The first time she didn’t recognize me, I was devastated. She’d sent me to the store for tomatoes but when I came back she just looked blankly at me and smiled politely as if I was a stranger. ‘Hello,’ she said, before walking out of the kitchen. At first I thought she was joking. She joked a lot when I was a kid. But then she came back into the kitchen and said, ‘Ah, there you are. I didn’t hear you come in. Did you get the tomatoes?’ Unable to answer, I dropped the bag and hurried upstairs to my bedroom, where I cried for an hour. I wasn’t supposed to leave her alone with the cooker, but I was boiling my own fears. Coming to terms with Mom switching on and off, like a bad internet connection. I didn’t want to see it. No Service. But I did, more and more.

Having settled on skipping work because of all the conflict swirling around in my brain, I open my laptop and scan my social media sites as Turner requested. Nothing, not a sign of Katie Collins. Not a clue as to why she looks familiar. I knew there wouldn’t be. If anyone had tried to contact me on Facebook or Twitter, I’d expect a band to be playing instead of a beep. No one is ever looking for me. But then again, was someone in my apartment?

I call Turner but I don’t get an answer so I hang up and try again. Still no answer. I leave a message. This whole saga is draining me. My body wants to go back to bed and sleep, but my mind is restless. I need to find out about what Mom said. First thing I’ll do is go to my Dad’s and find my birth cert. The proof. That should put my mind at rest. I check the time, it’s eleven a.m., Dad will be at the nursing home now.

When I get to Dad’s I park around the corner in case Bert sees my car and wants to delay me. Sneaking in the side entrance I find the key for the back door that Dad hides under one of the broken laths at the side of the decking. Once inside I almost break my neck tripping over a brown cardboard box with Dad’s name on it – more tools I guess – left sitting right inside the door.

‘Dad? Are you home?’ I call out. No answer. It’s just me here now, alone with the past. Taking the steps two at a time I head upstairs to Mom’s bedroom.