“It was Nance Wilson who told me. You know old Nance, never says a word, poor pet.” Pat paused and took her daughter’s silence as not understanding.
“You remember Nance, Rose? She used to work down the street when you were a girl. You were terrified of her most of the time. Not a bad old stick though, really, and a real pillar of the community in her time.”
A smile rested on Rose’s lips as she listened to her mother, but her mind was running through the array of salads she’d prepared for the evening and whether there would be enough. Luckily, women can multitask, she thought, reaching over to wipe dust from the top of the frame that held a photo of James, Rose and their two children.
Pat had paused from her biography of Nance Wilson and opened a pack of liquorice, offering one to her da
