“Not possible,” said the Mock Turtle, drying his eyes. “This sentence is unique, as befits the crime. You can take the twenty years of gingham anytime you want—not necessarily now.”

“But my gran had this punishment—”

“You’re mistaken,” replied the Gryphon firmly, retrieving the paper, folding it and placing it in his pocket, “and we had better be off. Will you be at Bradshaw’s golden wedding anniversary?”

“Y-es,” I said slowly, still confused.

“Good. Page 221, Bradshaw and the Diamond of M’shala. It’s bring-a-bottle-and-a-banana. Drag your husband along. I know he’s real, but no one’s perfect—we’d all like to meet him.”

“Thank you. What about—”

“Goodness!” said the Gryphon, consulting a large pocket-watch. “Is that the time? We’ve got a lobster quadrille to perform in ten pages!”

The Mock Turtle cheered up a bit when he heard this, and in a moment they were gone.

I walked slowly back to where Landen and Friday were waiting for me in the car.

“Dah!” said Friday really loudly.

“There!” said Landen. “He most definitely said ‘Dad’!” He noticed my furrowed brow. “What’s up?”

“Landen, my gran on my mother’s side died in 1968.”

“And?”

“Well, if she died then, and Dad’s mum died in 1979 . . .”

“Yes?”

“Then who is that up at the Goliath Twilight Homes?”

“I’ve never met her,” explained Landen. “I thought ‘Gran’ was a term of endearment.”

I didn’t answer. I had thought she was my gran but she wasn’t. In fact, I’d known her only about three years. Before that I had never set eyes on her before. Perhaps that’s less than accurate. I had seen her whenever I stared into a mirror, but she had been a lot younger. Gran wasn’t my gran. Gran was me.

Landen drove me up to the Goliath Twilight Homes, and I went in alone, leaving Landen and Friday in the car. I made my way with heavily beating heart to her room and found the ward sister bending over the gently dozing form of the old, old woman that I would eventually become.

“Is she suffering much?”

“The painkillers keep it under control,” replied the nurse. “Family?”

“Yes,” I replied, “we’re very close.”

“She’s a remarkable woman,” murmured the nurse. “It’s a wonder she’s still with us at all.”

“It was a punishment,” I said.

“Pardon?”

“Never mind. It won’t be long now.”

I moved closer to the bed, and she opened her eyes.

“Hello, young Thursday!” said Gran, waving at me weakly. She took off the oxygen mask, was roundly scolded by the nurse and put it back on again.

“You’re not my gran, are you?” I said slowly, sitting on the bedside.

She smiled benevolently and placed her small and pink wrinkled hand on mine.

“I am Granny Next,” she replied, “just not yours. When did you find out?”