that is even now flying away from them, like a firefly spiralling into the darkness. But I linger, as I always do, to chart the repercussions. It never gets boring, not least because so far no reliably repeatable pattern has emerged. You could call it my life’s work, if I possessed a life as you understand it, which I don’t, but let’s not go there again. ‘Are you okay?’ says Ray. ‘Mmm.’ She smiles and sighs, reluctant to begin interrogating the moment, pinning it against the wall and asking where it’s going, demanding to know what it means. She wants to linger on the island just a little longer. But Ray, the intrepid explorer, is shouldering his pack, eager to be off. He puts his hand on her chin and brings her gaze round to meet his. His eyes are not quite entirely green. She hadn’t noticed that before. She’s known him for years but now she thinks they are the most beautiful eyes she has ever seen. She wishes he’d kiss her again. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asks. The great, dumb ape. Michelle feels the sickening lurch of dislocation as the street, the night and this man with the ordinary eyes all snap back into alignment. She has a sudden desire to punch Ray full in the face and walk away without a word. It somehow feels like the right answer. I certainly wouldn’t argue with her at this point. If only he had stayed a little longer in that moment, undisturbed and complete. But that’s not how you lot work, is it? Insatiable monkey minds taking everything to pieces to see how it works, trying to put it back together, breaking stuff. Clever-stupid hairy-brains. Now, across both their lives, a checked pattern spirals out with crisses of connections, crosses of misunderstandings, joy and incomprehension, love and crushing disappointment so complex it will take them, by my calculations, approximately six years from which to disentangle themselves. All from one kiss. It’s a fair cop. Mea culpa. Perhaps I should have left them alone and maybe none of it would have happened. But I can’t; I’m so close to cracking this energy problem that I can’t halt my research now. I firmly believe, and I’ll be making my case to the full Symphonic Powers when my trial comes up, that there is a particular frequency, a special shade of vibration at play within the kiss that we, all of us, have missed. Now that I’m aware of it, communication with my own kind, nuanced and penetrating though it is, sounds slightly off-key. Like when you notice an annoying squeak in your car, a rattle in your fridge, the hideous slurping noises made while eating by someone you no longer love. Those sounds push themselves forward and become all you can hear. It’s like that for me – the lack of a note I’ve never heard, a silence I can’t stop hearing.
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