SCULPTURES SCULPTURES KATE POULTON 21 It was the first day of summer. Shepherd’s Bush Green had paused. The hum of traffic was reduced to the hum of bees. Clusters of people picnicked, a group of women in burqas chatted, a bunch of builders sipped from cans, girls gossiped in sunglasses and flicked their hair. Each was in their own patch, but all breathed out as they felt the sun. A group of teenagers with poised caps stood by the newly installed Goaloids, giant cubic frames that spun on one corner. A few of the lads hung upside down from their legs on the frames. The tallest boy pushed the structures around in turn as the others yelled. A girl joined the set. The boy tried to hoist her up with the others. They were both laughing as she pretended to resist his grip. A mother walked past with a buggy as the lad picked the girl up and swung her. Her legs were flailing around. The mother fell. The buggy sped down the path. It hurtled towards the road. A scream. A woman jumped up. A builder sprang forward. Both missed. If only there had been a fraction of a second. An arm got there in time. Exclamations and apologetic tones were shared. The girls stopped gossiping, the builders stopped sipping and the women stopped chatting. The teens slowly dismounted from the constructions and huddled. The sculptures were left spinning in the sun.