“It’s quite simple,” he said, as if we had been in conversation. “You can sleep here on weekends. There’s a room going spare—it might as well get some use.” I stopped, the beaker in my hand. “I can’t do that.” “Why not? I’m not going to pay you for the extra hours you’re here.” I placed the beaker in his holder. “But what would your mum think?” “I have no idea.” I must have looked troubled, because he added, “It’s okay. I’m safe in taxis.” “What?” “If you’re worried I have some devious secret plan to seduce you, you can just pull my plug out.” “Funny.”
