nine
Later that evening, Rose was the first to arrive at The White Swan. She perched on a stool at the bar, chatting to Roger and Sue and watching the quiz man set up his apparatus.
“How’s your gran?” Sue asked, as she swiped over the drip trays with a damp cloth.
“As mischievous as ever.” Rose dug in her bag for her phone. “This was her at Shelly’s homecoming party.”
Sue and Roger chuckled over the shot. “You would never believe she’s in her nineties.”
“Ninety-two, to be exact. Still fit and sprightly, apart from a touch of arthritis in her knees and fingers.”
“I miss Faith,” Sue sighed. “the cleaning staff we have here now aren’t a patch on her.”
“She worked hard,” Roger said, “and she added a touch of fun to the place. Always cheerful, was our Faith.”
“And her granddaughter’s
