The real pub, Ava, not the tableau – pint of lager,
posh Scotch egg.
On my walk home that evening a pine cone struck
me in the back of the head. It hurt.
I looked around but there was no one there.
The ground was littered with them.
I had an email from The Trust –
We’d appreciate it if you kept trips to the pub outside of
working hours. We’re looking forward to seeing the work
that you’ve produced, do send us anything you have so
far.
I felt dizzy.
I ordered a mannequin and a wig online.
Some time that night, quite late, a car pulled into the
driveway of the B&B.
I held my breath.
A car door opened. Footsteps. Silence.
Footsteps. Car door. Engine.
And it was gone.
I didn’t sleep, went down at dawn.
There was a note pinned to the gate.
The ink had run in the morning’s dew,
I could only make out two words:
found you
Ava – what would you have done?
A deep wide nothing opened up inside me.
Not one thought.
Completely numb.
On the path up to the studio a few days later I was
so deep in my emptiness, I didn’t see the swan until I
was almost on top of it.
It rose up in the middle of the path,
spread its wings and hissed.
You too? I said,
and walked right back the way I came.
The mannequin had arrived.
I spent the day at the B&B with my paints, a little
handheld mirror – making her up to look like me.
It took a long time to do the freckles, Ava.
I cut the wig a little short.
