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the food he can get.’
                  ‘Mary certainly believes in indulgence,’ my aunt Chloe sniped.
                  ‘And just what is that supposed to mean?’
                  ‘I was merely referring to your Sunday roast dinners. They’re rather excessive.’ Chloe assiduously pronounced every syllable in her sentences, but I knew her Welsh accent would come back with a vengeance once she’d had a few drinks.
                  ‘Well, you need more meat on your bones anyway.’ My mother prodded Chloe in the ribs. ‘But Daniel eats me out of house and home.’
                  ‘You enjoy my roast dinners don’t you, Jackie?’ Mary asked.
                  ‘They’re the best in Wales.’
                  ‘For God’s sake!’ Chloe rose from her seat. ‘I didn’t say there was anything wrong with your bloody dinners!’
                  ‘You said they were excessive, which insinuates that you don’t like them!’
                  ‘Ooh, insinuates. That’s a big word!’
                  ‘Another insinuation.’ I grinned.
                  Mary spoke in monosyllables for the next hour, while Chloe became louder with each fresh drink, emptied glasses forming an amorphous structure in front of her.
                  ‘It really is a shame about Jayne’s death, ain’t it?’ Chloe slurred after her sixth vodka.
                  ‘Yes, life’s too short,’ my mother said.
                  ‘Yeah, that’s right. Life is too short. It’s far too short to sit there n’ act grumpy like our darling sister is right now.’
                  Mary gave her a scolding look.
                  ‘She weren’t ever happy as a child, either.’
                  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Mary snapped.
                  People turned around, disturbed by the vociferousness of our table.
                  ‘Well, you never thanked mum n’ dad for what they gave us.’
                  ‘Do you mean the fleas, the bruises or the mental scars?’ Mary pounded the table with her fist.
                  ‘It’s all in the past,’ my mother said.
                  ‘Oh, God.’ Mary rolled her eyes. ‘You can‘t talk, Jackie. You were mum’s least favorite and you never got over it.’
                  ‘You horrible bitch!’
                  ‘Now we see the true side of her, Jackie.’ Chloe finished the last dregs of her drink.
                  ‘You were her favorite!’ Mary pointed a vindictive finger at Chloe.
                  ‘You’re a hypocrite, Mary,’ my mother spat.
                  ‘Who had the first pair of shoes? Chloe. Who was sometimes allowed to sleep next to the fire? Chloe. Who had everything? Chloe!’
                  ‘I was the eldest. It’s not like I had everything easy, but I was grateful for what mum and dad gave us. We turned out okay, didn’t we?’ Chloe looked at her sisters, shook her head and then burst into tears.
                  We tried to console her, but she’d had an awful lot of vodka and the only way to cheer her up was the offer of another drink.
                  ‘You’re right,’ Chloe said. ‘But I loved them.’
                  ‘We all did.’ My mother held Chloe’s hands in hers, rubbing them vigorously as if an icy wind had blown into the pub.
                  ‘I do miss them.’ Mary looked down at the ground. ‘I even miss the Wellington boots. It’s wrong of me to be so ungrateful.’
                  ‘Funerals remind me of everything we’ve lost,’ Chloe whispered.
                  The rest of the evening consisted of stories about Jayne,