‘Yeah, but where? Like, it must have been a lot to get rid of. He would’ve needed a couple of trailers at least.’

Kon laughs. ‘Big important artist. Bet he had someone else to worry about those details.’

‘That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Someone else to worry about all the details.’

‘Ah, well, that’s the one good thing about being stuck here. You get to relax and live like a London performance artist for a bit.’

‘Lucky me,’ Nic says.

She wants to know what the artist did when he was finished destroying everything. When he went home and realised he didn’t have a bed to sleep on or a plate to eat off, no toothbrush or soap or loo paper. But Kon is already wishing her a good night and saying he’ll see her tomorrow.

WILL

WILL

Mercy had been very clear she didn’t want him contacting her.

Clean break. Easier for everyone.

Walk away with sweet memories, no bitterness.

This is exactly why we need to—

No, I won’t get into this with you.

I can’t believe you’re trying this, Will. There’s no such thing as access rights to your ex-girlfriend’s kids.

Clean. Break.

Move. The. Fuck. On.

Which was fine. Easy. Every time he was tempted to call or message her he simply shoved his tongue as hard as he could against the screaming raw nerves around his rotting tooth and every thought he’d ever had was obliterated. If this went on long enough his brain might automatically make the connection between her name and agonising, most likely pus-filled infection sites, which would be helpful in curbing his tendency to mope and crawl and plead after a break-up.

On the other hand, he might die of blood poisoning. Which would also prevent moping etc. Win-win.

Whether because of imminent blood poisoning, mopiness or his usual general dumb-fuckery, he managed to stuff up his flight schedule, left himself only twenty minutes to make the connection in Brisbane, which, since the flight was delayed by an hour out of Mackay, was a big fucking problem. Of course there were no more flights to Sydney that night. Of course. The airline desk attendant was sweet and seemed genuinely sorry for him. If he’d tried he probably could have swung an invitation into the airline lounge. He couldn’t remember how, though. To try. He spent the night at Brisbane Airport’s gate 41, the discomfort of the row of plastic seats he attempted to lie on distracting him for whole minutes at a time from the pain in his mouth.