She spun me around and around and around. I felt my chest loosen and a smile sprang to my face. It was strange but smiling made my cheeks ache. Maybe I wasn’t dying. I couldn’t be dying, not if I could feel like this. Not if I could feel so alive.

I laughed and Mother laughed. I felt like I’d been whisked to a fairyland. Like in Peter and Wendy. It was the best I’d felt for a long, long time.

‘Who made the music?’ I said as Mother let go of my hands and I fell onto the sofa, my head spinning with dizziness.

‘Only the best band on the entire planet. The Eagles, of course!’

‘The Eagles?’

She nodded enthusiastically.

‘What does take it easy mean, Mother?’

She laughed and held out her hands to me. ‘It means relax, chill out, that sort of thing. Come on! Enough questions. Let’s dance!’

I grinned and leapt up from the sofa. Mother grabbed my wrists and we spun and spun, around and around and around, like the spin top I used to play with when I was little. Tears shimmered in my eyes and I didn’t know why I felt like crying but I didn’t care.

‘I love you, Mother,’ I said, raising my voice so she would definitely hear me.

Mother grinned down at me. ‘I love you too, Mirabelle.’

‘Your hair looks funny when we spin!’

‘So does yours,’ she said gaily and she released her grip on my wrists and I staggered sideways and nearly fell over.

We laughed and I paused to catch my breath and Mother continued to dance and sing along to the song. She was so transformed in her face and body that I hardly recognized her.

‘Why don’t you dance more often, Mother?’ I said, trying to copy her swaying motion.

Mother frowned and stopped swaying. ‘That’s enough questions, Mirabelle. You always ask too many questions.’

She did something to the record player and a harsh scratchy sound cut off the music.

‘I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean to—’

Without looking at me, she said, ‘Go upstairs and write a detailed description of something. I want to see how your control of tenses is progressing.’

I followed her out into the hallway where she was grabbing up bags and lugging them into the kitchen.

‘Can I help, Mother?’

She shook her head and I watched her pace back and forth laden with bags.

‘I made you a spam sandwich,’ I said, following her into the kitchen, ‘I cut off the crusts just the way you like.’

‘That’s nice,’ she muttered.