About the work

Her father had bought it in the seaside town, a last-minute decision because she was complaining of the heat. He knew it was cheap plastic and wood, designed to fail after one season, but the bright red had caught her eye. She’d carried it all afternoon, twirling it sometimes, and then left it here by the road when they’d gotten back in the car. He’d seen it in the rearview mirror, a tiny splash of colour against the fading light, and decided not to turn back. He never told her he’d seen it.