They went home after that. Marjorie drove the car in silence.

‘You’re sulking.’

‘Kids sulk – I’m just ignoring you.’

‘You would rather not know what’s facing you?’

‘It’s not facing me.’

‘They say girls follow their mothers.’

‘You had different issues.’

‘The symphysiotomy can be blamed for most things that have gone wrong for me, but not that,’ Vera said.

‘I’m not menopausal,’ Marjorie said.

‘Any day now.’

‘Can you please stop being a bitch?’

‘I wasn’t trying to be, I was trying to help you.’

‘You’ve a funny way of helping.’

She walked her mother inside her home and told her she’d drop the shopping over on Wednesday evening and see her on Saturday for a walk.

‘It’s too cold to walk.’

‘Tell that to your physiotherapist.’

‘I’m not walking.’

‘If I have to drag you out, you’re walking.’

‘I’m not the only bitch in this family,’ Vera said.

‘Now, now, Ma. I’m only trying to help.’

Other than Vera’s talk of menopause and her slamming the door in her face, it hadn’t been a bad evening.

‘Why was the tomato blushing?’ Vera said during their starters. Marjorie wasn’t sure what to say; for a moment she feared the woman was having another stroke.

‘Why was the tomato blushing?’ Vera repeated.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Because it saw the salad dressing,’ she said, and nodded to herself and smiled.

Marjorie didn’t know what to say. ‘That was a joke, Ma?’

‘I saw a young fella tell it on the telly,’ she said, and then she laughed to herself and Marjorie laughed out of shock more than anything else, but a laugh is a laugh. Still, by the time she left the house all laughter was forgotten and she was awash with fresh concerns about the menopause.