Lizzie walks into the living room and peers at the screen of my laptop.
I cover the screen with my hand. ‘Don’t look! You can’t!’ I squeal.
‘What are you writing about? My cancer?’ asks Lizzie, perfectly reasonably.
‘That… and other things. But largely that,’ I reply.
I suddenly feel embarrassed. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t be writing this at all? Maybe I’m taking advantage of the situation?’ I ask out loud.
My tone is only semi-serious. But, really, I’m hoping for validation and encouragement from Lizzie. It’s OK, I don’t mind, carry on! That sort of a comment.
Instead, Lizzie puts on a comically whiney voice and wails:
‘You can’t write about my cancer! It’s MINE!!’
‘Anyway,’ she continues, ‘I’m actually painting about my illness now. That’s right, I’m doing it!’
‘You are?’ I say, interested.
‘Yes! The Hope Series. That’s what my new series of paintings is called!’ Lizzie announces grandly.
‘It is?’ I ask. ‘What are the paintings of?’
‘Flowers!’ Lizzie says.
‘So, let me get this straight, you’re supposedly painting about your cancer… but really you’re painting flowers. Like you always do?’ I ask.
Lizzie nods, eagerly.
‘So do your Hope Series flower paintings look different to your previous flower paintings, in any way? At all?’
‘No!’ says Lizzie, suddenly hooting with laughter. ‘They’re completely the same!’
I shrug. OK! Why not?
‘Remember my old school friend Georgina, the bigshot lawyer, who bought a painting last week?’ she now asks.
I nod back. Sort of.
‘She suggested I do it,’ says Lizzie. ‘She said my cancer should be my USP!’
‘But I said you should do that ages ago!’ I protest.
‘Yes, but you’re not Georgina,’ says Lizzie. And with that, she flounces off, looking very pleased with herself.
P. D. Clifton 
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