‘Right then,’ Molly said, ‘I’ll sort it.’ She walked up the stairs and entered the room. Juliet, like her granda, was pretending to be asleep.

‘I know you’re awake, little lady,’ Molly said. ‘Don’t kid a kidder.’

Juliet opened her eyes. Molly took her shoes off and got on the bed; Juliet automatically cuddled into her gran.

‘This is the worst of it.’

‘Isn’t it all bad from here on in?’ Juliet asked.

‘Yeah, but at least you don’t have to make small talk and serve sandwiches,’ Molly said.

‘Gran?’

‘Yes, Bunny.’

‘I feel so sad I want to die,’ Juliet said in a small, fragile voice.

‘Don’t say that, love.’ Molly’s eyes filled and tears fell. She kissed her granddaughter on her head. ‘Please, please, don’t ever say that, but I know how you feel.’

Juliet agreed to get out of bed and shower and change. Molly decided it would be best if she stayed in her house that night, and asked Grace if she’d lend her Ryan and Bernard for the night. ‘She needs to be with kids her own age,’ Molly argued, and Davey and Grace conceded it was a better idea than leaving her to contemplate dying in her dead mother’s bed.

*

Molly and Grace stood in front of Rabbit’s wardrobe to examine each and every item. Mostly it was filled with jeans of all colours and styles and V-neck T-shirts with band names emblazoned across them interspersed with the odd skirt and jacket, a navy bridesmaid’s dress and one knitted knee-length dress with a polo neck.

‘What about the bridesmaid’s dress?’ Grace said.

‘She’s not going to a wedding. Besides, she hated that bridesmaid’s dress,’ Molly said, and sat on the bed with her head in her hands.

‘I’m amazed she wore it.’ Grace sat beside her mother and put her arm around her.

‘She would have worn a brown paper bag if Marjorie asked her to,’ Molly said, raising her eyes to stare into the wardrobe that looked more like that of a sixteen-year-old rocker than a forty-year-old mother of one.

‘The polo neck will just emphasise how bloated her face is,’ Molly said.

‘We could buy something?’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know, maybe a dress with a V-neck or a nice blouse and pants.’

‘She’d hate that,’ Molly said. ‘She was always very particular about what she wore, even when she was a baby. I caught her putting her hand in her nappy and smearing shite on a pink top with a princess on it when she was two years old. “Message received,” said I, and that was the last time she had any dealings with pink or princesses. Do you remember?’

‘I do, Ma.’

‘She was so wilful,’ Molly lamented.

‘I wonder where she got that from,’ Grace said sarcastically and Molly chuckled a little.