Harold scooted his chair backwards away from the tea spill and the broken crockery, grabbing the carrycot with a practiced upswing of a bent right arm. Scalding hot tea cascaded over the suddenly empty space, lumps of date and walnut cake giving it the appearance of a vat of boiling diarrhoea poured over tiny invaders.
"I'm so terribly sorry sir," said the waitress, rushing forward to check they were both all right. "I must have tripped on something. "
"No harm done." Harold looked at the soggy mess. "Of course, I expect a replacement and the bill taken care of."
"Of course, sir, thank you." She smiled. "I'm so glad the baby wasn't hury."
"The baby?" Harold looked at Lucy in the carrycot, then reached inside to extract his copy of the latest Sandman comic. He heaved a sigh of relief it was still pristine. "Yes, so am I."
Image: The Sandman: Preludes and Nocturnes