The Work

That they were all in this sticky web together and it just so happened to be her head on the block now, but glasshouses and stones and fuck them

Lally was a decade too old to be the subject of Farr’s interest. What a wounding relief.

Life didn’t offer you constantly expanding opportunities. You were born with the potential to pivot any which way, and then one by one avenues were sealed off.

The hurt she’d felt on stumbling across Leah and her friends at lunch returned.

Would it be possible, ever, to be a good person in life as well as a great person in art? Both seemed to require every ounce of her energy at all times. Neither came naturally.

Would a family of her own be an enrichment or a duty?

You just had to ask yourself, is this a deviation from the vision?

The gallery was both a teething child and an ageing parent—it needed constant care and maintenance. It required vigilance.

‘New problems.’ ‘I tried to tell you this when I got the star. Remember? You were pushing and pushing, wanting me to open a second place, a retail range. But more success brings bigger problems. Do you want to be happy?’ Her mother was looking at her, concerned. ‘Of course.’