I'm not crazy (my mother had me tested)

Labels like “paranoid”, and “delusional” are sticky. Especially to women.

No matter what Sandy did to convince them that she wasn't crazy, they believed she was saying what she thought they wanted to hear. If she let her worry for her family show, or got frustrated or impatient, they took this as a symptom of instability.

“Really,” she said, “I feel okay, now. I did feel a bit strange for a while. Maybe everything was getting to me. I swear, I’d never hurt my kids. Or Karl. I promise, my head feels much clearer now.”

“That’s good!” This accompanied by a bland, encouraging smile. “That shows you’re in the right place, doesn’t it?”

“But I can’t stay here!” Sandy would almost-wail. “I have to get my children back!”

“Do you know where they are?” would be the oh-so-reasonable reply, with sharpness hidden just underneath.

“Of course not,” Sandy did her best not to grit her teeth. I mustn't show anger or impatience... I must be a perfect picture of rationality...

Sandy hated it here. Hated the white walls and bland pictures. The soulless rooms and grey tracksuits. The shuffling footsteps, tiny paper cups and hollow eyes. Hated feeling she didn’t belong; loathed worrying maybe she did. Hated feeling watched always, and feeling like everything she did was being written down to be used against her. Hated being phoneless.

Some things she didn’t hate, much as she wouldn't admit it to herself. There was no pressure here. To create a perfect holiday with magical memories for all, and turn it into compelling, monetised content. There were hardly any decorations, even, and none in her own room. Best of all: no elf.

There was a dismal looking Christmas tree in here. Sandy didn’t think about how much she didn’t look at it, and yet never had her back to it either.

It was quite pleasant not to be ruled by a little red dot, the way a bull is led by his nose-ring. I could feel like this all the time... Sandy slid a yellow counter down a snake. Just never get another smartphone... Get an old Nokia and use it for calls...

She looked up.

"Your turn," she said to the pale, redhaired girl sitting across the table.