends.
She’s arranged to meet them for breakfast the week after next (when she’s finished isolating from Covid, hopefully)… and she was worried, yesterday, about whether to tell them she had cancer or not. She has already mentioned the Covid bit, at least.
Finally, she dropped it (i.e. the cancer) into the WhatsApp conversation.
She reads out their responses.
Not ONE has responded, in any way, to Lizzie’s announcement that she has cancer.
Instead, they’ve simply shared the usual Mum pleasantries… suggestions about where to meet for breakfast, etc.
‘Do you think they already knew?’ says Lizzie, not quite believing it. ‘Maybe I mentioned it already. That’s why they’re not saying anything.’
‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘I think some of the people in this town are fucking weird.’
By ‘this town’ I’m referring to the Midlands town which we moved to (or near to) four years previously.
Shortly afterwards, when Lizzie’s walking around without her headscarf on, completely bald, I say ‘why don’t you go to your breakfast like that? See how long it takes any of the other mums to mention it? If they do.’
Lizzie grimaces. Then we both laugh.
P. D. Clifton 
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