‘Oh, okay,’ I say, taking a hesitant step back.
He roots around the dusty shelves as strains of Gloria Estefan waft over from the house.
‘This bloody song,’ he mutters. ‘I used to hear it day and night.’
‘Your mum taught me to Cha Cha to this.’
‘She taughteveryoneto Cha Cha to this. She could have mixed it up a bit.’
‘As if there’s a Cha Cha you actuallylike.’
He thinks for a moment. ‘“Smooth” by Santana is cool. Sexy, too.’
He carries on rooting around the cans of beans and condensed milk, and I try not to think about what constitutes sexy for him.
‘You’re in luck,’ he says.
He stretches out his arm, proudly holding a can of Coke.
I take it from him, and I’m about to check the use-by date when the lights go out with apfft.A moment later the music from the house cuts out.
‘Shit,’ I whisper.
‘You’re not scared of the dark, are you?’
‘I’m not ten any more.’
‘Trust me, I noticed.’
Reminded of my bra-less state, I cross my arms even though it’s dark and he can’t see anything – not unless the army gave him night vision. Cyprus, that famously technologically advanced military power.
‘Do you think it’s a blown fuse or is the whole street down?’ I ask, just so his words aren’t left hanging.
‘I’ll go and check,’ he says.
Then, before I know it, he’s brushing against my side to get past me to the door.
‘Careful,’ I say, hating that I sound like my mum, except I obviously needed to warn him because a second later there’s a thud followed by a muttered ‘Fuck.’
‘What happened?’
‘Stubbed my toe on something metal and sharp.’
‘I think I saw a workbench over there.’
‘Thanks for the heads-up,’ he says drily.
I hear a rattle and the scrape of metal coming from his direction. ‘Shit,’ he says.
‘Did you stub another pinkie?’
‘Nope.’
‘What then?’
‘Was the door handle loose when you came in?’
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
