‘Just this once,’ Mom begged, but I screamed like I was walking barefoot across shards of my own broken heart. Eventually Mom gave in.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t wear the socks, Mom.’ I place my hand on top of hers, pressing down so she can feel it. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tidy my room, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t do my homework. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

Sobbing now, I rest my head on her pillow, thinking of all the times I could have been a better daughter, could have done what she asked. My eyes feel heavy, so I let them close.

A noise in the corridor wakes me. It takes a few seconds before I realize where I am. My head is muzzy, eyes stinging from the tears. Four a.m., time to go home. Kissing Mom’s head, I hold my palm to her cheek and stare at her, her twitching eyelids, her shrinking face and parched lips. I want to believe she looks happier than when I first arrived. I know I’m happier than when I first arrived. Tiptoeing out, I make my way back down to the reception where Barry is back behind his desk.

‘Everything okay?’ he says. ‘You were quite a while.’

‘She’s fine. I must have nodded off for a bit.’

‘It must be lovely to have a daughter like you, willing to drop everything in the middle of the night to come and see her mother.’

Lovely to have a daughter like me. Little does Barry know. I fake a grateful smile, then say, ‘Can I ask you a question, Barry?’

‘Ask away.’

‘Are there security cameras recording who comes and goes?’

‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Archived on a weekly basis. Do you need to check something? Has something gone missing?’

‘Say it had, and I wanted to check the camera footage.’

‘Well, you would need to fill in a request form. That would go to the board and they would decide whether to grant access. It usually takes a couple of weeks.’

‘Isn’t there a quicker way?’

‘If it was an emergency, yes. Is this an emergency?’

‘I think someone visited my mom last week, someone who shouldn’t have been here.’

Barry has the visitors’ book open on the desk. ‘This Katie Collins?’ he says.

‘Maybe.’

‘It doesn’t say here she was visiting your mother.’

‘Then who was she visiting?’

‘It doesn’t say.’

‘Isn’t it supposed to?’

‘Sure, but not everyone has the time to fill in every blank every time they come.’

‘Could you check it for me? It’d really put my mind at rest.’

‘You’re not getting into trouble here, are you?’

No, I tell him, no trouble. It might even be true. All I know is that someone called Katie Collins visited an Oakridge client last Friday. I know nothing else.

Chapter Thirteen