She found her in the communal area of the home, flanked by two older ladies who appeared much more on the ball than Pam. One of the ladies held her mother’s hand. The sheer volume of emotion Rachel felt at witnessing this was overwhelming. Gratitude to the lady for her kindness. Sadness for Mum, who had never been particularly tactile, and generally didn’t like anyone to touch her other than her husband and daughters. But Rachel’s new mum didn’t seem to mind the hand-holding. This too made Rachel sad.

Rachel kneeled in front of her mother’s chair. ‘Hello,’ she said, holding back the word ‘Mum’. If it was a bad day, a day when she didn’t remember Rachel, that would just confuse her. But today she perked up a little.

‘Hello there,’ she said.

Rachel scanned her eyes. She definitely saw some lucidity.

‘Would you like to take a walk?’ Rachel asked.

‘Why not?’ Mum said, letting go of the older woman’s hand. Rachel smiled at the woman as she helped her mother to her feet.

‘Where to?’ Mum asked.

‘How about the garden?’

‘Sounds beaut,’ Mum said. ‘Lead the way.’

Rachel felt her heart lift. Beaut was one of Mum’s words. At her fiftieth, two of her friends, Elsa and Mary, had made up a song called ‘Beaut’ and performed it for the crowd while Mary’s husband accompanied them on the guitar. It had been a while since Rachel had heard her say it.

Rachel led Mum to the sensory garden, a lovely space where residents could explore all five senses, including eating the snow peas that grew there. She and Mum sat in the wrought-iron chairs at one end.

‘So,’ Mum said, ‘what’s news?’

This was Mum’s go-to conversation starter of late. Rachel assumed it helped to kick things off without her having to remember her shared history with visitors.

‘I’ve been going through some of your stuff, actually,’ Rachel said. ‘Stuff that you left at home. Dad . . . Stephen gave it to me.’

‘Stephen?’

‘Yes. He found a bunch of things in your wardrobe.’

Rachel trailed off, watching her mother’s face and preparing for disappointment. More than half the time, Mum didn’t even know who Rachel was, so the chances of her remembering shoving a stack of cash into a hot-water bottle were slim to none. Still, there was a tiny part of her that hoped.

‘One of them was a pink hot-water bottle,’ Rachel continued. ‘Pale pink in a knitted cosy.’

Mum looked her in the eye now. ‘Stephen is a sadistic bastard.’

Rachel sighed. Mum had been saying this sort of thing a lot lately. The nurse who supposedly stole her stuff was a ‘witch’. The person in the room beside her was ‘loud as fuck’. Last time Tully visited, Mum apparently called her ‘an irritating little troll’. Rachel had coughed to hide her giggle. Before Mum got sick, Rachel had never heard her use a single swearword.

‘I found money inside the hot-water bottle,’ Rachel continued. ‘A lot of money. Almost a hundred thousand dollars.’