Intense eyes locked on Tilda. 'So, what's going on?'

Tilda had a feeling Selma was not interested in the long version of events. 'I was diagnosed two weeks ago. I'm trying to be proactive:'

Selma screwed her face up. 'Awful word, that, dreadfully overused. Instead of describing yourself as proactive or reactive, as yourself if you're in a state of flow or a state of resistance.'

Tilda had no idea what that meant, so she forged on. 'Leith made this appointment for me - '

'What have you done for yourself?'

Tilda thought for a moment. 'I went to a meeting run by the ISG.'

Selma gave a snort. 'The one run by Brenda Harvey? Sweet Jesus. Did you feel like throwing yourself under a bus afterward?'

Tilda liked Selma already. 'It crossed my mind.'

'Did the meeting make you feel better or worse?'

Tilda considered this. 'Worse.'

Selma leaned forward slightly in her chair. 'You get what you focus on, Tilda. Those women focus on the invisibility. It's no wonder we can't see them.'

Selma took a notepad and pen off the table beside her. 'I've been in your shoes, Tilda. Well, not literally. I would never be caught in those, even in my darkest days.'

Tilda glanced again at her shoes. Selma had a point. Unless you were milking cows, there was no excuse for such footwear.