“Looks dead boring,” I said approvingly, but I turned it off because it’s harder for her to concentrate on conversation with background noise like that.

“That fringe is so long I don’t know how you see out of it,” I said. “Come on, let’s give you a trim.” I fetched a towel from her bathroom and wrapped it around her neck, tucking it in at the collar. She relaxed and closed her eyes.

“Ruby and I broke up,” I said. “It’s OK, though. I mean, we were going to break up soon anyway,” I said, snipping at the ends of her hair.

Mum said that was terrible and asked me if I was OK, but I realized I didn’t want to talk about it, even with her. I changed the subject quickly, asking about her day. I couldn’t follow her train of thought all the time but I made the appropriate noises and responses when I could.

Afterward, Mum’s hair looked bouncy and neat again. Maybe I should be a hairstylist. I winced at my own thought. I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out the words that made me think of Ruby.

Mum brought me her memory book. It had been sitting on the coffee table like someone had used it recently. I knew it wasn’t Dad because although he’d never admit it, I knew he hated going through the old pictures. It must have been one of the staff. That was kind of nice, I thought, that someone was taking time with her like that.

“I want to show you something,” she said.

“OK then,” I said reluctantly, rubbing my palm scar absently. If it made her happy.