When I finally make it to the ward I realize with horror that the scary nurse, Sue, is on the reception desk again and visiting hours are over for the day. But I won’t let her stop me. She’s like the dragon guarding the princess in the tallest tower. Or the witch locking her up and throwing away the key.

I wait until Sue has her back turned and, like something out of a movie, spider-crawl across the floor until my back is up against the desk. She’s back at her computer after a few moments, tap, tap, tapping, and that’s when it hits me.

I bury my face in my hands. This is ridiculous, I’m ridiculous. I wait for an age, frozen to the spot, staring at Mum’s door. If I stretched my legs out I might even reach it. But Sue would see me.

Suddenly I hear a door open and shut and someone breathes in sharply. I close my eyes, waiting for her next words. ‘Excuse me, what are you doing out of –’ Her steps clip-clop in time with her words, each one like a slap. ‘You’re not a patient.’

That’s when Sue stands up. I hear her chair roll away. ‘What are you on about?’ She sounds irritated.

I stand up too and Sue jumps backwards. I would find that funny if I wasn’t so upset. ‘I . . . I just wanted to see my mum.’

Sue’s eyes widen and it looks like they might pop out of her head entirely. The other nurse’s expression changes and she puts her hand on my arm. ‘Where’s your mum, darling?’

She asks this just as Sue says, ‘Visiting hours are over.’

I don’t know what comes over me, but I burst into tears. ‘S-she’s in there and I w-want to t-talk to her.’ They’re both distressed by my crying. Sue is shushing me, obviously worried that I’ll bother the patients. The nice nurse leads me behind the desk and sits me down on an empty chair.

Even as I realize how silly I must look to them, I can’t stop.

I hear the two whispering for a moment before Sue picks up the phone and resumes her work. I tune her out. The nice nurse comes over soon after with a grey-looking cup of tea in a cardboard cup. ‘Thank you,’ I say, tears still streaming down my face.

‘Your mum’s Aminah, isn’t she?’ The nurse asks with a smile. She has crooked teeth and blond hair tied up in a bun. There are faded pink streaks in it that show when the light is just right.

I nod and, before I know it, I’m telling her all about Mum’s memories, and showing her the items from the memory box.

‘That dress is beautiful!’ the nurse says, stroking it like it’s a fragile puppy or kitten.