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decisively.
    Susan took a long hard look at her dress and then pulled the plastic cover back over it. ‘No, you’re right. It’s bloody awful. You never wanted to play with it even when you
were a little girl, Violet. I should give it away.’
    ‘Obviously you can’t give it to charity,’ chirped Nan. ‘You’d traumatize the people who opened up the bag.’
    ‘I kept it because it had such happy memories for me,’ said Susan. ‘I had to wear it, because Auntie May made it and she wasn’t well at the time. She died not long
after the wedding.’
    ‘Too bad she didn’t die before it was finished and give you the chance to get a proper dress,’ said Nan, as Violet gave her a gentle but firm nudge.
    ‘God forgive you, Nan,’ said Susan, trying hard to stifle a laugh.
    ‘You should have seen the bridesmaids’ dresses she made as well,’ said Nan to Violet. ‘I hope I never seen that shade of green again outside a sewer.’
    ‘Oy, my mother designed all the dresses,’ tutted Susan.
    ‘I know. Coco Chanel must have been terrified of losing her crown.’
    ‘It was a lovely day, though, wasn’t it, Nan?’ said Susan, slipping back into a cosy spring-scented memory. ‘And it was the seventies, so the dresses didn’t look as
out of place as they would today.’
    ‘Aye, it was a lovely day,’ said Nan, thinking of her son, full of life then, a young man with his future stretching out before him. ‘The sun was shining and you were smiling
like lunatics – you and our Jeff.’
    Susan’s eyes bloomed with water.
    ‘Right, best get cracking,’ she said, rising quickly to her feet. ‘I want to Vax the upstairs carpets before I go out to the book club.’ She turned to Nan.
‘I’ll leave you two alone. I assume you haven’t got round to telling her yet.’
    ‘Not yet,’ said Nan.
    ‘Telling me what?’ asked Violet. Her phone was rumbling in her pocket again. She didn’t need to look at it to see who it was.
    Susan smiled enigmatically then disappeared up the stairs.
    ‘What’s going on?’ pressed Violet as Nan took some little shuffling mouse steps over to the sideboard. She opened a drawer, took something out and sat down again. She pressed a
set of keys into Violet’s hand. Then she answered the questions in Violet’s eyes.
    ‘They’re for Postbox Cottage. The tenants have left and I’m not renting it out any more. I’m giving it to you.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You heard. Unless you’re getting as daft as me.’
    ‘Nan—’ Violet began to protest but Nan held up her hand.
    ‘I know you’ve never liked Glyn’s flat and, well, I shan’t ever be living there again in my state. I’ll only be getting worse and I want to know that you have it
before anything happens to me. I want to enjoy giving it to you.’ Violet gripped Nan’s hand and felt very close to tears thinking about life without this lovely old lady in it.
    ‘I’m sorry, love. I’ve made you cry.’ Nan pulled out a tissue from her sleeve and dabbed at Violet’s eyes. ‘That’s the last thing I want to see you do.
When you’re happy, I’m happy. I want to think about you having your turn at life and being settled with a nice man who thinks the world of you.’
    Violet’s tears flowed faster. Tears about being happy, which she could use to disguise her tears of sadness about her nan.
    Nan had been terrified about this illness, terrified that her brain would be dead far in advance of her body, meaning that Susan would have even more to do. She knew that for all her brusque
manner, Susan would never let her go into a home. Soon Susan would stop going to her book club meetings. She’d say that she was getting bored by them, but Nan would know that it was because
she no longer felt she could leave her mother-in-law alone for an hour and a half.
    Nan presumed it was a dream last night when she was talking to the angel about her fears, but it felt too real to be that. The angel said that it was such a good idea to