‘Do you think this is easy for me? All these voices, all these years? I have no peace, no privacy.’

Benjamin walks into the kitchen. ‘Carmen,’ he says, ‘I hate to hurry this clearly intense personal situation, but Toby won’t hang around all day. He’s faster than you might think.’

I look at Benjamin. Poor love.

‘Yes,’ my mother says. ‘I will be five minutes. Please just give me time to recharge.’

He nods and walks away.

‘Son?’ I say. ‘Husband? Brother? Lover?’

‘Tortoise.’

‘Oh god. You’re doing animals now.’

‘It’s an increasingly tough market.’

I turn around. I help myself to a glass of water and then realise I am helping myself to something in my own kitchen. I feel like I am trespassing in my own life.

‘They’ll be gone in an hour,’ my mother says. ‘I’m doing this for us.’ I don’t reply. ‘I won’t do this again when you are likely to be here. We can set up a schedule, on the fridge. So there are no clashes. I am … sorry, Jenny. Let me take you out tomorrow afternoon, make up for it. I’ll buy you dinner. A matinee.’

‘Maybe.’ I start to leave the room. ‘And stop unplugging the toaster,’ I say, on my way. ‘It’s insane-making.’

I have a few superstitions I’ve inherited from her. Don’t put new shoes on the table. Don’t sleep with your feet facing a doorway. Or a mirror. Don’t cross someone on the stairs without saying ‘bread and butter’. Spells to keep the house safe. From what? From falling apart.

Too late.

I pass Benjamin in the hall, waiting outside the living-room door. ‘I am … sorry for your loss.’

‘Thank you,’ he says, tearing up. ‘It has been agony. Toby was my constant companion.’

I go outside to the garden. I light up a cigarette and as I smoke it I watch the moths mob the porch light.

I WOKE UP LIKE THIS

a) Suzy Brambles has left me

b) My mother is in my house and

c) I left my tampon in, and it has leaked. The sheet looks like the Japanese flag.

DRAFTS

Subject: Not Fit for Purpose

Dear Womb,

I want my money back. Not just for that, but for all the periods. Literally a quarter of my life. All that time, all those mood-swings, all those sanitary products – and for what? NOTHING.

Bests,

Jenny McLaine

THE MIND CREATES THE ABYSS

Hey, how are you?

Hey! I’m okay. On my way to meet my mother in some weird shabby pub she likes in Soho. How are you?