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Chapters (86)
  1. Title Page
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Love
  4. Before
  5. One
  6. ONE
  7. Two
  8. TWO
  9. Three
  10. THREE
  11. Four
  12. FOUR
  13. Five
  14. FIVE
  15. Six
  16. SIX
  17. Seven
  18. SEVEN
  19. Eight
  20. EIGHT
  21. Nine
  22. NINE
  23. Ten
  24. TEN
  25. Eleven
  26. ELEVEN
  27. After
  28. One
  29. ONE
  30. Two
  31. TWO
  32. Three
  33. THREE
  34. Four
  35. FOUR
  36. Five
  37. FIVE
  38. Six
  39. SIX
  40. Seven
  41. SEVEN
  42. Eight
  43. EIGHT
  44. Nine
  45. NINE
  46. Ten
  47. TEN
  48. Eleven
  49. ELEVEN
  50. Twelve
  51. TWELVE
  52. Thirteen
  53. THIRTEEN
  54. Fourteen
  55. FOURTEEN
  56. Fifteen
  57. FIFTEEN
  58. Sixteen
  59. SIXTEEN
  60. Seventeen
  61. SEVENTEEN
  62. Eighteen
  63. EIGHTEEN
  64. Nineteen
  65. NINETEEN
  66. Twenty
  67. TWENTY
  68. Twenty-One
  69. TWENTY-ONE
  70. Twenty-Two
  71. TWENTY-TWO
  72. Twenty-Three
  73. TWENTY-THREE
  74. Twenty-Four
  75. TWENTY-FOUR
  76. Twenty-Five
  77. TWENTY-FIVE
  78. Twenty-Six
  79. TWENTY-SIX
  80. Twenty-Seven
  81. TWENTY-SEVEN
  82. Twenty-Eight
  83. TWENTY-EIGHT
  84. Eleven Months Later
  85. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  86. Copyright

‘They always have a commission in the Turbine Hall,’ Poppy tells me, which I know, but I’m happy for her to go on as I stare at the iceberg. ‘They’ve had all sorts of wild stuff. It’s usually interactive. They had a garden once with a path you could walk around and they’ve had swings and a massive slide. This is called No Icebergs Ahead.’ She nods at it with another proud smile. ‘I read about it on the Greenpeace website.’

I can’t take my eyes off it. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘They reckon it’s going to take about six months for it to melt and when it does, it’s gone.’

‘Well I guess it makes sense, seeing as it’s ice.’

‘Yep.’ She nods again, her smile a little sadder this time. ‘According to the Greenpeace website, the artist wants us to see the reality of climate change and ignite a sense of urgency about rising sea levels.’

‘I’ve always thought of art as something that would outlive us,’ I say.

Poppy looks thoughtful. ‘Yeah, just think about the wars that paintings have survived – wars, fire, theft – moving from house to house, gallery to gallery. All those priceless pieces that were lost or relegated to dusty attics because the owners didn’t know how valuable they were. You used to have to go to an art gallery like this to see them, but art is everywhere. People buy framed prints of Warhol’s soup cans or Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss and hang them in their homes having never seen the real thing. Yet there they are, over their beds and in their living rooms, next to photos of their family. It’s such a part of our lives now that we barely notice it, do we?’ She shrugs. ‘We just laugh at the photos friends WhatsApp us of Grant Wood’s American Gothic, the faces changed to Miss Piggy and Kermit. Or buy a special edition lip balm because the lid has been “inspired by” van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms, or something.’

Usually, I could listen to Poppy talk for hours, but knowing that this iceberg is going to melt to nothing and be gone in six months makes my chest hurt in a way it never has before.

She leans in, nodding at the people around us taking photos of it on their phones. ‘There’s too many people here right now, but the staff say that when it’s just them, they can hear it beginning to crack.’

I listen out for it, but when I can’t hear it, I turn to look at her. ‘Can we come back in six months?’