When something goes missing, you can always recreate it by the hole it left. I know her name was Clara. I know we travelled together. I know that there was an ice warrior on a submarine, and a mummy on the Orient Express. I know we sat together in the cloisters and she told me something very important, but I have no idea what she said, or what she looked like, or how she talked or laughed. There’s nothing there. Just nothing.Are you looking for her?I’m trying.Well, she could be anyone, right? You don’t know who you’re looking for – I mean, she could be me, for all you know.There’s one thing I know about her, just one thing – if I met her again, I’d absolutely know her.
