Page 159 of Every Silent Lie

And just like that, the wind is taken out of my sails. “It’s Camryn, Mum,” I say.

“Who?”

“Never mind.” I take her weight, which isn’t much at all, and get her into the chair. “Ready?” I ask, pulling a blanket off the end of the bed and laying it over her lap.

“Where am I going?”

“To hear some Christmas carols.”

“Oh, we used to do that when you were a little girl,” she says, happy. “Your favourite was The Twelve Days of Christmas, but you always got the geese and the swans mixed up.”

I smile as I wheel her out of her room, down the corridor to the communal room. Yes, I did. Only the geese and swans.

The residents of the home all sit in various chairs in a semicircle around a makeshift stage. “What are we doing in here?” Mum asks.

I grab a chair from the corner, noting the lack of other relatives present, and sit next to her, taking her hand in mine. “Look,” I say, as a line of people file onto the stage, men and women of all ages, and children too.

“What are they doing here?” she asks.

“They’re going to sing for you, Mum.”

“Oh. How lovely.”

They start with Silent Night, and it is utterly beautiful. Even better, Mum listens intently, a wistful smile on her face. When one of the nurses appears next to me with a tray, I take two small cups of mulled wine and put one in Mum’s hand. And I listen to the truly angelic voices as I watch her sip from her cup and sway her head in time with the music. I don’t take my eyes off her. Can’t. I just have to watch her. She’s so oblivious to the fact I’m losing my sweet mum. She has no clue and therefore doesn’t mourn her darling husband who passed away four years ago. She’s ignorant to the pain of losing her beloved Noah. Being unaware of the pain of loss is probably the only blessing of her illness.

“This is nice,” she says, reaching for my hand and resting it on her lap. I drop my gaze to our entwined fingers, holding on to her tightly. “You look so much . . . lighter, my buttercup. Happy. Shame your new man couldn’t be here too.”

I shoot her a surprised look, not that she notices. “Yes, a shame,” I agree. “I’d love for you to meet him.”

“That would be nice.”

“He has a little boy, Mum.”

She just smiles at the singers. She looks . . . at peace. As if she’s needed this. The music. The joy. Me.

“I love you, Mum.”

“I love you too, buttercup,” she says clearly, bringing the back of my hand to her mouth and kissing it. “Love you too.”

When Mum’s settled back in her bed, she drops off almost instantly, exhausted from her short outing. Deirdre clears away some of the empty cups on her wheely table. “Too many tipples,” she quips, chuckling as she drops the plastic cups in the bin.

“She seemed so good today,” I say as I watch her sleeping. “Confused still, obviously, but she knew me.” And then didn’t. Then did again.

Deirdre smiles, checking some of Mum’s notes. But she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t she agree? I bend and kiss Mum’s forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Did you enjoy the carols, Camryn?”

“They were wonderful.” I pull on my coat and swing my bag onto my shoulder. “Do you mind if I leave that here until the snow’s cleared?”

Deidre looks across to my box of things in the corner. “What is it?”

“Just a few things from work I don’t need. I’ll take it when the weather’s not so bad and I don’t need both hands in case I slip.”

“Do you want me to put in the office?”

“There’s nothing valuable. It’ll be fine there.” I frown. “Actually, you can throw it all away.”

“Oh?”