‘Stop hitting it then,’ Ben says from under the table.

‘Fucking having it,’ Safa growls, hefting the marrow up over her head and slamming it down on to the table.

‘Done it?’ Ben asks, peering over the edge.

‘Not a dent,’ she says with a huff. ‘Right, we’re eating off the floor.’ She hefts it up again and launches it down on to the concrete floor, the impact resulting in a wet splat as the skin finally breaks and the fleshy innards spill out. ‘Fuck you,’ she says in victory.

Being the closest, Ben leans over to grab a chunk of the new fruit but pulls back with a grimace at the disgusting stench. ‘No way.’

‘Really?’ Safa asks, grabbing her own bit. ‘Oh, that’s disgusting . . . what is that? It’s like feet . . . like cheesy feet . . .’

‘I’m sticking with the plum thing,’ Ben says, ditching the cheesy-feet marrow chunk and going back to the flavoursome plum thing instead. Harry drops down and sniffs delicately at the broken cheesy-feet marrow. A hand comes out, picking a tiny bit up, which he licks as Safa gags. He nods and pushes the finger into his mouth, nods again and takes a bigger bit.

‘Harry,’ she groans. ‘That’s disgusting.’

‘Like the mouldy cheese we had in France,’ he says.

‘I might be vulgar but you’re gross,’ she says, screwing her face up at him bringing a big piece back to the table. ‘The whole room stinks of it now,’ she adds.

Ben eats the fruit and ignores the rising panic about his being millions of years in the past having been rescued from death by some men from the future. It’s not real. It’s made-up. It can’t be real. Things like this don’t happen in real life. Seventeen-year-old kids don’t kill gang members in country lanes and seventeen-year-old kids don’t then end up becoming so famous they have to be put into witness protection with a new identity. Those seventeen-year-old kids don’t grow up to stop a terrorist attack on a train platform either.

This is happening. This is real. His guts lurch and the hunger fades instantly while his mind frantically searches for a punchline or a way of proving it isn’t happening.

‘What happens to Steph?’ he asks so suddenly it makes Safa stop chewing and stare at him like a rabbit caught in headlights.

She swallows and holds still for so long he starts thinking she won’t reply. ‘Ben, once you know something you can’t unknow it,’ she says softly. ‘Maybe it’s best not to know.’

‘No.’

She carries on chewing but looks away, deep in thought, before swallowing and glancing back at him with conflict etched on her face. ‘What difference does it make?’ she asks so gently even Harry picks up on it and looks over with interest.

‘What happens to Steph?’