‘Tell her I’ve gone out…’ br Mum used to say br as I handed her the phone. br br Lil rang every week, br regular as clockwork: br ‘Hello Darling. How’s your poor mother? ’ br br ‘That woman never stops for breath.’ br Mum was right. br Lil could carry on in a conversation br with a corpse. br br She lived alone after Frank died. br Poor Frank. br He never got over the accident. br br He used to drive the school bus. br One of the kids ran out in front. br She was only six. br br He never drove the bus again. br br Lil had knobbly hands br and a voice that could polish brass. br Her chest was flatter than Mum’s. br Her neck was even scrawnier. br br Mum used to laugh about it. br br She’d brought up four kids of her own br and a whole string of other people’s. br br Lil never learned to drive. br Walked every where. br Smoked like a chimney. br br I invited her to Mum’s send off. br She wore a fur coat br and clip on earrings. br br I noticed her blowing her nose br as we emptied the remains of Mum br around the rose bush. br br ‘Dear old Niddy, ’ she said softly. br ‘She was a real lady.