“Did you read that thing about the ‘cosmic bass note’?”

“That link you sent me? I only skimmed it. Lost me at super massive black holes colliding and then I got distracted by some unfortunate fashion choices on Insta.”

“So you’re more interested in the come back of crocheted boiler suits than the signature of gravitational waves from the distant universe?”

“First of all, how’d you know that crochet was making a come back? Second of all, it’s not making a come back in boiler suits but they may well be decorating a few wardrobes this year. When did you become Anna Wintour?”

“Who’s Anna Wintour?”

“That’s more like it. You were worrying me there with your sudden extensive knowledge of haute couture. I thought you were about to start advising me on accessorising and form emphasis.”

“You’re changing the subject. We were talking about how shallow you are.”

“Hey, clothes are a visual expression of us as individuals – it’s no less deep than your back holes just because it’s on the cover of Vogue and not Yay Science!”

“I’m pretty sure there isn’t an academic publication called Yay Science. And the very point of black holes is that they are very, very deep.”

“Is it though? I thought the whole point was the light couldn’t escape from them because matter has been compressed so tightly that it produces a huge gravitational pull. So it might not be deep. It might just seem deep because we can’t see into it. Maybe they’re really shallow but, you know, just kinda sucky.”

“Sucky?”

“Sucky. Liable to large amounts of suck.”

“Thanks, I got it. So you did read the article.”

“I did not. I skimmed it. But I have knowledge of things beyond the next must have from Prada’s showing in Milan. Whereas you, despite your lucky guess on crochet, are still dressing like a Gap advert from 1995.”

Pete laughed, glanced down at his jeans, adjusted the phone in his hand.

“You just checked, didn’t you,” said Jen. “You just checked what you’re wearing?”

“Clothes are a visual expression of us as people,” Pete offered. “And I choose to express myself as a Silicon Valley tech start up kind of guy. From the 90s.”

“The 90s will be back in soon, you can just wait for it roll back around,” said Jen. “Anyway, let’s pretend I had read that article. What note do you think it is?”

“What do you mean?”

“The cosmic bass note. Is it like a B? A flat? Or something more basso profondo. G7, maybe. My music theory is a little rusty.”

“Unlike your Astrophysics which is stellar.”

“Interstellar. So what do you think?”

“I think,” said Pete after a pause. “I think you’re not taking this entirely seriously. If I was to humour you though I’d say it was like the bass in a club. Like a proper dance club where you can physically feel it coming out of the subs. Like a throb.”

“Cosmic bass throb. That’s actually not a bad name for a club night. I could see the flyers now. Georgie would have been into that.”

“She would.” Another pause. “Did you see the Fred Again set at Glastonbury? I missed her so much watching that.”

“Yeah, I watched it. I missed her too. There was just something weirdly moving about seeing all those people tuned in to something at exactly the same time. You could tell he was really touched by it.”

“It was completely her sort of thing. She was also trying to get me to one of her DJ nights, she kept talking about it like it was a community, like there was something different that happened to those tunes when a room full of people were all giving themselves up to them together.”

“You’re more of a sad banger kind of guy.”

“Pretty exclusively now. Even then, I guess. Georgie did the uppers and I took care of the downers. Not, you know, literally. Well, sometimes literally.”

“That set was weird though, right? It was euphoric but there was a thread of… I don’t know, a thread of sadness in it. Melancholy. I don’t know.”

“For me there was, sure. It’s just what you bring to it though, isn’t it? I was bringing all my bereavement and loneliness and hurt so even if there’s just a trace of that there I’m going to feel it.”

“Like a gravitational ripple…”

“Like an emotional ripple from the collapsing black hole that was her death,” finished Pete quietly. “That’s a bit melodramatic. Sorry.”

“I thought it was pretty beautiful,” said Jen. “She loved coming down with you, Pete. She used to tell me that she looked forwards to finishing up her sets, exhausted from the adrenaline, from the rush, as much as playing them. Because she could sit with you, put her head back in your lap, listen to whatever slow burn sad song you had queued up, and just be still.”

“I loved that time too,” said Pete. “Stillness was all I wanted, I think. If I could be her point of stillness then that was all I wanted. She was always on the go, always on the move. I just didn’t want her to escape.”

“Like her personal black hole.”

“Yeah, but a nice one. Not a, what did you call it? Not a sucky one. One with a great playlist, a wide selection of movies, and maybe a crafty joint before we’d crawl off to bed.”

“She’d have hated that Ford’s still playing Indiana Jones.”

“True. She didn’t really like him as anyone but Han anyway to be honest so I don’t think she’d have been on board with Dial Of Destiny. He’s what, 80?”

“Something like that. What even is a dial of destiny? I haven’t seen the film. It’s a clock, right?”

“No idea. Shower dial? Your destiny is to be extremely cold and then scalding hot. Indy has a narrow window to wash his hair before disaster strikes. Maybe a sun dial. The whole film just him watching a shadow pass over its surface, a slow rumination on the passing of time and ageing. And then some Nazi’s show up.”

“It could be a really important phone call he has to make. You know, like when you used to ring someone up to ask them out.”

“That could work. They could franchise it. The Dial Of Destiny, followed up by The Date of Desire, and then the trilogy concludes with The Walk Of Shame.”

“That was me and Georgie. Except we skipped the first two. It was just a messy night that turned into a messy morning but one we both wanted to stick around and clear up. Thanks for calling by the way. I appreciate it. Know that I appreciate it.”

“It’s my destiny to be your friend. Just as I was hers. You’re stuck with me.” There was a pause, the usual pause as they ran short of things to say, ran up against the absence. Jen broke the silence in their usual way. “You alright, Pete?”

“Not today, Jen, not today. But ask me again tomorrow.”

---

This is the third story in July ’23’s mission to write 26,000 words for Great Ormond Street Hospital – fundraising link on main page.

I tend to return to Pete and Jen talking every now and again. It started as an exercise in dialogue and then, over time, I just kinda like listening to them. Their last outing was here and their other conversations are on this page: here