The Irish trip had left a strange echo in his head, and the old simplicities had gone. He seemed to be two people now: the old Lou, whom he still mostly liked, and a new Lou, malevolent and cunning. He seemed to be morphing, and symptoms included an insecurity with scale and perspective. Was he a big man or a small man? One moment he seemed to be standing on the deck of a ferry in the Irish Sea, the next he was on the deck of a midget ferry crossing his computer screen. And the sky had grown; it was huge, beyond human comprehension. The sky was the main arena now – a massive amphitheatre in which his own little life seemed utterly insignificant. Perhaps he’d spent too much time inside the micro-world of his computer, having fallen like everyone else into an eat-me, drink-me rabbit hole. Or perhaps it was Big M who was responsible, though he’d be an old man by now, if he was alive at all. He’d been such a big man, in every way. Physically big, mentally big, emotionally big. People had loved him, lots of people.
