I look at her, the narrow shoulders, the gnarled, skinny body pulled out of shape by years of hard work and illness. She’s not that old, but she looks old, worn out. Two beats, then I feel the guilt welling up again, don’t want to feel guilty, but here it comes nonetheless. I glance to the side. Take a breath and let it out again, silently, sigh inaudibly, then I turn to face Mum again. Have to try to rise above her self-pity now, swallow my irritation and give her the comfort she’s asking for, have to be big enough to do that. One beat. I open my mouth, am all set to apologize, but I don’t, can’t bring myself to do it, can’t allow her to carry on like this much longer.