‘Well, she seems lovely,’ Art said, in the cab.

I looked at him. ‘For real?’

‘Yes. She’s a bit extrovert, but I found her wacky ways endearing. Reassuring, almost. It’s like she’s plugged into a deeper plane, you know?’

I stared at him. ‘Oh god,’ I said, ‘you’re a believer.’

‘I’m open-minded.’

‘You’re just another millennial looking for meaning in all the wrong places. You know she does all that shit by micro-eye-movements? She only decided to become a psychic when she failed as an actress. She’s a mutant. She preys on grief and fear.’

Art shook his head. ‘There’s just no way she could have known. I have never, and will never, talk about my uncle.’

I retreated from him then, ashamed almost. ‘Maybe she planted the suggestion.’

‘She’s not that devious.’

‘Want to bet? My childhood was ripped through with her ambivalence. She alternately smothered me and wounded me. She was all over the place. She was crazy.’

I realised I was describing her in the same way most men described their exes. The way Art had described his.

I WAS EIGHTEEN

the day I left home and I’d made her drive me to the station. The car was new. The cars were always new. Rentals or benevolent benefactors. This one was a blue Jag. I remember the way her leather jacket creaked as she turned the corners. At the station, people stared as we pulled up. I went for the door lever.

‘So you’re leaving? Just like this?’

‘Daughters leave,’ I said. ‘It’s normal. This break-up was inevitable.’

I got out and slammed the door. The slam of it. I could have done it harder.

‘Is this about my choice of vocation?’ she said, through the open window. It was a normal question but I felt her anger and violence, too. That layer of red under her looks.

‘It’s about all your choices. It’s about your fucking chaos.’

I didn’t look back as I walked into the station but I did hear the Jag vrrrrooooomm away.

What was it really about? So much, so many things, over the years. A granular resentment that grew into a plaque around my heart.

ART SAID

I would like to take some photos of you, if you don’t mind.

What kind of photos?

Nothing pervy.

I’ll be the judge of that

I would like you to be naked.

Fuck off

They will be photos that define romance and womanhood.