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a few seconds to work out what her nan was trying to prise the top off with.
    ‘Nan. Where on earth did you get that?’ Violet pointed to the large carved-wood bottle opener.
    ‘Edith brought it back for me from Corfu,’ said Nan. ‘Why, what’s up with it?’
    ‘Have you seen what it is?’
    Nan turned it round in her hand. ‘It’s made out of an olive tree,’ she said, unable to add anything else to the description.
    ‘Nan, it’s an enormous willy.’
    Nan looked at it again in the light of this new information and then burst into a peal of laughter. ‘Well, I never noticed. And I’ll bet you Edith didn’t either. She does all
the sandwiches for the church meetings. I hope she hasn’t bought the vicar one. Oh my, how funny is that.’
    Still giggling, she held out a hand for the plate of Jaffa Cakes, just as Susan came in through the back door, pushing it fully open with her ample bottom as her arms were full of dried
washing.
    ‘Susan, look at this. It’s a penis,’ said Nan.
    ‘Good grief, so it is,’ said Susan. ‘How come we never noticed? Oy, you, no chocolate,’ she said, seeing Nan’s fingers reach for a biscuit.
    ‘Oh, one won’t do me any harm, Susan.’
    ‘You’ve just had tests for diabetes,’ snapped Susan sternly. ‘They told you no sweet stuff. I don’t know what to do if you fall into a coma.’
    ‘You’ll be glad to get rid,’ winked Nan. ‘You’ll be planning the funeral song as soon as my eyes close.’
    ‘I’ve picked it already,’ said Susan. ‘“Ding Dong! The Witch is Dead”.’
    Nan squawked with laughter. ‘I thought you’d be saving that for your mother.’
    ‘No rules saying I can’t have it for you both,’ replied Susan, picking up a cup of newly poured tea. She sighed with pleasure when it hit the back of her throat. ‘How did
the dress hunting go?’ she asked.
    ‘Rubbish,’ huffed Violet. ‘I couldn’t find a thing.’
    ‘There’s always my dress if you’re desperate,’ suggested Susan.
    Nan and Violet exchanged horrified glances that made them both blurt out a big fat giggle.
    ‘It’s not that bad,’ said Susan, affronted.
    ‘It is,’ put in Nan.
    ‘It can be altered, Nan,’ countered Susan.
    ‘I’m sorry for laughing, Mum, but no way will a dress that’s made for you fit me,’ said Violet.
    ‘And aren’t you the lucky one, where that frock’s concerned,’ said Nan.
    Susan and Violet were as unlike physically as a mother and daughter could be. Violet had a slight five-foot-five build with the very pale skin and straight white-blonde hair of her father,
whereas Susan was dark and curly haired, slim-waisted but full-busted, and five inches taller than her daughter.
    ‘Look, I’ll go and get it and show you what I mean,’ said Susan, putting down her cup. She trotted up the stairs and Violet slapped Nan’s leg gently.
    ‘Don’t be naughty, you.’
    ‘Pat designed that dress. You could tell she didn’t like your father. She was hoping he’d be so horrified he’d run off.’
    ‘Shhh,’ said Violet as her mum’s quick footsteps sounded on the stairs on the way back down.
    Susan appeared with the long white dress in a polythene cover. The dress really was an amalgam of all the worst bits of the early seventies. It had a high lacy neck and huge puffball sleeves.
There was no definition to the waist and it had a strangely placed bow high up on the back. There was no volume to the skirt, but at the bottom of the dress was a deep and disturbingly horrific
lace flounce.
    ‘I thought,’ began Susan, ‘that if you got someone to take off that frill and drop the neckline a bit . . .’
    ‘And cut off the sleeves and that bow that looks as if it’s trying to escape upwards,’ added Nan, still chuckling.
    Susan ignored her. ‘It’s lovely material.’
    ‘Apart from the net-curtain bits,’ Nan batted back.
    ‘Which I’m suggesting you take off,’ Susan volleyed.
    ‘I think I’ll pass, Mum,’ said Violet