𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐈𝐬 𝐀 𝐋𝐨𝐰. ⁽⁽⁽ᵐᵃᵗᵗʸ ʰᵉᵃˡʸ⁾⁾⁾

Persist and Resist.

Tracklist:When I Get My Hands On You, The New Basement Tapes
Fragments, Theo Bleak
Runner, Tennis
Dizzy on the Comedown, Turnover
I'm Fine, Hazel English

October, 2018

London

The months from August to October trudge onwards at a hauntingly steady pace: the days are distinct enough for Matty to feel the passage of time, but still haunted by his ever-present search for self-fulfilment. It's like a religion, or maybe a compulsion. He tries cooking recipes from magazines and comparing notes with Lydia, but he's aware he's only doing it as an exercise in filling time and thus there's no real joy in it. Even Lydia's unfailing encouragements are unable to keep him interested in this diversion, or any other he tries. And then, in the same way a long journey suddenly becomes almost unbearably fast during the last hour, October rolls around and brings with it the sudden change in air so unique to British weather.

In one week, London goes from warmish and devoid of Ray to crisply chill and preparing for Ray's return. At least, that's how it seems to him. The chill sets in quickly, a bite that lingers when he takes Mayhem for a walk and which makes the bathroom chilly in the early hours. The promise of winter, soon to come. And with it, the reminder of time pushing forward. He knows he shouldn't get so fixated on these thoughts, ruminating as it were, but being in London and being too terribly aware of the passage of time seem to go hand in hand. He's tense, twitchy, haunted by the feeling of being on the verge of something important. Lydia's text, when it arrives, feels like a tailspin.

Hiya Matty, Ray's back in London so I'm letting you know like you asked :) She's just picking up Greebs I'm sure she'll message you when she's got home and caught up with the jetlag!! xxx

Perhaps it's the break in ennui that he's been searching for. More likely, it's the exact thing he's been waiting for - an excuse to see Ray, to remind himself of the person and not the idea of her. If he's being honest, he's spent the last twelve weeks wondering if anything he remembers about her is accurate - with their limited contact, she's become more of a fable or a talisman than a person. But he doesn't think: he reacts. His body, powered by an internal motor, drives him forward until he's staring up at the City of London skyscrapers, shrouded in fog, feet pounding the pavement towards the Barbican estate.

***

"- you can call me a typical Londoner all you like, but I could not live in America."

"Really?" Lydia arches an eyebrow, watching as Ray moves about the kitchen, enthusiastically gesturing with her hummus-laden carrot stick. At the precise moment the hummus looks fit to slide off the carrot and onto the floor below, she crunches into it and nods fervently, as if to make up for her momentary inability to speak. Lydia knows from experience that this means Ray has been sitting on these thoughts probably since her second or third week in New York.

"Yeah, it was weird. It's nothing like Harlesden, obviously. God, imagine." Ray pauses to roll her eyes and jam another carrot stick into the pot of homemade hummus. "But I had this weird feeling - not like deja vu, not like a repeated memory, but like when you've been away from somewhere for years and then come back and it's familiar and not ." She pauses again, as if considering this thought now she's said it. "It would be like going back to Sligo or a Butlins I visited when I was three."

"You did not just compare New York City to Butlins." Lydia's face cracks into an expression of amused disbelief.

"Obviously not a one-to-one comparison! Just the feeling of being somewhere that feels nearly-familiar."