The journey from Glastonbury to Bath was unmemorable, although the fields were greener than those of Avebury. I needed a distraction, but the driver was not one for conversation and my meagre attempts were answered with a simple: “Yes, Ma’am.” The quiet hum of the engine, the sameness of the scenery intensified my thoughts of Elliot walking away.
Fragments of the previous days revisited: the sibling tension between Hyacinth and Mabel, and I wondered if the same potential existed between Madeleine and me, the pattern repeated with Deirdre and Clive, though perhaps tempered by their different genders; the Stourhead Pantheon and the Abyssinian cat who guarded the door. Small towns passed in hypnotic similarity and led me further into thought. The Avebury stones, like ghosts within the fields
