Page 25 of Every Silent Lie

“She’s asking for you.”

My spine lengthens, my eyes staring forward at nothing. “What?” She’s not asked for me for months. Rarely recognises me at all anymore.

“She’s getting rather distressed. Crying for you. I think you should come.”

The lump in my throat is instant. I feel like I could choke when I try to swallow it down. “I’m on my way.” I hang up and reroute to the Tube. No walking today, I haven’t got time. I text Dec as I’m hurrying down the steps to let him know I can’t make drinks, and he answers immediately, telling me to call him when I can.

She’s asking for me?

I push my way through the door and dash past the receptionist. “Can you open the doors?”

“You need to sign in,” she yells after me.

My teeth grit as I do an about-turn and rush back to the desk, scribbling my name, time, and who I’m visiting, throwing the pen back down. “Done.” I hear the door click as I grab the handle, and I haul it open with too much force, making it smack the wall behind it. Mum’s room in the last on the left, and I hurry in, out of breath but still managing to hold it. Three nurses are surrounding the bed, all bent over her. “Are you kidding?” I yell outraged, muscling my way through them. “She scarcely weighs ninety pounds, it does not need three of you to hold her down.” No one should be holding her anywhere; it’s not as if she can escape, she can’t even fucking walk now, her strength gone. “Mum,” I say, throwing my bag to the floor. “Mum, I’m here, it’s okay.”

Her flailing limbs still, her clenched eyes pop open, and she looks me directly in the eyes. My heart squeezes, searching for any recognition. Please know who I am today. Please.

“It’s me, Mum. Camryn.”

“They’re trying to kill me!” she yells “Making me take pills so they can get my money. They’ve taken all of my money! The cash in the wardrobe. In a Tesco bag. They’ve taken it, the robbing bastards. They’re stealing my money!”

“Your money is safe, Mum. I have your money.” I’ve done this a million times and will do it a million more. “They were bringing your money to me so I can keep it safe for you.”

Her frail body rolls with her laboured breathing. “Who are you?” My heart falls. “You’re stealing my money too! I don’t know this woman. Who is she? Get her out. Out!”

“Mum, it’s me. Camryn,” I say, moving in, taking her hand and holding on tightly. Desperately. See me.

“I don’t know no Camryn.”

“Your daughter. I’m your little buttercup, Mum.”

Her hand comes at me so fast, I don’t have a chance to dodge her slap, and my head snaps to the side, my neck cricking. The sting is instant, the afterburn brutal. “Shit,” I whisper, releasing her and clenching my cheek. She’s weak, yes, but that slap was far from it.

“Get her out!” she shrieks. “I want Noah. Where’s my little Noah?”

I step away when the nurse moves back in, one of them armed with a needle. I can’t watch, so I turn my back on my mum, thankful that she settles after they administer a sedative to calm her down.

She hit me. My mum hit me.

No, it’s not your mum.

The confused, angry lady in that bed isn’t the beautiful, kind woman who raised me. I’m still grieving the loss of her to Alzheimer’s. “Let me check you over, Camryn,” Deirdre says, coming at me, concern drenching her face.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” I release my cheek, feeling a wet warmth trickling down my skin.

The nurse hisses, taking my wrist and pulling it down to get a better look. “She’s caught you with her ring.”

“I’m okay.” I swoop up my bag and leave, the walls closing in again. I don’t need to bang on the door this time, as another visitor is coming through when I get there. I make it outside and take a moment, wiping my sore cheek with a tissue from my bag, hissing and wincing. Who is she? Get her out!

My heart breaks a little bit more as I fumble through my bag for my phone, texting my brother.

I can’t do this anymore. You have to come and help me.

My weak legs give way, and I lower to one of the steps, sliding my fingers into my hair. Clenching. I don’t know no Camryn. What hurts most is she’s right. I’m not her daughter. Not how she would have remembered her girl, if she could even remember. She doesn’t know me. I don’t even know myself anymore. Everything I’ve ever known, ever loved? It’s all gone. Predictably, resentment and anger rise and start to blend with my relentless grief.

I check the time; it’s just past seven.

A drink. I need a drink.