Back downstairs I nearly fall over the big box again so I push it over beside the wall. Dad could easily trip over it. His concentration seems to drift with the breeze these days. I look out the window in the hope that the coast is clear but Bert is in his yard, leaning against the gate, looking this way. My God, he must have a sixth sense. I know he’s waiting for me but he can’t see my car from over there. Go back inside Bert. I’m in a hurry. Except for my Dad, who can come and go as he pleases, visiting hours at Oakridge are pretty strict. The rest of us are expected to stick with the program. So I’ll have to leave now if I’m going to get there in time.

I check the time on my phone. No calls. Not from Detective Turner and not from Stephen Black. Maybe Turner is satisfied with my message, and I won’t hear from her again. I doubt it, though. Something is tapping at my psyche, warning me, this is only the beginning.

Eventually Bert goes inside and I make my escape through the side gate. It’s not too far a drive from Dad’s to Oakridge. Mom won’t be expecting me today.

Then again, is she ever?

The lobby is peaceful. Time moves at a slower pace here. Chopin, or one of those guys, plays softly from the two small speakers hanging from either corner of the papered wall. Below my feet, thick carpet offers more comfort. It’s all about the comfort, the peace, the illusion. I make my way to the reception desk to sign the visitor’s book.

‘Rebecca Wall?’ the woman behind the desk says, looking up at me through red framed glasses. She smiles and stands up.

‘Yes?’

‘Would you mind waiting here for a minute? Doctor Reilly left a message here, she wants to speak with you whenever you come in.’

Lifting the phone, she pushes a button and tells whoever is on the other end that I am here.

‘What’s this about?’ I say.

‘She’ll be along in a… Oh, here she is now.’

Dr. Reilly is young. She wears Van sneakers, tight jeans and a hairstyle that wouldn’t be out of place at the Oscars. Pulled back off her face, the hair sits in ringlets on top of her head, a diamond brooch holding it all in place. Without thinking, I run my hands through my own hair, pushing it back behind my ears. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even run a brush through it this morning.

‘Rebecca Wall?’ she says. ‘I’m Dr. Josie Reilly.’

She holds out her hand. I shake it, wondering what she might want. She doesn’t look familiar. Maybe she’s a new member of Mom’s medical team.