‘Dad, really it’s too much. Besides, what about Tully? Her name was –’

He held up his hand like a stop sign and Rachel fell silent. Such was the effect a father had on you, even though she was in her thirties. ‘Keep it, Rachel. Tully has plenty of money. If anyone deserves it, it’s you.’ He drained the last of his tea and then stood up. ‘Now, I have to run. You’ll arrange the lunch with Heather?’

‘I said I would, didn’t I?’

He smiled, and made his way to the door.

‘Oh, Dad, one more thing?’ she said, as he stepped over the threshold. ‘There was a note with the money that had Tully’s name on it, and also the name Fiona Arthur. I thought you might know who that was.’

He frowned for a minute, then shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, sweetie, I don’t.’

‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘It was a long shot.’ She shook her head and waved him off. It was only after he was gone that she allowed herself to think about the fact that, when he said he didn’t know Fiona Arthur, Dad’s eyes had flickered.

9

TULLY

Tully stood in the doorway of her mother’s room at the nursing home. She was already exhausted, and she hadn’t even gone inside yet. In the weeks since their barbecue with Rob and Michelle, Tully could recognise she’d been spiralling. Commitments not to steal had been broken almost as soon as they’d been made – first at the supermarket, then the petrol station, then the department store. The self-loathing had been quick to set in each time and she’d ended up stopping at the charity shop on the way home and leaving the items in a pile on the doorstep. At least that way she didn’t have to worry about Sonny finding them. Unfortunately, she couldn’t leave the guilt and shame on the doorstep with the stolen goods, along with her habit, which was slowly taking over her life.

‘Hi, Mum,’ Tully said.

Mum was sitting in the corner chair with a bowl of soup pushed up to her, staring out of the window while the television played quietly. Upon hearing Tully’s voice, she looked over, suspicious. ‘Are you talking to me?’

‘Yes,’ Tully said, walking into the room. ‘It’s me, Tully.’

Tully had introduced herself on arrival the last few times she’d visited. She reasoned that even if Mum did recognise her that day, saving her from searching her mind for her daughter’s name would free up brain space for other things. She’d deteriorated even since Christmas, when Tully and Rachel and Dad had come into the nursing home to have lunch with her. That day, Mum seemed to know who they were, but today, even after Tully called her ‘Mum’, there was no recognition in her mother’s eyes.

If she doesn’t know who you are, don’t push it, Rachel always said. Just pretend you’re a stranger, there for a visit. It upsets her if she thinks she’s supposed to know who you are and she doesn’t. Tully suspected Rachel was right, but she had never been able to do it. This was her mother. She couldn’t pretend she was a random visitor. She wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shout, ‘Look, Mum, it’s me. Tully. Your daughter. You gave birth to me!’