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giggle, no eyebrows to speak of, and that bulbous bit on the end of his nose, he occasionally nagged his wife about the pissy smell in the lavatory and the festering piles of washing-up, which from time to time developed maggots. But because he feared losing his beautiful Queenie, whom he worshipped and who he was sure had only married him out of pity, he was too scared of saying or doing anything which might put their marriage at risk. He never reproached his wife for her neglect of the children.
    By the time she was ten, Beverley had become a second mother to Naomi. Each afternoon, she would come out of the juniors at Gearies School, collect her sister from the infants, walk her home and let them both in with the front-door key she wore on a ribbon round her neck. Then she would make tea, which usually consisted of clumsily applied Marmite on toast and baked beans.
    Both girls did surprisingly well at school, although their mother never showed the remotest interest in their academic progress. In her last couple of years, Naomi in particular developed a fierce ambition. She craved the plaudits which went with adult success, because at some subconscious level she saw them as a substitute for the maternal love and attention she still needed so desperately. She used university (Sussex, English) as a stepping-stone to a career. Beverley, on the other hand, went to university (Nottingham, history) in search of a husband and the care and security she hoped marriage would bring. She found this in Melvin. At the time, it didn’t matter to her that, although she loved him, she wasn’t ‘in love’ with him, that for her he was a clone of every other sweet, intellectual but never quite alpha male lad she had ever met at the Ilford Jewish Youth Club. Because she was certain Melvin adored her, would wrap her in affection and do his best to take care of her, she chose to ignore the fact that she wasn’t particularly attracted to him physically.
    When Beverley and Naomi’s father died in the mid seventies, a light seemed to go on - as opposed to off - inside Queenie. As the years passed she seemed to positively blossom. She gave up smoking, became a doting grandmother who baked the children slightly wonky Jane Asher birthday cakes and began taking a more than perfunctory interest in the state of Beverley and Melvin’s finances. As Queenie began to get in touch with her Jewish mother within, it became clear to Beverley that Lionel hadn’t quite been the devoted husband he’d always appeared. Exactly what had gone on between her father and her mother she had no idea - Queenie had never once spoken ill of Lionel - but there was no doubt in her mind that he had contributed in large measure to Queenie’s behaviour.
    By now Beverley’s attitude to her mother had softened considerably. She knew she would find it hard to forgive her for the past, but she’d stopped hating her. Occasionally, over a cup of tea, she would broach the subject of their miserable childhood. Clearly distressed, Queenie would immediately change the subject. Beverley never had the heart to press her.
    Time and again, Beverley tried to share her thoughts on their parents’ marriage with Naomi, but her sister, who believed Lionel had been led a dog’s life by their mother, wouldn’t hear a word against him. She always made it clear that as far as she was concerned their mother had been spawned by Beelzebub and deserved absolutely no compassion.
    ***
    Five years ago, when Queenie began to develop severe arthritis in her left hip as well as very high blood pressure, it was Beverley who began to worry about her falling over in the bath or having a stroke. It was also Beverley, fed up with phoning her mother ten times a day to check she was still alive, who decided Queenie could no longer live on her own. One Sunday morning while Melvin was in the park playing maladroit football with his usual gang of wobbly, overweight