But deep down she always knew she was going to go. Clare had a problem with authority. In her case, the problem was a tendency to comply. She always obeyed the rules. It was something she hated about herself. She often wished she could be more like her friend Phoebe who delighted in not giving a damn. That evening she met Phoebe in the bar and after a couple of rum and cokes had turned the conversation to the smear test letters.

"Are you going to go for yours?" she'd asked.

Phoebe had taken a long drag on her cigarette. "Wild horses could not drag me," she replied.

But she wasn't phoebe. And that night, still fuelled by rum and coke, she'd filled in the form enclosed with the letter. She told herself she was doing the sensible thing, which she was. But a nagging voice told her that once again she was doing something she didn't want to do because it was expected of her.

The form required all the usual information: name, age, date of birth etc. and then had various personal questions on it, which you were supposed to complete. Clare dutifully worked her way through them. No she had never been pregnant; no she wasn't currently sexually active; yes she had been sexually active in the past; no she wasn't using contraception; yes her periods had started; her last period had started a week ago and ended four days later; yes she would say her periods were generally regular...The next one did make her pause: In the last six months had she ever missed school, college, work or other activities as a result of period pain? If, so, the form wanted to know, how many days? Clare had always been what her mother described as "a slave to her monthlies" and did sometimes have a day off to lie in bed with a hot water bottle on her stomach and a box of aspirin. Her mum was a "slave to her monthlies" too. It was a family tradition. Often discussed by her mum and her aunts, who were the same. To be honest, it could sometimes be a reason for a day off. Best to be truthful, Clare thought, and ticked "yes" then wrote 2/3 because it sounded better than 3 which was the actual number.

The next morning she hesitated once more before dropping the sealed envelope into the internal mail but only briefly. In her mind the die was already cast and anyway the sight of the other buff coloured return envelopes in the health centre's mail bin told her she was not alone.