Page 9 of Insidious

“That was one time.”

“Three times.”

I flick soap at him, and he answers with a toothy grin.

“Besides,” he says, “you’ve clearly got other priorities.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Fred.”

“Shut up.”

He leans closer, lowering his voice.

“Oh, Fred,” he says in a terrible imitation of Fred’s deep Essex accent. “Luuuna, pass me the spanner, luv.”

“That is not how he talks.”

“That is exactly how he talks.” He puffs out his chest. “Luuuna, you fancy a ride in my Vauxhall Astra?”

I laugh despite myself.

“You’re such an idiot.”

“You fancy him.” He teases.

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.” He waggles his unibrow. “You want to get him into bed.”

“Colin!”

He bursts out laughing.

“Admit it.”

“Oh, please, I have too much self-respect. Molly said he tries his luck with every female recruit.” I say. “Too bad he doesn’t swing your way. You could have given it a go.”

He clutches his chest like I have offended him with the suggestion.

“Always so bitchy.”

“Hey, you started it.”

“Besides,” he says, tossing the tea towel over his shoulder, “if Fred did swing my way, I’d still have standards.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I’ve seen the way you look at him. You’re obsessed.”

“With riding my Yamaha maybe?” I toss at him, tired of this ‘Fred’ talk.

“With riding Fred,” he replies, leaning against the counter.

“Just do your bits, so we can get out of here? Slacker,” I mumble as I grimace at the stubborn grease stain on the plate

“Gremlin.”