With each step her trepidation grew.

The corridor seemed to stretch out forever, illuminated by a strange panel lighting which made everything look so pale. People passed her by but she didn’t see them; never spoke to them. They didn’t exist. Not for her.

Chloe Jameson clutched the flowers tightly in her hand, grinding the stalks together, creasing the paper wrapping. She was in a world of her own, focused on the task ahead. And although she’d been here before, the nerves would always kick in at this point. As she neared her destination she could feel the pulse in her neck throbbing faster and faster.

In front of her was the sign she was looking for, right where it always was.

Chloe wavered.

This place sent a shiver down her spine. Always had done. It wasn’t just the thought of what she must do, the sights she would inevitably see in there, or even the smell for that matter (but God, disinfectant turned her stomach). It had more to do with the nagging fear that she might end up here, or somewhere just like it, herself. That was what made her feel so uncomfortable: spin on forty years or so and this could be her life. Would her own child have such reservations about coming to see her? she wondered.

Of course, there was also that other problem to consider. Despite many attempts in the past to make peace, she still didn’t see eye to eye with her mother. It wasn’t all Chloe’s fault, though she’d take the blame for most of the aggravation. She’d been a real tearaway in her youth. A college drop-out turned part-time shop assistant who’d had an affair with a forty-year-old man before she’d hit twenty one...No, that last bombshell hadn’t gone down well at all.

Her mum had only wanted the best for her, she could understand that now (having Shaun had opened her eyes; so many plans and dreams...). But the woman could be so stubborn and self-righteous at times. She was right and everyone else was wrong. That was mainly the reason why Chloe had stopped away all those years. Years she could never get back.

Chloe hoped this time she might come around. After all, they didn’t have long together. She was determined to make the most of it.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed on the blue double doors and entered the ward.

There never seemed to be any kind of order here and today was no different. As she walked down another corridor she glanced left and right; only about half the patients were in their beds. Most were shuffling about the place, slippers scraping on the unnaturally shiny floor, metallic sticks clanking as they went. Some were bent almost double, their backs deformed by age and years of stooping.

Chloe took a deep breath and trudged on.

A bald man came out of the room on her left. He had liver spots dotted around his cheeks, his skin hung loosely from his bones and his neck resembled a concertina. The green dressing gown he wore was open at the front, revealing the most hideous pair of flowered pyjamas.

"Are you here to mend the television?" the man asked in a hoarse voice, examining this newcomer with increasing suspicion.

Chloe shook her head.

The man groaned loudly. "Oh, that’s a pity. The signals have been getting worse, you see. From..." He pointed upwards and winked. "They talk to me during the news."

Smiling weakly, she politely side-stepped the old man and made a right turn.

As she drifted down the aisle between beds, the oblong room she was in now became smaller, claustrophobic even. Hardly any light broke through the windows at the other end, despite the fact it was a lovely sunny day outside. It was as if the ward was set apart from the rest of the world. While everyone went about their normal routines - going to work, shopping, making meals - these hapless unfortunates were trapped in a kind of limbo. Chloe didn’t know who to feel sorry for the most.

She passed a nurse at one of the beds. The carer was attempting to give an elderly woman her medication. The patient knocked a glass of water out of the nurse’s hand, twisting her head away, kicking up the sheets. She looked like she was being electrocuted, her shock of pure silver hair standing on end; terror giving her strength that belied her appearance.

The frustrated woman in blue tried to mop up the mess with a cloth, but the damp patch spread wider across the bed, seemingly with a life of its own. Trying to escape.

Chloe could hear crying coming from somewhere. It was impossible to pinpoint exactly. A whimpering that made her feel even more uneasy.

Finally she spotted her mother at the far end of the "chamber". Last bed on the right, same as always. She was propped up with a pillow at her back, staring vapidly out into space. She looked so gaunt and wan, her hands hanging limply at her sides, turned upwards as though she were begging for money.

Chloe squeezed the flowers tighter, then went across.

She moved gradually into her mother’s field of vision. Chloe had her head slightly bowed, and would glance up every now and again like an adolescent with a crush.

"Hello Mum. It’s me again."

There was a cough from behind. Chloe looked over her shoulder to see an overweight woman occupying the opposite bed.

"Excuse me," she said. "But what time is it?"

"I’m sorry?"

"Time. What time is it?"

Chloe stood there in a trance. What time?

Eventually she remembered her watch. "Oh, it’s just gone three." Time enough.

"Visiting Hour!" The woman smiled. She looked expectantly at the door for family and friends; people who would sadly never show up.

Chloe grabbed the orange curtain next to the bed and pulled it. She needed privacy. Following the edge of the bed around she reached the plastic visitor’s chair. Chloe sat down.

