After reporting to the reception desk at Clinic Three, a nurse took his file.

"Thank you, take a seat."

The only one left, between the wall and a lady.

He sat down.

Her 70 year old face smiled at him. "Got quite a long wait today, haven't we?," indicating with her head the white board behind the desk. It read-"Today's clinic is running approx 45 minutes late."

"The "45" was smudged. Obviously altered from "30". Will "60" come?

He jerked his head in acknowledgement and picked up a magazine from the communal table. A motoring magazine. He had no interest in cars but the alternatives were women's weeklies. No thanks. At least, not in here.

Maybe it isn't cancer. After all, there's no pain. And he hadn't lost weight. Maybe other things give you lumps. Maybe some sort of blind boils or swollen glands. Maybe he’d done too much at the gym.

"Have you had to come far?"

He shook his head. "No."

He noticed her anorak, over a floral dress, had a broken zip and was fastened with a pin. She wore no tights, just drooping socks inside shapeless shoes.

"Manchester?"

"Didsbury."

"Oh, some lovely houses. My Mum used to clean round there, in The Circuit. Number 11, Mrs. Rothwell. Kindness personified, Mrs. Rothwell.

Sent a card when Mum died. "Resting where no shadows Fall" it said.

She saw it in the paper, about Mum. Said she would have come but it was her coffee morning."

"Come by car have you?"

Again he nodded.

"Shocking prices in that car park. It's bad enough being poorly but having to pay car parking as well. Anyway, that's what I think, don‘t you?"

He gave a non-committal shrug.

Doctor Husain hadn't seemed too sure.

"The hospital should tell us more. They can do more tests. All we can do is your bloods and urine. I'll ask for an appointment for you with Mr.George. He is an expert."

And what about you, Doctor? Did you only get as far as coughs and colds at Medical School? Or athletes foot?

Sending patients to hospital when you're not sure seems a bit of a cop out. Can’t you give me "your professional opinion?" I can't tell parents to take their children to another school when they have problems.

The woman interrupted his thoughts.

"Our Kevin dropped us off. When Harry comes out we’ll text Kevin to pick us up. He does it every fortnight for us. Sometimes he fetches little Kylie"

And does she sing for everyone at the clinic, he thought, spitefully, letting his fear turn itself into nastiness.

She was rummaging in a plastic shopping bag.

"Do you want a biscuit, love?"

I’m not your love and I don’t want cheap supermarket biscuits.

"Not just now ,thanks."

"You can get a drink out of a machine if you want. The hot chocolate is lovely. But the tea is just that powdered stuff."

He crinkled his eyes in refusal.

Come on, he silently screamed. Get on with the clinic. I’m waiting here. Hurry up.

" ‘Course, my Harry doesn’t eat much now. He can‘t fancy much. I have to tempt him"

"Cancer."

"Oh dear"

"There’s others much worse," she continued, "We’ve been coming here for three years now. Mr. George is very pleased with him. He had his radium, then his operations, and now he’s on his chemo. He’s doing very well. Course, his hair fell out. He used to make our Kylie roar with laughter when he took his wig on and off. He’ll do anything for them grandkids, will Harry>

One of the consulting room doors opened.

"Here’s my Harry now."

The man walking over to them was gaunt, wearing a shiny navy blue jacket. "Oxfam"- or "Help the Aged." He had on track suit trousers and nameless trainers.

He smiled at his wife. His few remaining teeth were yellow and he was poorly shaved.

"Hiya ,love. Well, Mr. George was pleased again. My bloods were good and I have put on two pounds, like you said.

He said I’m his star patient."

She put her arm through his and hugged it, smiling broadly.

"What did I tell you? Another year and we can go to Benidorm with our Alan and Joan. You know Alan’s promised to take us when you’re well enough."

She smiled again." I was just telling this gentleman about Mr. George, about how good he is."

"He’s a belter, mate. If you’ve got to see anyone in these places, he’s the one to see, I’ll tell you.

Well, come on ,Elsie, let’s phone our Kev. I’ll see you, mate. And good luck."

Smiling their goodbyes, they moved slowly towards the lift.

Putting down the magazine on his seat, to save his place, he only just made it to the toilet and into a cubicle. And locked the door.

His lip quivered.

And then the tears came. Great wracking sobs that took away his breath and left him gasping and gulping for air. His eyes and nose were streaming and he used hospital toilet paper to wipe them, its harsh shininess hurting his nose. He took off his glasses and rested his head on his hands until he quietened.

Leaving the cubicle he washed his face and smoothed his hair..

He looked in the mirror.

Why couldn’t he and Fiona have children like Kevin and Alan and Joan?

When would it be convenient?

And someone like Elsie who tried to cheer up an obviously frightened man, in spite of his standoffish rudeness?

And little granddaughters like Kylie, who loved her grandad even without his hair?

Would he ever hold a grandchild of his own?

And what about all the rest of that scruffy, loving ,happy family of which he so longed to be a part? A family that took all knocks in its stride and stayed supportive no matter what? He would bet they didn’t have Bucks Fizz on Christmas morning but he bet they had a hell of a party at Elsie and Harry’s on Christmas night.

And he? He couldn’t even tell Fiona where he was today, claiming a training day in Stretford.

God forgive him, he been afraid to tell her, as if his illness, whatever it was, was letting her down and wouldn’t fit in with the evening’s banter at the cricket club.

And what good was a detached house in Didsbury if the only people who came were cleaners and colleagues and Fiona’s brittle friends who would rather die than publicly hug a man, even their husbands, who hadn’t shaved?

No wonder Harry was happy. Whatever happened with his illness, he had won. He was a wealthy man. He had all the really important things.

As for him, he straightened his tie and went out to wait for Mr. George.

Alone.