GRANDMA
“Are you being a good boy for your mum?” Conor’s grandma pinched Conor’s cheeks so hard he swore she was going to draw blood.
“He’s been very good, Ma,” Conor’s mother said, winking at him from behind his grandma, her favourite blue scarf tied around her head.
“So there’s no need to inflict quite so much pain.” “Oh, nonsense,” his grandma said,
giving him two playful slaps on each cheek that actually hurt quite a lot.
“Why don’t you go and put the kettle on for me and your mum?” she said, making it sound not like a question at all.
As Conor gratefully left the room, his grandma placed her hands on her hips and looked at his mother.
“Now then, my dear,” he heard her say as he went into the kitchen. “What are we going to do with you?”
Conor’s grandma wasn’t like other grandmas. He’d met Lily’s grandma loads of times,
and she was how grandmas were supposed to be: crinkly and smiley, with white hair and the whole lot.
She cooked meals where she made three separate eternally-boiled vegetable portions for everybody
and would giggle in the corner at Christmas with a small glass of sherry and a paper crown on her head.
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