Looks cosy! He emailed me one day.
I suppose it was.
Some days, I’d time it wrong and end up walking
back from the studio in the dark.
The woods were scary and on the stretch of road
up to the B&B I feared for my life.
I’d been traversing the dangers of the city
for so long that I’d forgotten quite how menacing the
countryside can be, Ava.
Those memories returned – out on the cliffs when
I was young – rosy cheeks, bouncy grass, windswept –
out exploring… then suddenly that feeling, like being
slapped awake – knowing you’ve been seen out alone.
It’s how a vole must feel when spotted by a
buzzard overhead, Ava.
Tuning in
to your body with its eyes.
Meat. I’m meat. I’m meat.
Walking back to the B&B I’d hear a rustle or a
twig-snap and I’d think, well this is it.
One evening after dark, I passed a dead horse in a lay-by.
Spooky lump.
I didn’t approach.
It happens all the time, the owner of the B&B told me,
they’re wild, protected – you can’t stop them
roaming – and people here drive far too fast.
On the nights I cooked, we ate at the table in the
kitchen by the Aga.
She had this boxy TV in there that was always on.
It showed the split-screen footage from her CCTV.
Four little boxes, black and white, the scenes
trembled with their liveness in the dark – the garden, the
front door, the hedge and road, the pitch-black field
beyond.
We chatted, ate whichever mediocre stew I’d
made.
Tough beef.
A lamb shank clinging to its bone.
I couldn’t help but watch the screen.
Behind her head a spider strung its web across
