The Map of Us. Jules Preston

is like when he starts talking about things that are blue. He gets all artistic and lyrical. I stopped listening in the end.

       I have not heard from Katherine. I fear that the ‘handbag problem’ may have flared up again. I will keep you posted.

       Your father is at the Festival of Sand at Barmouth beach all week. He called and said there are seven dolphins already and he thinks there may be some mermaids arriving later. I fear another second place is on the cards.

       Must dash. When are you coming to see us?

       Love

       Mum x

       handbags

      It was a patent leather top handle with a double zip and a detachable cross body strap. Katherine knew that she shouldn’t stop and look. It was already too late. She had stopped. She had looked. She was drawn in. Her face was pressed against the glass.

      It was sitting on its own acrylic plinth in the window of a shop that she was not allowed to enter. She was not banned. Katherine was always welcome inside. Cash or credit card. That was not the issue. She had made a promise. She had made the same promise before and been weak. Her resolve had not held. Not for long. She had given in after a month. Maybe a little less, but a month sounded better.

      She had other top handle handbags of a similar design. Thirty or so. And three hundred different styles of handbag as well. In their own room. Lined up. On glass shelves. Constantly rearranged by size and colour and designer and season. That was a lot of handbags. That was why she had promised. So many times before. No more handbags. But this was different. This was something else. It was £485. It was worth it.

      She tried to walk away but found herself walking towards the door of the shop instead. She couldn’t stop herself. She went inside and was greeted like an old friend. She was weak. She knew it. She hated herself. But she bought the handbag anyway. She wanted it.

       blue

      Jack was lying in a tent near a small village in the palm swamps of an isolated area on the border of two South American countries. He had no idea which side of the border they were on. It didn’t matter. He was floating a foot off the ground, and his toenails were talking to him. He had a fever. He was sweating. He was ice cold. He wasn’t drinking enough water. He couldn’t keep it down. He was hallucinating.

      The nearest doctor was 80 miles away upriver. The journey would take six days. His guide assured him that the fever would break in 48 hours. He had seen it before. If it did not break in 48 hours, he would probably be dead. Either way, they weren’t getting in the boat and traveling upriver to get a second opinion.

      Jack was drifting in and out of consciousness. He did not mind. He had seen a Hyacinth Macaw in the wild. It had taken almost a week to reach the palm swamps on the edge of a border that had no real edges, only endless trees and muddy rivers.

      Jack had seen the lurid blue of the Indigo Bunting, the pale blue of the Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher and the elegant blue of the Purple Martin. The Hyacinth Macaw was another blue again. He was glad that he had traveled so far to see it. He would never forget.

      He fell asleep. All his dreams were blue.

       sand

       Not sure that the nose is right.

       Doesn’t look right.

       Looks wonky.

       Askew.

       Maybe it’s just the direction of the sun?

       Getting low now.

       Sunset at 8.26pm.

       Low sun.

       That’s all.

       That’s the problem.

       Yeah.

       It will look fine in the morning.

       Stop messing with the nose.

       You’ll make it worse.

       Move on.

       Still got the tail to do.

       Haven’t even started on the tail.

       Or the wings.

       Going to be tricky.

       Wrong sort of sand for wings.

       Should have thought of that.

       Why didn’t I think of that?

       Same thing last year.

       Wrong sort of sand for porcupine quills.

       Still got second place though.

       Don’t know how.

       Idiot.

       Sand sculpture of a porcupine?

       Idiot.

       What was I thinking?

       Maybe if I used the plaque scaler again?

       Add some more detail.

       Won’t notice it’s wonky.

       More scales.

       Good thinking.

       Useful having a dentist in the family.

       Odd bloke though.

       Wouldn’t want to go on a camping holiday with him.

       Get stuck in a tent.

       Man has a thing against sand.

       Odd bloke.

       Doesn’t know what he’s missing.

       Still looks wonky.

       Not the sun then.

       Bollocks.

       Taken too much off the nose.

       The nose is all wrong.

       Don’t think dragons have noses.

       Snouts?

       Muzzles?

       Doesn’t really matter.

       The nose is wrong.

       Should have done a bloody dolphin.

       Don’t be an idiot.

       Just do the nose right.

       Can’t.

       Not enough sand.

       Already taken too much off.

       Off the nose.

       Or the muzzle.