'I just can't believe that Donna is a mother' mused Harry, face turned to the sun. 'She was always so carefree and exciting.'
'Are you saying that women can't be carefree and exciting after they become mothers?' Rosie squinted at him.
'No, no not at all! But I never would have imagined it, especially for all of this time. Our Donna, a mother. All women become like their mothers' said Harry dreamily.
'It would be a tragedy if Donna had turned out like hers' Rosie replied, instantly knowing the Oscar Wilde quote. In hindsight, Harry's proclivities should have been obvious but at that moment they were all so relaxed lying out in one of the fishermen's boats with some drinks, that nobody cared for in depth analysis.
'Really? I can't imagine what Donna's mother would be like' said Harry innocently.
'Thankfully you don't have to' said Tanya acidly. 'Think bitter Catholic guilt widow with vinegar in her veins and you'll be happy that Donna is nothing like her.'
Harry and Bill sat up and stared at her. The image of the mother from that schlocky horror film from the 80s, Bloodbath at the house of death, simultaneously floated up in their brains.
'She was quite the horror' confirmed Rosie.
'No wonder Donna never went back. I bet that old bitch cursed her to her dying day.'
'Now really, she couldn't have been that bad' Harry protested half-heartedly.
'She wouldn't have pissed on you if you were on fire' said Tanya disdainfully.
'Just as well really, her bodily fluids were mainly made of up of cheap vodka and gin' said Rosie cheerfully, noting the men's unnerved reaction.
Uneasy silence reigned.
'Cheer up loves. No chance of bumping into her anytime soon, she's 6 feet under by now' said Rosie in amusement. 'Drink up.' She handed them each another beer and exchanged amused glances with Tanya. These visitors were going to be a lot of fun.