She looks at the one on her lap. I put Bonnie down. ‘It’s OK, go stroke the cat,’ I tell her, but she is too frightened to go near my mother. I go first and stroke it. Despite hating cats only a little less than I hate rodents. Soon Bonnie finds the confidence and comes over. As she strokes it, the cat begins to purr heavily. This makes Bonnie smile.

‘See, it’s OK,’ I say to her. ‘You both love cats,’ I say to my mother, wondering if this might be something they can connect with. She turns her face away and says nothing. She shuffles in her chair. Causing the cat to get off and run into the garden. Bonnie chases it.

‘Mum, I know it’s hard for you, but I’d really appreciate it if you could at least say something to Bonnie. She’s your only granddaughter.’

‘Did I ask you to have her?’ she says, looking at me now. Her once pretty brown eyes now hidden with heavy lids. She turns away again, and I take her in. She is responsible for so much of my pain. So much of my anger. So much of my feeling of displacement, my inability to ask people for help, my belief that solitude is my safest place. Seeing her like this, I know she isn’t well, but she was cruel before any of this. She had one job and she failed me. Why am I here? In a second so many things become clear.

‘Bye Mum,’ I say, boldly. Feeling like I have achieved all I need to achieve from this. ‘I’m going Mum, and I’m not going to come back. My heart will always be open to you but only if yours opens to me too. If that doesn’t happen, then this is the last time you will see me, or Bonnie.’

She turns her head to the centre. Still not far enough to look at me. She stares into the garden. Not in the direction of Bonnie. Her shoulders come up slowly, then she drops them down. Telling me she doesn’t even care.

I lean in. She pulls her face away from me.

‘I didn’t ask you to come,’ she says.

‘No, you didn’t.’ I step in front of her, forcing her to look at me. ‘You failed me, and I will not do the same to Bonnie.’

I give her a couple of seconds, just in case she has anything to say. Nothing.

She blows air out of her nostrils like a bull and turns her head away from me again.

‘Bonnie, come on, it’s time to go,’ I call.

Bonnie runs over to me. ‘The cat licked my arm,’ she says, very happy about it. I take her hand. ‘Why are we going?’ she asks me.