The Work

Lally’s early childhood memories of happiness were littered with details she’d spend the rest of her life interrogating for signs of her mother’s misery.

Now she knew for sure. An established artist she admired profoundly had judged her his equal.

The Saplings Program kept her ahead of the curve. Fresh blood and fresh sweat and fresh tears. That’s what the market hungered for, and that’s what she’d give them. The contract stipulated that in return for being exhibited as part of Gallery Lally’s Saplings Program, the curator would be paid with one piece of art, of her choosing, from the show.

Men always thought women cost them money, but really women were saving them money all the time.

Em had a slight lankiness to her. She wasn’t just slim, she was skinny, scrawny maybe, in a way Pat noticed other women noticing.

It was like a sort of wealth grenade. Money made money.

They’d had the gall to tell her it would be ‘great exposure’ for Gallery Lally. On top of their insulting presumptuousness

The silver lining was that he wasn’t around to vote in 2016.

The world carried women down this river so swiftly once they acknowledged they might even consider the choice. ‘Maybe’ became 2.5 in a flash. Plans to ‘go back part-time’ evaporated into fetid air. The only way to stop the slide was a firm ‘no’. Her birthday in a week. Thirty-four. Her mother and Gen were the only ones who knew. What good were birt