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‘Right,’ I said.
‘I have a rich husband who works for Merrill Lynch and three kids who don’t like anything I buy. I shop: they reject. I have a jacket to go back to Ralph Lauren, a gift my husband bought for my wedding anniversary that I hate, and two purses that were bad impulse buys,’ she said busily pulling a pile of hardback books out of another bag.
‘More rejects?’ I enquired.
‘Yeah,’ she said, wiping a bead of sweat off her forehead. ‘More gifts. My husband just got outta hospital. Brain tumour. Nine-hour op.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I murmured.
‘He’ll be fine, trust me. Big but benign. He got the very best people looking after him.’
‘Nevertheless, must be a huge worry for you,’ I said, edging to the front of the queue.
‘Nah. I’m the one that needs worrying about now,’ she said lowering her voice. ‘They think I got multiple sclerosis.’
‘Whoa,’ I said at a total loss for words.
Eileen tried to ease my discomfort. ‘Listen, honey, don’t be concerned. We have the greatest healthcare system and doctors in the world. And I can afford it.’
I paid for my books, went back to my hotel and changed my status update.
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