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answered. She stood in the middle of her room, wet, shivering and trying hard to keep shampoo from bleaching her eyeballs.
    “So, you’re alive,” came the well-to-do voice from the other end of the line.
    “Yes, I am. I was in the shower. You interrupted me having a shower. So I’m going to call you back when I’ve rinsed my hair, OK?” Amy had learned from bitter experience that a short, sharp approach with her mother garnered more efficient results, however brutal it may appear.
    “No, you’re not,” her mother said, matter of fact. “I’m just calling to tell you about Claire’s wedding. It’s in two months and they say you haven’t RSVP’d. So I said that you were coming and that you’d be plus one.”
    “Mother!” Amy shouted in breathless exasperation. Mentally, she ran through all the ways she could get out of attending her cousin’s big day. The silence was a sufficient giveaway to a mother well versed in these techniques.
    “Time’s up. No excuses, so you’re coming. Oh, and when I said plus one, I meant one that was born with an actual penis, not one that’s had one grafted on.”
    “Mother, I’m not a lesbian and, as far as I know, lesbians don’t graft penises onto themselves in order to have sex.”
    The reply was immediate and said with a hint of concern: “And how do you know what lesbians do?”
    Amy stood in her bedroom, shaking with cold and wondering why she was having such a conversation. She glanced up and saw another of her flatmates enter the bathroom, lock the door and turn the bath taps on. Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to rinse her hair for a considerable amount of time didn’t enhance her mood.
    “How do you know they attach penises to one another? Did someone give a talk about it at the WI?” came Amy’s waspish reply.
    There was a considered clearing of the throat down the phone line. “That’s quite a vulgar prospect. I sometimes think that living in the city has made you coarse, young lady. Your father told me, if you must know. Apparently, there’s a Polish barmaid working in the pub. She told him.”
    “Right…” Amy uttered by means of resignation. The prospect of her father having such conversations was of no consequence compared to a soapy head of hair.
    “Why not bring this Tom you’ve been talking about ? Are you still seeing him?” Amy’s mother enquired gently.
    Amy sighed. It would come as no surprise to discover that her mother had concocted this entire wedding just to meet Tom. She’d mentioned him a few times, but had wisely kept the details limited. As such, her mother was hell-bent on finding out more. The most successful method she’d discovered so far was to assume that Amy was still single and gay, and hope that her protests would reveal yet more information.
    “If he isn’t busy then, yes, I’ll ask him,” Amy said joylessly.
    Silence at the other end of the phone indicated total focus from her mother. This was a promising revelation. Not since Amy’s school days had she met a boy that her daughter was dating. This was big news. “That would be nice,” she replied, trying as hard as possible to sound indifferent.
    Amy knew that her mother would be biting her lip, ready to scream with anticipation and excitement. “Well, like I say, if he’s free, I’ll ask. But he goes away a lot to see family, so he may have plans.” She was well versed in laying the foundations for forthcoming disappointment. It was one of her fortes.
    A silence separated mother and daughter, both still fixed to a phone. Suddenly, Amy’s mother, Judith, drew breath. “Well, I’ll go now and leave you to your shower, but don’t forget September 20th. You need a decent outfit that doesn’t make you look frumpy, as well as your man, a smile and a gift. A hat would also be nice, but I know how strident you are about looking pretty. Enjoy your shower. Kisses.”
    Whereupon the line went dead. Amy threw her phone onto the floor and stamped her foot