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About the Author

Trevor Eve studied architecture before attending The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art where he won the Bancroft Gold Medal. He is a multi-award-winning actor, including two Olivier theatre awards. His career has spanned over forty years in theatre, film and television. He received an Honorary Doctorate from Newman University in 2014. He is married to Sharon Maughan and has three children.

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For Sharon

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Super Patrons

David Baillie
Stephen Bruce
Adrian Eden
Terence Flanagan
Judith M. Galloway
Dan Kieran
Ewan Lawrie
John Mitchinson
Justin Pollard

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How It Seems To Me

In the vast abyss before time, self
is not, and soul commingles
with mist, and rock, and light. In time,
soul brings the misty self to be.
Then slow time hardens self to stone
while ever lightening the soul,
till soul can loose its hold of self
and both are free and can return
to vastness and dissolve in light,
the long light after time.

– Ursula K. Le Guin

Chapter One

‘So, I think things started to go a little wrong in the womb.’

Everett Millen whispered to himself while staring. Staring at his mother, whose whiteness was turning pink in her swimming costume; a little tight, the fat escaping the restrictions of the one piece bought for a different body.

This was a rare visit to his mother’s home. She was asleep, well, more passed out, after lunch, on a yellow garden recliner. The plastic strands were wound round and round in a basket weave to form a springy web. He could see the build-up of sweat where skin met plastic. He went inside to fetch a towel. At least to protect her from the sun.

His mother had always called him Ever.

He has been known forever as Ever.

Chapter Two

He drove out of Palm Springs on Interstate 10.

Hot and dry like a purring cat hanging around his neck: stifling. He liked the heat, but he was allergic to cats. So there was a dissonance between this image and his comfort.

The gas station man, who was of South Asian descent, felt the necessity to inform him, with a natural courtesy, of the correct ‘pay first’ procedure at American pumps.

Ever knew this anyway, but in a descent of brain fog he was happy, for that brief moment, to have the burden of thought and decision removed from his mind.

Paid and full, the car drove west on the freeway towards the large sprawling mass of human life; organised, but in the way a child might spread building blocks from the centre outwards until the boredom hit and the blocks were just kicked and piled, not really in any order, just piled, without enthusiasm, while waiting for tea.

This was his lot, so get on with it and be positive because, Hindu-style, if you do it well, you might not have to come back.