‘Your daughter is going to feed you today, Nancy. Aren’t you a lucky woman?’ Then the nurse walks out of the room, leaving a pile of mush on a plate that looks like someone has already had a go at eating it. The greyish goo makes me want to gag, but I better not. Taking the spoon in my hand I scoop up a tiny piece and lift it towards the lucky woman’s lips, but Mom moves her head away from it.

‘You’re not my daughter,’ she says.

‘Mom, it’s me, Becca.’

‘I know it’s you, Becca. You’re not my daughter.’ Grabbing my arm, her bony fingers wrap around my wrist.

‘You’re not my daughter,’ she repeats and although she’s freaking me out, I laugh. I can’t help it. Things can be very funny in this hopeless situation.

‘Of course I’m your daughter Mom, I’m Rebecca.’ She tugs at my wrist, wanting me to move closer to her, so I do.

‘Put Rover in the ground, Danny… don’t cry Danny… Rover’s gone to heaven.’ Now she’s worrying me. Her face has turned an even paler shade of white than I have become used to and she is getting very agitated. Her eyes are filled with fear, staring at me, scaring me. ‘Stop, Mom,’ but her grip is tightening, shaking my arm.

‘It’s Rebecca, Mom, I’m here beside you,’ I say, willing her to relax, to take her mind someplace else, anywhere else. And even though her words have turned to meaningless sounds now, fear is still carved all over her face.

Then it stops. She lets go of her grip and sags back into the pillows, her eyes wet with tears. Slowly she lifts her hand to stroke my hair, taking me back to when I was that little girl, the one she cared for. I move my face closer to hers, to where her warm breath heats my skin, comforting me. Then Mom jerks her head up from the pillow and I jump back in the chair. Her eyes are open wide, staring at me, staring through me. Her usually lifeless eyes are alive with a fear so intense it’s scaring me. I want to cry, to tell her she’ll be okay but she is desperately trying to tell me something. I know it. Taking her hand, I squeeze it gently but she continues to stare, to scare.

‘What is it, Mom?’ What are you trying to tell me?

‘I took you, Becca. You’re not my daughter.’

Chapter Two