‘Well,’ I say, rather tearfully. ‘Carla’s dead, so I can’t yell at her.’ ‘Really?’ Mum says. ‘I do, sometimes.’ That startles a wet half-laugh out of me. ‘I think she’d be a bit offended to think you were refusing to yell at her, just because she died,’ Mum goes on mildly. ‘You know how big she was on treating everyone equally.’
