The Honeymooners

Eight. 80's and Versace

There's nothing quite like having your husband's Grandma call you by his ex-Fiancée's name. Granny Portia insists on calling me Violet, even when Enzo keeps telling her my name is in fact, Ambrosia. I don't know whether to laugh or cry, wanting to leave, but I'm stuck here as we sit in the corner near the bingo tables where a game is currently going ahead. Maybe, I should join in and get myself away from this mortifying situation. Enzo reaches for my hand, but I pull it away, feeling completely let down.

And, I'm not sure why.

It isn't like Enzo can control the words leaving Granny Portia's mouth.

"I always knew you would make a good couple," she says, holding her hand up in the air, making a 'yeehaah' sound. "Violet, you are a beauty."

Enzo reaches for her hands and forces her eyes to look into his anxious ones. " No, this is Ambrosia, remember? I'm not with Violet anymore."

"Yes," she pulls away and rolls her eyes towards the yellowing ceilings. "Violet, show me your wedding pictures again."

I don't argue any further, knowing she is a poorly lady who means no harm. Although, the whole situation is eating away at my marital worries. Violet seems to be a hot topic of late. Granny Portia takes the pictures and then flicks through them all, waving the shining copies in the air to catch the attention of her friends who are too engrossed in their bingo game to listen. Enzo guides her back into her chair when she tries to stand up in fear of her falling to hurt herself on the coffee table in front of our seats.

"What did you eat for breakfast?" Enzo asks, trying his best to change the topic of conversation.

Granny Portia pulls a face. "Bran flakes."

"You don't like them?" I reply.

"No," she lifts her hand in the air. "I want eggs and bacon, but no, they won't let me because it doesn't fit in with the budget. Disgusting."

"I love Bran flakes, don't you Ambrosia?" Enzo says with kind eyes.

I nod. "Oh, yes. Bran flakes are my favourite."

"Mine too," Granny Portia says, glancing towards Enzo. "You should marry this girl, En."

It's heartbreaking to see the change in her since we last visited, and I know this is hard for Enzo. Dementia is such a cruel disease.

"Do you like a banana on yours?" I reply, gripping onto her ageing hands when she places them in my lap.

Granny Portia bends forward and begins to giggle, the sound infectious to my ears when she breaks into hysterics. "I like red wine, dear."

"Me too," I beam at her, the laughter stopping when her eyes lower to my hands, her eyebrows tilting down in harsh lines.

"Theif," she hisses beginning to pull on my fingers. "You have my ring. You robbing woman. Give it back!"

My engagement ring was hers for a long time, and she let Janet have it a while ago before she became poorly, saying Enzo should give it to the girl of his dreams.

"No, Gran, don't do that, please," Enzo says when she starts scratching my hand.

I pull back, and then the carers come running over to take hold of the situation, while she shouts that I have stolen her ring. Enzo gets up to help them take her back to her room, and I stay seated feeling like a million eyes are on me. I chance a glance around the hall and see that the bingo goers are all watching me. I want to hide. A few minutes goes by, and then Enzo comes out of the hallway and walks up to me looking worse for wear.