26

It’s the middle of the night by the time we land in Chicago, and the hired driver takes me to West Englewood. The streets are badly lit, but don’t conceal the grubbiness or derelict area from view. The streets, although busy with traffic, seem almost deserted. The aura of poverty and hardship reflected in the brown buildings and scruffy stores and I get that old ripple of trepidation as unease moves through me and that weight of emptiness I used to feel at being here returns with a vengeance.

I’m to meet Sophie at my old home, the apartment that my mother has lived in since the day she brought me home from the hospital. My mother is stable in St Bernard Hospital, but I won’t be able to see her until morning to assess how much damage has been done.

I’m still numb with a tinge of anger even thinking about her. I know this isn’t natural—she’s my mother. I should feel concern, devastation, worry even, but I don’t. I’m