Stevie sticks her head around the door. It's early, and it's dark, and there is a chalky little trail of toothpaste by the side of her lip.

"What are you up to?"

Butcher Boy had been working overtime, as it happened. Trying to explain to himself why he felt a little bit empty about not knowing any gymnasts. Trying to find a rhyme for "frost bite".

But all of that sounds stupid, so he says he's not doing anything really, just sitting here, doing this and that.

Stevie sighs.

"Do what you have to do, Butcher Boy. But could you do us a favour?"

Butcher Boy glances up from his fingernails, with at least the grace to look guilty.

"What's that, honey?"

"Could you do it somewhere else?"

Butcher Boy makes the call.

*