. . .

Lucy sighs. She drops him.

“You are uninteresting,” she says.

“A long time ago,” Tom says, “we met in the future, and I had friends there, and I had children there, and you killed them.”

“That’s extremely notional,” says Lucy.

“You’d stalked them one by one,” he says, “because they were your enemies; only, when you found out who Maria was named after, you got the most awful look on your awful face.”

“What?” Lucy says.

“She should’ve technically been your god-daughter, I guess,” says Tom. “That’s what she would’ve —”

Lucy is shaking her fist, one, two, three, and he can’t help himself, he throws paper.

So does she.

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