Eileen liked to imagine the town arranged neatly behind the butcher’s glass. Raw and fleshy cuts on display: white fat on red meat, flocking to Michael’s Lido from the thin of the town. She watched how the girls spread themselves across the concrete; bodies overlapping until they melted into one another—one thigh, one belly, one long slab of hungering. She tried not to stare. 

It was the first day of a heatwave that lasted all summer. By the time they arrived at the pool, just gone eleven, it was too late. The loungers nearest the lifeguard tower had already been claimed by some local mothers. Eileen’s own mother paused, looking for a space, before giving up and turning towards the outskirts of the site. No metal hook had been saved for her today: to the rendering table they went instead. 

On this stale strip of concrete, her mother laid down their towel and sat square in its centre. Eileen was told to sit beside her; the naked slab burning the underneath of her thighs. It was there, from the gallery, that Eileen began to watch. Mrs. Boning had put on weight since her divorce. Kelly McKlinton was kissing her latest boyfriend behind the changing rooms. And Darron’s father was not so mysteriously absent—everyone knew he’d left his family last month. Ribs. Thighs. Brisket. Marrow. Fat. The corner gate swung open. 

Eileen had never seen the girl before. From the city, her mother said, family staying in the rental cottage on the hill for the summer. The girl was barefoot, trainers strung from one finger by their laces, her skin all freckled and red and aglow. Eileen watched as she crossed the concrete, tearing off her clothes in a rush. And when she dived, the pool opened beneath her. 

The girl surfaced from the water already laughing, mouth barking wide and eyes creased. She was all unevenness: front teeth sticking out, hair slicked like kelp across her forehead. Her turquoise nail polish was chipped, and her neck was slightly green from the cheap metal of her necklaces. For a blistering moment, Eileen imagined pressing her mouth to that green mark, wondering if she’d be able to taste the oxidation. This girl didn’t belong at Michael’s, encased behind glass. Eileen started to wonder if perhaps she didn’t either. If maybe this girl would be nice and swallow Eileen into her body, take her back to the city and allow her to become part of her very marrow, to rot into something living. 

For weeks the heat held and the town gathered daily at Michael’s. Every afternoon, the girl returned to the lido. Eileen never spoke to her—only watched. Feeding herself on pieces of the girl. Keeping them tucked, somewhere under her tissue, where her mother and her town could not confiscate them. 

Then, one morning in September, rain arrived. By lunchtime the heatwave was over. Chlorine washed away into the drains. The rental cottage on the hill was vacated. And the butcher’s counter was closed for another year. But something spoiled. Eileen looked at the town and could no longer find the neat seams between shoulder and breast. Instead, replaced by the knowledge that there were ways to live other than arranging yourself behind glass.