I go to the fridge and I get myself another beer and I drink it but I’m not tasting it. It’s just cold and wet and I realize that there is no sweetness to it. I like things to be sweet. I open up a bottle of specialized craft glue and I know how expensive this is yet I pour some on the desk, not on the collage but very close to it. I take a palette knife and I use it to slather the glue on to the collage. I start with the syringe and the pickaxe isn’t the correct instrument at all to use so instead I take hold of one of Jenny’s large brushes from an old watering-can wedged under the desk. I sing under my breath as I sweep the glue over the entire work.

I get up now from the chair with an urgency and I walk into the kitchen and I fill my arms with the tea caddy and a large jar of turmeric. I go back to the piece and I have a very acute picture of Jerome touching Jenny’s face with his fingers and then touching lightly her clavicle. The top that she chose to wear, I remember now, has a low neck and it’s an item of clothing that shows her vulnerability. Lace does that to Jenny. I hear Jerome’s voice, gravelly, telling Jenny how he’s trying to move forward after his great loss. His beautiful and talented wife, he’s trying to get his life back together, he places his whole life now in the hands of his little boy and as he admits this to Jenny his voice catches and he has to swallow to fight back his tears. The lying cunt.

I rip open Barry’s tea bags and I scatter the fine tea leaves all over the syringe and I sprinkle the turmeric on to the sailors’ lace and then I tip the jar upside down and everything is turmeric yellow. My fingertips are stained good as if I am a hardened smoker and there is something right about this night after all.