This convergence of energy, linked to the ever-flexible plasticity of the brain, seemed to give him comfort, made it feel appropriate when approached, sitting down for brunch in the Parker hotel. A brunch that had replaced his inability to play a round of golf in memory of his father. He had stood on the first tee. Had addressed the ball. And had dropped a tear and left.

The first beat – his psychic’s prediction proved correct: the approach of a girl with intent. A sexual intent.

The name to beware of was Tracy. This Tracy was supposed to have HIV.

And at the same time, this eventuality, this person called Tracy, would change his life.

Well presumably if you contracted HIV your life would be changed. That was Ever’s interpretation anyway.

‘I saw you from over there.’

Not difficult – his comment, unvoiced, uncharacteristically judgemental.

‘I thought I would come over and say hello.’

‘Hello.’

Was his spontaneously feeble reply.

‘Anne.’

She spoke with a lilt and a tilt of her head and a smile.

This second beat, though, brought relief. He thought no more about it when the name was offered. Anne. An Anne, an antidote – a wonder, but a bit of an anticlimax.

With an enjoyment, he felt the concern crawl through the sludge to the back of his mind and extinguish.

Fuck it, who could go wrong with an Anne, and she looked fine, well fine-ish, if a little high on the acne scale, covered in thick make-up, concealing bumps as opposed to white-headed, pus-filled spots. Bumps were un-poppable and in the long term, far more devastating to the face that housed them. Hard immovable mounds – cystic. Ever was dermatologically skimming the surface.

‘Hi Anne. Ever. My name is Ever.’

‘I will love you, Ever, forever.’

Anne didn’t miss a beat.

Ever, in perfect syncopation, replied,

‘That’s what my mother said.’

‘But you didn’t fuck your mother.’

Silence was the only response. Not a calculated response, but a genuinely shocked, silent one.

‘Did you?’

She said having interpreted the silence from her perspective.

And then, when he still couldn’t summon up a reply, she just started laughing.

And so did he, muttering a distracted and distant,

‘No.’

A syllable amidst the exhalation of tone-filled breath.

It really made him question the question himself.

But he made the decision, acne or not, that a fuck would not be out of the question.

Chapter Six

Ever had done a turnaround in the womb.

Or rather his soul had.

This is what he always felt.

You choose the parents that are going to nurture you into the world. Hoping you have a better time than the last time around – or you may feel you have some lessons to learn. Always appeared a dodgy reason, that did, because even spirits must be wanting to give themselves a break when they come back again. Make an easy choice. Who wants to buy into pain and suffering?