Rabbit was more than a sister, mother, friend – she was Rabbit Hayes. Grace was what? Some kids called her a MILF once. When she discovered it meant Mom I’d Like to Fuck, it made her feel sick. Now it was the only thing she could think of – MILF! Is that what I am? Is that all I am? Just something pretty to look at? If Rabbit was still alive, and if Grace had confided her fears, she would have told her she was so much more than that: she was smart and funny and loving and kind. She would remind her of her eye for detail and the fact that she could fix almost anything. That she was a beloved mother of four boys, a supportive wife and a successful homemaker. Grace was the natural heir to Molly’s crown, and that was no mean feat. She was the one every member of the family confided in and relied on. She had helped Rabbit care for her own daughter long before she was ever sick. She enabled Rabbit to soar and was always there when she needed a place to land. Grace, like her ma, got the job done – any job – nothing was beyond her. Grace was important. Rabbit would have told her all of that and more, but Rabbit was gone. Grace was left alone with her own troubled mind. What now? She didn’t even think about her ovaries at that point. She wasn’t even sure they’d have to go. Maybe not, but if they did, she didn’t care so much about what was inside, she was done with motherhood, she could handle that – at least she thought she could – but her breasts . . . Knockers Hayes.

She didn’t hear Lenny step into the bathroom. There was too much steam to see clearly and she was crying. She felt the cold air as he opened the shower door, then the hair on his legs brush against her, his hands on her hips and his breath on her neck.

‘I missed you,’ he said.

‘Lenny?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, and kissed her neck.

‘What’s your favourite thing about me?’

‘What?’

‘You heard.’

‘Is this a trap?’ he said, and he stopped kissing her neck.

‘No.’

‘It feels like a trap.’ After being married for what felt like 208 years, Lenny could sense a trap a mile away.

‘What’s your favourite thing about me?’

‘Everything. I love everything except your stupid questions.’

‘My breasts?’

‘Love ’em,’ he said, and he grinned like a kid and found them and filled his hands.

‘What if they were gone?’ she said.

‘Don’t mess,’ he said, suddenly serious.

‘I’m not messing. I’m asking.’

‘Well, that would make me really very fucking sad,’ he said.

‘Me too,’ she whispered.

‘But they’re not gone, they’re right here. Happy days,’ he said. She turned to face him – an awkward turn, the shower wasn’t big enough for major manoeuvring.