One woman?

That seems wrong.

He studied the old man again – the glint in his eye was supremely clear and confident.

He doesn’t look wrong!

Perhaps there’s another way of looking at it.

Maybe he’s talking about the future…

“Perhaps,” Max muttered, in no way convinced.

Shard stood back, pleased to have created a conundrum.

“Watch carefully,” he said.

He took a small book from his pocket and wrote in it. Then, very dramatically tore the page out, crumpled it in his hand, and held it out to Max. When he reached for it Shard took Max’s hand and carefully placed the ball of paper in it, folding each finger individually around it like a tiny treasure.

Shard then dropped Max’s hand to his side.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“26.”

“What is your mother’s name?”

“Margaret.”

“How old is she?”

“I don’t know!”

Shard didn’t hesitate.

“Guess,” he said.

In the seconds that followed Max became aware of the piece of paper in his hand. There was something stark and senseless about the questions he was being asked – unless they are related to what he has written.

He guessed –

“58.”

Shard picked up the pace.

“How many brothers and sisters have you?”

“None.”

Then Shard asked, with a challenging smile –

“What is the name of the woman you love?”

A flash of understanding passed between them. They both knew that this answer held the key.