Over time, she told him about her grandmother, Margaret, a centenarian with flamboyant style and shrewd eyes.
Her defiant tendency to lock the front door against her carers.
The stroke that had reduced her vocabulary to three words: okay, alright, beautiful.
Roy listened with milky eyes. ‘At the end,’ he said, ‘my mother only used three words, too.’
Ruth looked kindly interested enough for him to reveal, ‘not good enough.’