He said: ‘So I have a date tonight.’ Then he laughed. ‘It’s sort of depressing, isn’t it? The futility of romance.’

The clock on the wall ticked. A bird outside chirped. I realised how tightly I was holding my teaspoon. My index finger was white and bloodless.

‘Yes!’ I laughed.

He left in a breeze of fineness.

DRAFTS

Subject: [No subject]

Dear Art,

You cunt.

Jenny

‘FUNNY’

Suzy says, ‘how Art and I are both photographers.’

‘I take photographs, too,’ I say. ‘Recreationally. I am a recreational photographer.’

‘We all are, these days,’ says Suzy. ‘I’m lucky I can make 220k a year out of my humble little snaps. With the right promotional attachment.’

My mother’s head rolls round on her neck and back again. ‘Excuse me?’ One of us says it.

‘That’s right,’ says Suzy. ‘It’s nuts, really.’

My heart is crashing. My brain is crashing. Someone turn me off and on again. And then I see the opportunity. What a beautiful fiction I could cannibalise from this terrible pain … I pull my phone out. ‘Do you mind,’ I say, ‘if I get a photo of us all? I always do this when I meet interesting people. To prove I still have an interesting life. Being over thirty, I mean! Haha!’

Art looks at me unusually. I almost can’t believe my own behaviour but I have nothing to lose now, literally nothing. I hold my phone up for the selfie. I don’t even care that I’m at the front, in potato position. This is pure gold. They are all mine now, captured in my little memory box. I move to take the shot, to seal the box.

‘No,’ Suzy says, ducking out of the way, ‘no, sorry. I’m quite careful about privacy. And besides, tonight’s all about the work!’

‘You can see it,’ I say. ‘You can authorise it.’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ says Art. ‘Let’s just get to know each other, shall we? Let’s be friends first, facilitators later.’

‘Hahaha!’ says Suzy, relaxing.

I put my phone back in my pocket, chastised.

‘I have to be extra careful because of Clemency,’ says Suzy. ‘And please don’t repeat her name elsewhere as we are keen to protect her privacy. We have an Instagram account just for her with just a picture of praying hands as the avatar. That’s all the world gets of her.’

‘Is Clemency a dachshund?’ I say. ‘No, don’t tell me, Italian greyhound. Did you get the dog to look like the dog? I have a theory about this.’

Suzy is looking at me oddly. So is Art. Do I sound like a stalker? I don’t want to sound like a stalker.

My mother says, ‘Oh.’ My mother says, ‘Ah.’ My mother says, ‘Jenny, I remember something I needed to talk to you about regarding something urgent, come with me now …’