Brass Neck

During the scam call, our scammer (our very own personal one) going by the name of Eric arranged to call him back the next day, yesterday at 11.00am to sort out any outstanding issues. It would be either him or another colleague, he said, and gave him a very long, official seeming code that he was to quote when he received the call. And he did, he called back. I heard his phone go. I was upstairs in the kitchen. I rushed to the stairs. Don’t speak to him, I said. I hadn’t protected him, you see. I hadn’t. I’d reneged on my duty. Don’t let him draw you in, I shouted. I didn’t, he said, coming to the bottom of the stairs. I hung up on him, he said. That was before I told him to f*** off.

There is no pleasure in these small victories. And the money, the £1,000 he stole is still not in his account. The bank promises it will be returned but we still hold our breath. At least I do.

Do you know we are breaking the law? he said, getting out of bed this morning. I read it online. According to the Welsh Government it is against the law to sit in a park. Fair enough. We won’t then.

I distinctly smelt hot cross buns walking back along Llanbadarn Road from my walk. It was 4.30 am, was someone baking at that hour?

I think of the dead doctor and his family. And the dead architect who house on the hill still has a light on at night.

Three more weeks. Do you mind? Are you suffering?

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.