He stops painting. The realisation stuns him. For the last few weeks he was walking around amazed at how his mind worked, that he came up with the entire idea on the spot when, in fact, the idea had been dormant for the last fifteen years.
It was at Tracey’s funeral when he first thought of the idea. He’d been in disbelief that she’d actually died, and had somehow orchestrated the entire show. He wasn’t sure if she’d appear at the end for the accolades or if she’d let the whole thing play out.
It was later that night, when it was just him and Miriam, both drunk, that she showed him a video she’d recorded. In it, Tracey kept referring to her mother as her saviour. It was clear she was high, and her checks sunken and grey.
“The life was already leeched away and my baby knew it.”
Joshua walked away knowing Tracey hadn’t made her funeral a performance piece, which was a shame because he’d have liked to have told her it was a brilliant idea.
The idea lay dormant, buried beneath the guilt that he’d had something to do with her death. If he’d only not been such a prick, then…