I listen carefully to his tone of voice, try to hear any traces of secrecy, before asking the question. ‘Why are you interested in the coat, Danny?’

‘Becca, I have to go, Joanna is calling me.’ Before I have time to say anything else, he hangs up on me.

Oakridge is closed, but as luck would have it, Barry the security guy is on duty when I arrive.

‘Back again?’ he says, pulling the door open. ‘Mom not doing too good?’ Barry leads me to the reception desk to sign in.

‘No, she didn’t have a good day and I was in work earlier so I thought…’

‘No worries, Rebecca. Glad to be of help, go ahead,’ he says, pointing to the elevators. He doesn’t mention the mystery visitor, the tapes or the fact that Katie Collins is dead. He just plods along, minding his own business. There should be more Barrys in this world.

Snores in all keys and tones vibrate through the hallway. In the distance I see that Mom’s door is open and light is flooding out into the hallway. Why is it open? Who’s in there? Rushing down the corridor, I arrive at the door with my heart pounding. Lucy the night nurse is holding Mom’s hand, talking to her, and there’s a doctor, one of those on call amateurs, fiddling with something in her stomach, pushing in a tube or a needle.

‘What’s happening?’ I cry, rushing over to Lucy’s side. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s okay, Becca,’ she says.

Taking Mom’s hand from Lucy’s, I kneel down by the bed and look into her eyes. They’re red; Mom has been crying, her face is wet. Something washes over me, scares me, weakens me.

‘What happened?’ My voice is barely recognizable, the words snowflakes in a blizzard.

Lucy puts her hand on my shoulder.

‘Everything is okay now.’

‘What do you mean now?’ I want to scream, pull the bedclothes off, push the nurse away, drive the doctor away. What are these people doing to Mom? Why did she cry?

‘Becca, Nancy pulled out the feeding tube in her stomach earlier and, well, she tore the skin. We’ve given her painkillers, she’s not in pain anymore.’

The doctor ignores me, concentrating on what he has to do. I squeeze Mom’s hand, telling her everything is going to be okay. Who am I kidding? It’s only been two days since the tube was inserted and already there’s a problem. Nothing will ever be okay again. This is just another battle in the war, another shadow in the room, another flame in the crematorium.

Mom’s eyes look back at me, helpless and confused. The world is a stranger now, pain is just pain. I kiss her cheek. Her salty tears coat my lips and I lick them. I swallow them.