there is no shed! We told them.
There isn’t now, they said.
They sent us photos of the garden.
In the first, a little wooden shed that we had never seen
before – adorable, painted green.
The second showed the garden as it was – empty,
overgrown. A few rogue slabs, a broken barbecue from
the house’s former life.
What could we say?
How does one prove the non-existence of a shed?
The girls found smaller houses, split
their group in two.
No room for me this time.
I searched once more for anywhere, for anyone’s
extra room.
The queues for viewings were down the street. Students
bid on houses they hadn’t even seen.
Outside the door to one, the agent said –
if you don’t say you want this now, before you
look, it’s gone. I’ve got another student on the phone.
And that, Ava, is how you end up grateful for a
basement.
I took the room. Descended gladly.
Shoulders bumping both the walls as I walked down.
Goodgirl Goodgod Goodgrief
But did the shed exist?
What, Ava, is your professional opinion on the matter?
They were wily, those ones, I wouldn’t put it past
them to invent a shed.
But here – I’ll give you this, Ava…
I do remember, hazily, one party, glancing
out the bathroom window,
seeing a bonfire in our garden, soft flame
amid the brambles, slabs and knotweed –
what were we burning, Ava?
There’s no way that we’d bought firewood –
where does one even?
No.
We burned the shed then…
well,
