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    “It might be your business if the police come calling—”
    Spence finished connecting his printer, set it on its base, and stepped back. “They won’t. The Bournemouth police are cool, Frank told me. They don’t bother recreational users. What’s wrong with the guy providing a service? You use drugs, I’ve seen you do it.”
    “I think my parents have smoked dope most of their lives, and they know I do it. If taking alcohol is okay, there’s nothing much wrong with cannabis. But there are limits.”
    “And different people have different ideas about where the limits are.” He gave her a look, assessing new information: and added, not really changing the subject, “Where d’you think Ramone comes from? She’s a phenomenon, that kid. Having the room next door to her on campus, I got to know her habits. She never sleeps. Likes to scream, too. It was a wild party for one, all night and every night.”
    Anna frowned.
    She was right, it was a shame to tell tales. “I suspect she may be the smartest person I’ve ever met. I couldn’t prove it; most of her work is a disaster. I just have a weird feeling she may be brilliant. And doesn’t have an idea how to deal with it, because no one ever told her or showed her how—”
    “I think her parents are sort of hippies.”
    “That would figure. Brought up in a cave, by dog-food-eating drop outs—”
    He’d heard that Anna and Daz were planning to stay on and work through the summer. He wanted to ask her about that. But what could he say? Secret lust made it impossible to form the most innocent remark—
    “I’m gonna have to use the light socket as an interim auxiliary power source. Damned wiring in here is totally inadequate—”
    “Who did it, anyway?”
    “Ah, hm. Me, actually.” He dragged one of his orange crates into the center of the room, tucking a connecting block and an electrical screwdriver in his pocket. “Make sure it’s switched off at the wall, will you?”
    “Er, don’t you think you should disconnect at the mains?”
    It was Spence’s mother, the original Ms Fixit, who had taught him to be a handyman, infecting him at the same time with her own cavalier impatience. He knew it but he couldn’t help it. “Not yet, I’ll just see if this is going to work—” He unscrewed the lightbulb, handed it to Anna, hauled up the naked end of the cable that led from the board—“I want to get the rig running today, send my Mom a—” He needed a third hand, just for a moment—
    THWUMP!!
    “My God! SPENCE!”
    The American Exchange lay flat on his back on the dusty boards, bluish around the mouth. Anna yanked the live lead from between his clenched teeth: now what?
    He opened his eyes.
    “Oh, thank God. Are you okay? What were you doing?”
    “I got confused,” explained Spence weakly. He was wearing a shapeless tee-shirt and a pair of vivid cotton shorts. Her breath was on his face, he could smell her body, and something too big to be hid was happening in the crotch area. He prayed she wouldn’t notice, but of course she did; he saw the flick of her glance. Absolute truth, he was too dizzy to care.
    “Quick thinking, Batgirl. You saved my life.”
    Anna wanted to tell him she didn’t mind about the trouser-snake. She knew those frisky creatures could take on a life of their own, at the worst moments. She wanted to tell him she knew it wasn’t personal. But Spence, though a tide of conscious color swept from his chin to his hair, didn’t seem to need reassurance. He lay ruefully smiling while footsteps pounded up the stairs, and the whole squat’s population came rushing…You’d think they’d be more cool about strange thumps and unexpected power shorts.
    “What’s going on?” yelled Rob’s voice.
    “Nothing serious. Spence ate some electricity.”
    “Do him good… Is he dead?”
    They all peered down. Spence felt like a stepped-on insect.
    “Oh man,” complained Frank. “I’m fucking glad I didn’t pay you for