bluebottle tennis

“When we got to our room, I sat down on Ruth’s bed, close to the window—the sun had warmed the blanket—and she sat on mine over by the back wall. There was a bluebottle buzzing around, and for a minute we had a laugh playing ‘bluebottle tennis,’ throwing our hands about to make the demented creature go from one to the other of us. Then it found its way out of the window, and Ruth said:
    ‘I want me and Tommy to get back together again. Kathy, will you help?’ Then she asked: ‘What’s the matter?’”

—Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go, 2005.