Oh Jesus, she says, don’t worry, it’ll take years before any of this becomes mainstream. First hurdle is putting together large-scale double-blind peer-reviewed trials. Given that most of the funding is controlled by the pharmaceutical companies, and this kind of research gets automatically dismissed by orthodox journals, you’ll die before it’s widely accepted. In the meantime, plenty of unbalanced people will get to commit insane-looking crimes, and you’ll get to assess them.

Logan considers the unnecessary murders she is countenancing so cheerfully. And this doesn’t bother you?

Another segment of crustacean, popped, swallowed.

Would there be a point in it bothering me? Would my being bothered make the world change any faster? Or just negatively impact on my well-being?

She has a point. Nevertheless Logan is feeling increasingly nauseous. He’s beginning to realize the cause is not undigested whisky but Dr Salmon’s relentless positivity.

Dr Salmon, I—

Sorry, I’m going too fast. Too much to take in. I appreciate that. But can you allow that we don’t know very much? The tide of nausea is rising, but she continues. As much as ninety-five per cent of the universe is dark energy and dark matter. Dark as in obscure, we have no idea what it is, cannot account for it. Ninety-five per cent!

Water begins to pool in his mouth and he realizes he is only seconds from vomiting. He rises in a panic, knocking the chair onto its back. Runs from her astonished face for the downstairs toilet, kneeling at the bowl just in time for the retching to begin.

‌Beans

When he returns, he finds his guest on the sitting-room sofa, trying not to read the free paper Jules brought into the house yesterday. He can tell this because she has left it on the table, rather than pulling it onto her lap, but has nevertheless been hooked by one of the headlines and is leaning forward to take her dose of national misery. He has the same problem: a compulsion to ingest whatever text is available. Advertising flyers, food packaging. She bounces back upright, as if his entrance severed a cord.

Are you okay? she asks. Can I help?

Yes. No. Yes, I’m okay, and no, you can’t help. He positions himself by the fireplace. Though I appreciate the offer.

She pulls her bag onto the sofa.

I was thinking it’s about time I got going, she says.

And again, even though it is not late, or dark, or icy, he feels a tiny shudder of alarm. Ridiculous, he tells himself.

Before you do, he says, there’s something I must ask you.

Go on.

Last night, he ventures, picking up a glass tortoise Flora bought Jules for a birthday, then becoming conscious of his action and replacing it, last night you said you thought I was a good man.

I know you are a good man.