Mary Cresswell
We weren’t sure if you left it behind or I forgot to pack it. We filled out the form but jibbed at ‘Describe it in your own words’. You looked at me, then shrugged. (We have always agreed that some things are beyond words.) I was so sure, expecting it to turn up on the front seat of the taxi next to the driver – or in the new art museum, the one with the reflecting pools – or in the potting mix – or (most likely) in the belly of a medium-sized grouper, caught the old-fashioned way with string and a safety pin. It could even surface on Antiques Roadshow. When it does, we will emit glad cries of recognition and then we will go home together (probably) without it – because at that point, what difference does it make?
