Once upon a time a long time ago when life was new and I was beautiful (maybe I still am. I wouldn't know. I didn't know then, either) I fell in love with a voice. It was a voice that reminded me somehow of walks by the sea, crashing my bike, climbing on cliffs, turning my ankle falling off a kerb crossing a road on the way back from an ice-hockey game I'd lied to go to with someone I wasn't supposed to know.
It was a voice on the radio.
I'd be driving down Strovolos Avenue, bringing the children - who were very small then - home from The Junior School in Nicosia. They're grown up now, tall and lovely. At that time I could still persuade them without trying too hard that they were the centre of the universe, the axis on which the world turned.
Driving with the radio on. Up loud. Listening to music.
One day when I got home, I sent the voice a fax asking it whether I knew it.
The voice on the radio wondered whether I meant 'know' in the biblical sense. Then it played something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I can't remember now what it was, although I think the playlist is still somewhere in the cardboard box full of bits of paper and emails and the hard drive I had to get taken out of my computer so I could sell it. The last time I moved house I tried to throw it all out but it all got in a muddle somehow and will be an interesting project for my biographer to sort.
It's over there to my right, on the bottom shelf where the printer is.
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