My grandmothers gathered in the village square and passed a bottle of cider back and forth between themselves. They hadn’t RSVPd, so we had to order extra bowls of chips and pass them out of the windows of the function room which was bursting at the seams. I wanted a group photo, but they were drunk and wild by then, their teeth sharp, their bare feet darkening, their hair unravelled. I felt too nervous to approach them, so I spread my skirt out on the pub steps, and shivered as they called out to each other in all their languages.
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