‘Well, Mammy,’ they both said, kissing Margaret Rose in turn, then they opened back her curtain, and sat either side of her bed, flanking her, but it was short lived. They’d pop up, suddenly, sometimes to braid each other’s hair, or play that game where you clap at each other, mirror like, leaning against each other, dabbing their split ends back into place between their fresh lips, fingers popping each other’s large gum bubbles, in colours that matched the neon tops.

Michaela and Niquita Sherlock were the youngest daughters of Margaret Rose. They spoke quickly, were high-pitched, swirling around topics, at times hysterically, as though any minute someone would drop dead, at other moments, quietly, as they began edging their way past boundaries. But mostly, they were deferential to their mother. Light-heartedly, everything was open for their criticism, from her pyjamas to her facial paralysis, but never her decisions.

‘Did ya watch Jacinta’s wedding on the laptop far ideas, Mammy?’

‘I did, Nick, I watched it again and again … ma God, she was beautiful, wasn’t she?’ said Margaret Rose.

Both girls nodded.

‘I want me own ta be just like it,’ Niquita, the taller of the two, said.

It was time to get a move on with the dresses. Margaret Rose told them to slow down. Paddy had to return before they could move on with it, and though Niquita woefully protested, Margaret Rose ended it, but she’d need more time and besides the stroke had made her very weak. Both girls blessed themselves at the mention of ‘stroke’.

It was what it was.

And they weren’t to bother Mammy again, for a little while at least, until she had recovered, and talk about weddings could commence upon Paddy’s return.

Seeming content with this plan, and just as they took leave, the smaller one said, rather like an announcement, or that she’d been plucking up the courage to spill it out, ‘Jonathan’s calling Niquita names again.’

‘Ah, fuck … Loveen, I don’na believe it,’ Margaret Rose said, looking in earnest at the taller girl who shot her a sharp look. ‘Are ya joking me? Fuck this. I thought this had all stopped. Again?’

‘Yeah, he is, like, I really wanted to tell him to fuck off for himself, but neither yarself or Daddy are at home now and I just didn’t think ’twould be the best thing ta do. Ya know. Bringing bother.’ Michaela lifted her tiny shoulders forwards in a hunch, and one of the spaghetti straps fell down along her narrow arm.

‘Lave it, Mic …’ Niquita said, pulling her sister by the arm, and when Michaela resisted she punched her where the strap now lay, giving her sister a dead arm.

‘Ouch, fuck sake, take it handy … I’m only trying ta help ya,’ Michaela said, rubbing her arm, then shaking it vigorously in an attempt to try and wake it up.

‘Ya OK, love?’ Margaret said to Niquita, nodding slowly.

‘Help? Yeah, right,’ Niquita said to Michaela. ‘Ah yeah, I s’pose. Yeah, I’m OK, Mam,’ she said, dropping her head and shaping her fingers into childish knots.