"Mum? Mum, it’s me. Chloe. I’ve brought you some flowers." She held up the daffs. An olive branch. When her mother failed to respond, she placed them over her knee.

"How are you?" It was a stupid, pointless question and she didn’t even bother waiting for an answer. "It’s nice to see you again. Have they been treating you well?"

This time the old lady nodded.

"Good, good. I’m glad. I suppose you’re wondering what’s happening in the world, since you’re out of touch and everything." God, this is so awkward. "Mr. and Mrs. Coombs from next door are thinking about you by the way. They always were very fond of you, Mum. Mr. Coombs says he misses your cakes. No one makes them like you do." Her mother’s hand twitched.

"Then, of course, there’s my friend, Jane. She’s just announced her engagement. You remember, I told you last time. She’s been seeing that bloke Barry, the plumber. Can you imagine? There was a time when Pop reckoned she’d never get a fella, do you remember?"

At the mention of her husband, she leaned over to face Chloe. A little startled at first, the young woman carried on valiantly with her report. "Shaun’s walking now, Mum. I wish you could’ve been there to see him the first time. He can only take a few tiny steps, but it’s a start. And he’s fast, too. Goodness knows what kind of mischief he’ll get himself into when he has the run of the place." She thought she noticed a slight tremor in the corner of her mother’s mouth, the faintest hint of a smile.

"I can’t believe it really. Doesn’t seem like five minutes since he was born. It won’t be long now before he’s off to school. He’s growing up too fast. Soon he’ll be learning to drive, thinking...thinking about a family of his own..."

And when he does grow up, what then? she asked herself. The gnawing fear resurfaced and she pictured a future where she was the one lying in that bed. What goes around, comes around. Isn’t that what they say? Will this be my punishment?

Chloe lowered her head, small talk drying up by the second. Conversely, her eyes were awash with tears. There was only so much she could take, pretending everything was normal, everything was all right. Maybe it was time at long last to get to the point. Clear the air. One of them had to.

"Listen, Mum. I know what you think of me," she ventured. "But can’t we forget about the past. I’m ashamed of some of the things I’ve done. I was young...I’ve changed a lot since those days. But I’ve always loved you and I always will. Why else would I keep coming here?" Guilt, perhaps? "OK, so I didn’t become a teacher like you wanted me to..."

Chloe looked up and saw water glistening in her mother’s eyes.

"But I’m happy now. Isn’t that what matters most? I have a family, an adorable son, a job. It’s more than some people have. The only thing I wish I could change is how you see me. That and the fact that I wasn’t there when you needed me."

Chloe’s mother shook her head. For a moment it looked like a sign of discontentment. Then her trembling hand moved outwards. Chloe curled her own fingers around it; she hadn’t held hands with her mother since she was eight.

"Wasn’t...your fault," she gasped, the effort of speaking tremendous. "...Did your best." This time she was looking at her, not through her.

"Oh Mum," she began, but the woman held up a free finger to silence her. Time was growing short. Precious.

"Must...must tell you. Your father and I are very proud." She smiled broadly"Pop...?"

A tip of the head again.

"I’m so sorry, Mum. I wasn’t here."

"You’re...you’re here now."

That was exactly what she needed to hear. All the worries, the dread she’d felt coming here was gone. Now there was only relief and joy, mixed with a tinge of sadness. Chloe put her arms around the woman, hugging her like she’d never done before.

"Hush now," Mother said soothingly, stroking her hair as best she could.

Chloe pulled back. Through tear-stained eyes she looked up and asked: "What’s...what’s it like, Mum?"

"It’s beautiful. So beautiful..."

Chloe shut her eyes.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, soft breath at her neck. Her eyes were open again. The bed, or what was left of it, was empty

"Are you all right, love?" Michael’s comforting presence behind her. She didn’t know what she’d do without him.

"I’m OK. Just give me a minute." Chloe tapped his hand.

She rose from the rusted framework, the spot where her mother had died so long ago. When this place had still been in use. The ritual was over for one more year. Her watch confirmed it. 4 o’clock precisely. The visiting hour was over.

Chloe turned and leaned against her husband of three years. He was so understanding. His handkerchief was out, dabbing her tears away. Michael realised how much this all meant to her (even though it wasn’t strictly safe in here anymore: a makshift shelter for the homeless; a "wonderland" for wayward kids - ripe for demolition). She’d sought that forgiveness time and again. Absolution. Damn it, if she’d just arrived an hour earlier...

She remembered what one of the nurses had said to her on that day. "Your mother will always be here in spirit." If only she’d known.

Leaving her flowers behind on the bed springs, Chloe said goodbye a final time. Then, with Michael’s arm around her, she retraced her steps. Walking away with him through the deserted and dilapidated hospital ward.