It didn’t feel right. It didn’t sound right but I didn’t want to interfere. He hates it when I do. But when I heard him giving them his password I shouted. And then I spoke to the man purporting to be bank security and he sounded flustered. Of course, Madam he kept saying, we want people to be careful, to be aware. And then he said, that we don’t want to give people extra stress during the Covid-19 outbreak. No, we don’t. But he was so plausible, too plausible. And my love is so trusting, so wanting to oblige. Wanting to be deemed a good boy, as I need to be a good girl. I feel for him. It is sorted out. He is good at that. But there is this residue of abuse. I forgive him, that young man, I am sorry he has to make his way hurting others. Perhaps he doesn’t care? Perhaps he is being coerced into doing so. I hope not for his sake. Perhaps he has so little that he feels justified in taking from others. My love opened himself wide to him and his scam. Poor love. I wanted to protect him but I didn’t. We will learn from this. Learn not to be so open and yet openness is so lovely.

I think it is the discipline of it. I want to do it well. As I do all things. All things. She said she thought it was wonderful. My piece. I’m glad. I’m so glad. That means a lot. Now I will sew. Return to its rigour. And later there is the sun. And there is the promise of three new pieces of work. Not much but something and I do love the conversations. Thank you.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.