Folding her arms, she says, ‘Rebecca, we won’t be needing you to take part in the trial.’

‘Why not?’

‘We have enough participants, who are better suited for this particular trial.’

‘I thought you said you needed as many participants as possible.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t talk about this right now, Rebecca. Can you call me, and we can schedule a meeting for later this week?’

‘Is it my blood results? Was there something wrong with them?’

‘It’s nothing like that, Rebecca. Please, call me and we’ll meet during the week.’

Then she’s goes back inside. It’s infuriating – why can’t she just tell me the truth? All this see you next week, nothing is wrong, too many participants – it all reeks of deception.

‘What is going on, Mom?’ I whisper as I push her back towards her room. The nurse is waiting to settle Mom back into bed when we get there. When she leaves the room, I sit down and pull in close to Mom. Holding her hand, I look into her glossy eyes.

‘What did you mean, Mom? Why did you say you took me?’

She’s smiling now. Her teeth look too big for her mouth.

‘Please, tell me.’ I lean in closer, brush my fingers down the side of her face. Mom looks at me but I can tell she does not know who I am or what I’m doing here.

‘Mom,’ I whisper. ‘I know you’re in there, Mom… come back to me… What am I to do, Mom? My world is falling apart ever since you said you took me… I slept with my boss, I robbed a bottle of gin from Mattie’s, I haven’t been to work in days. All these things that are so not me. Who am I, Mom?’

But my words just float above her head like the rest of her world. Out of reach. Taking her hand, I kiss her cheek. ‘I have to go now, Mom. We’re drifters, the two of us,’ I say, echoing the words of ‘Moon River’.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Stale air refreshes me as I walk the dimly lit corridor of Mattie’s. I’m looking forward to working, staying at home doing nothing allows my mind travel into some very dark places.

Behind the bar, Brian is making a job out of wiping the countertop, rubbing it vigorously with a dirty grey cloth. It’s like he is trying to remove bloodstains from a crime scene before the forensics team arrive.

‘How are things, Brian?’

‘Good, Becca, good,’ he says, not bothering to look at me. That’s not like him. Brian always stops to say hello. Is something wrong? Please don’t tell me Detective Turner is here again. Everyone gets so obedient when she’s about the place.