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“Mrs. Burun? Can you count backwards from one hundred, subtracting seven each time? No? OK, we’ll move on. Can you spell the word radar backwards? No? Can you recall the three words I asked you to remember earlier on?” Mrs. Holtzberger glanced at a watch that was embedded in the flesh of her wrist. “No? Do you enjoy life, Mrs. Burun?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“How do you feel about life?”

“I can’t say that I feel anything at all.” She wore a look of infinite sadness, resignation.

“She’s not been well the past couple of days,” said Noel. “Really. She’s got … the flu. A virulent avian strain. For that reason I’m going to have to ask you to come back and do this test another—”

“Mr. Burun, a repeat may be requested if the subject is overly anxious or upset but according to my guidelines—”

“We appreciate you coming, Mrs. Holtzberger. But I’m afraid my mother needs to rest right now …”

“Then I’ll just have to submit these incomplete test results,” she said animatedly, rolls of flesh shifting and wobbling on her neck. “Which may adversely affect your request for day help. And there’s another matter to be discussed. In private, if you don’t mind?”

“I’ve no secrets from my mother.”

“Very well. I have received reports, more than one, that your mother has been wandering around the neighbourhood, knocking on windows.”

“I … know of no such incidents.”

“Are you aware of an incident involving your mother’s cat?”

“Which … incident are you referring to?”

“Before you arrived, your mother explained that your neighbour killed her cat, maliciously.”

“He killed Morven,” said Stella.

Morven died of a tumour in 1991, Noel recalled. “That’s … correct,” he said.

“She also claimed your neighbour drowned Morven’s kittens in his hot tub.”

Noel sighed. “Alas.”

“And that he then suffocated the mother by locking it inside a suitcase.”

“I can show you the case,” said Noel. “With teeth and claw marks. I can get it if you like.”

Mrs. Holtzberger rolled her eyes. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Burun. But you will be hearing from us very soon. No, I’ll see myself out.”

A bad day, Noel said to himself as he put his mother to bed. Big deal, nothing to it—we all have bad days. Things will be better tomorrow …

Mrs. Burun blinked rapidly to quell tears, sensing she’d done something wrong, sensing she’d let her son down. “What’s wrong with me, Noel dear? I feel like something’s wrong but I don’t know what it is.”

He had heard this before, many times, yet he could barely stop himself from collapsing into tears. It was simply heartbreaking. “Don’t worry, Mom.” He smiled bravely. “Tomorrow’s another day. We’re in the twenty-first century—things are bound to get better. We’ll have a riot tomorrow, you wait and see. Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Mrs. Burun stopped crying, distracted by these words like a small child. In the cheval glass beside the bed Noel could see her reflection. He crossed the room and brought back a bouquet of flowers.

“Look what I got for you, Mom. Amaranth.”

His mother’s eyes sparkled as she smelled the flowers and caressed their petals.

“Remember when you read me ‘The Rose and the Amaranth’? From Aesop? The undying flower? No? Doesn’t matter. It was eons ago.” Into a juice glass he poured out a frog-green liquid from an unlabelled amber bottle. “Take a bit more of this, Mom. It should help.” And hopefully without side-effects. “I’ve got some new ideas, new tricks up my sleeve, you wait and see.” He watched his mother drink. “Oh, I almost forgot, something unbelievable happened. You’ll never guess who I met. Are you ready? Heliodora Locke. In Montreal of all places!”

His mother gazed at him vacantly.

“Heliodora Locke!” he shouted, unnecessarily, as if sheer volume would jog her memory. “You know, The Bride and Three Bridegrooms! You remember, Mom …”

Mrs. Burun had a look of fear on her face as her son encouraged her with broad facial expressions and charade-like gestures. “Remember? We loved that movie. It