Chapter 66
As the years passed, Tom Boyd’s synesthesia gradually became less pronounced. Now, when he looked at a bit of kit - a projector, for example, or perhaps an electronic lock - he no longer saw colours revealing the inner workings. Often there was little or no pattern while at other times it was just a brown mess, as if every colour possible had been gleefully mixed together by a small child.
He had tried to explain this to his father, but the older Boyd was wooden faced, somewhat dispassionate and lacking in empathy. He seemed to regard Tom not as a son - a participant in filial love or affection - but as a machine to be timetabled and governed, forced into a rigid, mechanical structure.
He sometimes - rarely - went through the motions of affection, as if he had received a set
