Every Thursday afternoon there is a group, who meets, of sad women. They have hollow cheeks, eyebrows that rise at the centre, large wide eyes and the corners of their mouths point to their toes. They meet in the large room at the community centre. They don’t gossip and make tea like the knitters or chase toddlers like the young mums. Very little noise can be heard coming from the big room those Thursday afternoons. They sit in a ring on the new stackable chairs, they shift their weight or sigh. Small sighs. But if you peek you see they will also gently take the hand of their neighbour and give it a squeeze, or raise their too downcast eyes to catch another’s and the mouth corners straighten, even raise. And each week the group of sad women return to squeeze another hand and have their hand squeezed in return and in time, perhaps a very long time, those hand squeezes may become hugs and those corners may even smile and the group of sad women who meet every Thursday afternoon in the big room of the community centre may become a group of women.
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