The child toddled on, picking up speed. I headed for him, fast – my shoes slipping as I accelerated. I have never felt adrenaline like it. I ran and ran, and when I reached him, in the wet grass, he was a few feet from the barrier. He was wearing green pyjamas and little monster slippers streaked up with mud. He stopped. I didn’t. Cars were beeping. A few other cars had stopped. He stopped and pointed at the road. I grabbed him, and he did not want to be picked up. ‘No!’ he said, kicking me with his dirty slippers. ‘No, no!’

I gripped him like a prize. ‘Shh,’ I said. ‘It’s okay, okay, okay.’ I don’t know where those words came from. Another random voice inside me. Another past life or future life seeping through the cracks. He stopped struggling. I felt accepted, strange and warm.

I turned my back to the traffic and saw Kelly running towards us. She was monochrome with fear. She barked two barely decipherable syllables in an animal panic – a name I would later come to know. I walked with him towards her.

INBOX

Hi Foxface how are you? X x

Great! How are you? X x

Awesome! Question: do you want the vintage cups and saucers? I packed them by accident and just realised! X x

No thanks x x

Are you sure? You spent ages collecting them from charity shops. You were obsessed with putting mulled wine and hot punch in them at parties x x

Obsessed is a strong word! I was just zestful, as I recall x x

Okay well if you’re free next Friday come to my exhibition launch! Would be so great to see you. X x

I might do. Where is it? I’ve got a few things going on at the mo x x

From 6.30 p.m. at the Hexagon Gallery on the South Bank. Bring a friend x x

Okay thanks I usually have work drinks on a Friday but will see xx

I’ll be wearing a red carnation. Holding a bag of crockery x x

Seriously don’t worry about the crockery x x

My mother is asleep in her chair, her bottom lip drooping. I’ve never seen the resemblance. I look back at my phone and then I go into the contacts and add Art’s surname to his name – So formal! So distant! He isn’t just Art – he is an Art. He is Art who?

I only wish I knew more Arts.

ART SAID

‘Listen, is this still a good thing for us to be doing, do you think?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I’m just aware that it’s becoming … stressful.’