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‘I’ll stay here by the fire,’ she says, picking up a magazine from the table by her side.

Adam and I navigate our way through the lounge and back along the brightly lit corridor.

‘Have you spoken to any of the staff today?’ I ask.

Adam nods. ‘About an hour ago. They said Mum hasn’t eaten much the past couple of days. They think she’s had a bit of gastro, but thought she seemed brighter today.’

I tug on my coat before Adam opens the door and the cold wind hits me.

‘You think she’s getting worse?’ Adam asks, zipping up his jacket and slipping on his beanie. His blue-grey eyes are fatigued and heavy, and the harsh lights above the entrance make the lines around his eyes more prominent. He’s only four years older than me, but running his own construction company, looking after two young sons, worrying about Mum and dealing with his youngest child’s learning difficulties are all aging him fast.

I shrug and tuck my hands into my pockets. ‘I don’t think she’s any different than when we brought her here. She still remembers us – it’s just our names she’s struggling with.’

The unspoken fear of how long it’ll be before she forgets us completely hangs in the air, but we’ve had that conversation countless times and it drains us both.

‘How are you, anyway?’ Adam says. ‘Things any better with Tom?’

I release a heavy sigh and the cold air vapour swirls between us. ‘We’re okay. We haven’t argued for a week, so that’s something. Jack’s back with us tonight.’

He grimaces. ‘I take it he’s not warming up to you?’

‘Nope.’

‘It’s a big change for him. He’ll come round. How’s work?’

Adam always does this – he feels guilty for not contacting me so he squeezes all his questions in at once. ‘Boring. Everything is going to the new team.’

‘Maybe time to look for a new job? You’ve been there ages.’

‘Kind of like it there. When I’ve got work to do, that is.’ I shrug. ‘This has happened before. It’ll pick up soon. Anyway, you’ve got enough going on without worrying about my job and relationship.’

He gives a half-smile and ruffles my hair. ‘Always worry about my little sister.’ He gestures to his car. ‘Better get going. Meg’s just home from work and I’ve got to help with dinner and the kids.’

I hug him goodbye. ‘Tell them hi from me. See you on the weekend.’

He jogs over to his car and jumps in, waving as he drives off.

I hurry back to the lounge and spot Mum heading for the dining area. I collect my belongings and catch up.

She brightens when I appear beside her. ‘Hello, you’re back.’

‘I am,’ I say, pleased she’s recalled that I was just with her. ‘Where are you going?’

‘We’re being rounded up for dinner, like cattle in a paddock. Someone will probably give me a prod if I don’t get a move on.’

I laugh. ‘I think you’re safe from prodding, Mum.’

In the dining room, residents are seated at small round tables that are covered with fresh white tablecloths and feature centrepieces of mint-green vases filled with plastic flowers. A couple of wall-mounted televisions play the six o’clock news and staff members walk around with trolleys.

‘I’ll stick around so I can spend more time with you,’ I say, pulling out a dining chair for Mum.

She sits and pulls herself closer to the table. ‘I do like it when you visit.’

A staff member approaches and places a tray on the table. ‘There you go, Elaine,’ he says, lifting the silver cloche to reveal a bland-looking white meat covered with a drizzle of gravy, a sliver of crackling, a scoop of mashed potato and a medley of carrots, peas and beans.

When he walks away, I lean forward to take a closer look. ‘Looks like roast pork.’

‘Ugh,’ Mum says. ‘I don’t want pork.’