The picture takes up most of the wall opposite my boyfriend’s bed. A photograph of white camellias in a crystal vase. I sit with my arms around my knees, naked under the duvet, watching the image through the conservation glass. He is downstairs making breakfast. When it’s ready he will call me down and seat me in the sun in the small courtyard between his house and studio, where he’s set a table for one: crisp white cloth, spotless silver cutlery. He’ll serve me orange juice, granola ...
