Page 108 of Every Silent Lie

I take in the model sporting a full-on Lapland scene on her legs. Every possible thing you could pin on Christmas is there. Reindeers, elves, Mother Christmas, Father Christmas, gifts, stockings, snow, a sleigh, trees, reindeers, decorations. “Oh my God, she’ll love them.” I take them from the woman’s hand. “How the hell did they fit the whole of Christmas on this woman’s skinny legs?”

“Quite an achievement, isn’t it?”

“I’ll take them.”

“Size?”

“Oh shit, they’re different sizes? Don’t they just stretch? One size fits all?”

“Well, they could, but Lapland might be a little faded from the stretch on the bigger lady, if you know what I mean.”

“She’s average, I suppose. Maybe a UK fourteen?”

“I suggest medium.”

“Perfect.”

“Let’s take you to the checkout.”

“Thank you . . .”

“Hilda.”

“Thanks, Hilda.”

“Very welcome . . . ?”

“Camryn. My name’s Camryn.” And it’s in this moment I realise that I haven’t cared for anyone’s name or cared to offer mine in years.

It’s like I’m being seen again.

Or, I want to be seen.

A gust of wind carries me into the reception of the care home, along with a flurry of snow. My cheeks balloon, my shoulders hunching. “Camryn, you’re blue!” The receptionist, alarmed, whips a towel off the radiator behind her chair and comes at me with it. “What on earth are you doing venturing out in this weather?”

“It’s not so bad,” I say, pulling off my hat and gloves, my teeth chattering. “Thank you.” I take the towel and pat at my frozen cheeks, feeling only mild warmth. “Mind if I keep this while I’m here?”

“Take it.” She returns to behind her desk. “You’re the only visitor today, and we’re short-staffed, what with the weather and all.”

“Snowflakes,” I murmur as I sign in.

“Pardon me?”

“Nothing.” I smile and pull the door open, noticing a distinct difference in the noise level, as well as foot traffic. The corridor’s empty, except for the endless decorations hanging from the ceiling and every wall. Nothing on the floor though—trip hazard. Shrugging my coat off as I walk, I peek into each room as I pass. It’s like a ghost town.

When I reach Mum’s room, I find Deirdre checking her blood pressure. She’s awake, and that stirs the dormant anxiety inside.

“Ah, look who’s here,” Deirdre says, tapping buttons on the machine as it whirs.

I laugh under my breath at such a stupid thing to say. Look who’s here? Like my mum might know. I dump my bags on the chair and drape my coat on the back. “How is she?”

“She is in the room,” Mum grumbles.

My eyes must look like saucers. “Sorry,” I blurt, taken aback, looking at Deirdre who’s smiling. “How are you, Mum?”

She squints at me, and my heart clatters, waiting for the inevitable question.

Who are you?