Ever was so confused by signals that were all different – one minute, please hold me as you say goodnight, next no interest in sex. Why did she let him be there? Had he been able to force his way in because of physical attraction? At first he’d thought she had a lonely miserable life, but now she appeared to be a sophisticated woman of the world. What did she want with him? Why ask him back for tea if it wasn’t a physical attraction, no that really is too stupid – too male. But what was he doing expecting her to help him, what could he offer in return? He supposed, no, he thought he knew, that it would be sex, but what was he doing implicating this woman in what he was intending to do, which was, essentially, murder in the first degree? Was he blaming the wrong man?

He quietly out of the silence spoke.

‘I feel tired but I am OK to drive.’

‘Are you sure?’

Was all that came from her, and on thanking her for dinner, he got up and walked to the door. She made no attempt to salvage whatever situation they were in, just said with a calm voice.

‘Drive carefully, my sweet.’

*

He closed the door, got into his car and felt his soul leave him.

He was on his own again, lost with a crazy idea that obsessed him and a life he didn’t really want. His default position. His only gratitude at that moment was extended towards Lomita, who had the kindness to feed him and entertain him after he sent her a stupid, childish, drunken letter asking her to do what? God, please damn it all. He drove off very slowly, feeling heavy with the pill and wine. Disappointed in himself again, and feeling like the crazy boy who had to swing the broom. For what, Ever, why do you do what you do? Why do you want to?

Twenty-seven times he wanted to swing the broom.

It didn’t make a difference, the twenty-seven, he didn’t want it to, it had made no difference to his father.

Chapter Eighteen

The time was coming for him to be checked by the doctor.

And he had forgotten to mention the Basquiat exhibition. Not that he gave a shit, but he did, he just wanted to meet Ingmar Lorken.

He admired the turmoil that had been the short life of Jean-Michel Basquiat.

He turned right onto Sunset.