Beryl set out her morning pills. The red one for her heart, the two tiny white ones for her brain, the big yellow one for her asthma, two small pink ones for the pain in her hip and a medium-sized blue one for... wait! That was a Smartie.
"What happens if you don't take them?" said Bethany, her grand-daughter.
"I'll die," said Beryl. "Fall over with my legs in the air and that'll be the end of me."
"When?" asked the girl.
Beryl's face clouded. She didn't want to know the answer but it had been asked and now... "June the 24th," she said. "A half-past six in the morning."
"Will I die then, too?" she said. "I don't take any tablets. Only the pink medicine when I had chicken pox."
"No dear, you won't die then." Beryl leaned down and hugged her, just because, and relieved that she could shimmy past a direct answer.
"My birthday is in July," said Bethany. "Please will you buy my present early, just in case?"