CONNED BY MY BEST FRIEND
Putting down my coffee, I reached across the table and squeezed my best friend’s hand.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said gently, not sure what else to say. Angela, then 37, had just told me she had breast cancer and I was devastated for her.
It was May 2005, and I’d not long moved to the area. A single mum to a five-year-old, it hadn’t been easy at times.
Angela and I both worked in health and social care, and over lunchtime coffees we’d quickly become close.
She was married, with a son a few years older than my daughter.
‘You’re going to beat this,’ I told her, offering
