Some months later, Olivia sat in a doctor's surgery in Glasgow.
"Yes, I am afraid there is a definite lump there," said the doctor. "It may be benign but I think you should have a biopsy."
Olivia sat rigid. Traffic hummed on the street below the frosted glass windows of the surgery.
"How soon?" she asked through dry lips.
"As I said, I'll get on to it right away. The sooner the better. Are you married?"
"No. If it is cancer, will I need to have the breast removed?"
"Yes, but they do wonders these days in building up a new one."
It would get round the station, thought Olivia bitterly. If she had cancer and if she survived, new breast or not, she would be dubbed One Tit Olivia until the end of time. Men were cruel.
When Olivia returned to her flat, she looked at the phone. She had an impulse to phone Hamish but she fought against it. This was one battle she would need to fight on her own. If Hamish had really loved her, he would have followed her to Glasgow. He had never even tried to get in touch with her.
About the same time as Olivia had heard the bad news, Hamish strolled along the waterfront with Angela. He had finally told her of how he had proposed to Olivia and had been turned down.
"She told me I didn't love her," said Hamish, "and that turned out to be the case. I wanted to be married and have children." He sighed. "It would have been nice to have a wee bairn about the place. She was such a bonny, strong, healthy woman."
"You make her sound like a cow," said Angela. "Strong, healthy woman, indeed! Anyway, don't give up hope."
"I've still got the ring." Hamish laughed. "Who knows? It might come in handy someday."
