Qing was in the corridor, about to open the front door. She heard me coming and looked over at me. She didn’t react. I had no idea if she was pleased or disappointed that it was me. I said, “I’m Jaime. We were talking in that … revolving barrel thing in the park.”

“Yeah, why’d you leave all of a sudden?” The tone wasn’t friendly.

I took another step closer. “That guy, who grabbed you. Back in the park. I thought he was your boyfriend. So I left you to it.”

“Ah, you idiot.” Women sometimes say that with affection. This wasn’t. And she wasn’t going to explain what had really been happening, either.

Oh, _those_ tits.

I said, “Well, I got it wrong, but I had the sense to be sad about the idea of you having a boyfriend.”

She frowned sceptically. “Were you?”

Another step. She opened the front door, letting in a whoosh of cold air. “I was absolutely sad. Cause I really liked you.” Her face fell. She didn’t like, trust or respect that sort of statement. Not from men.

I corrected myself. “Liked your tits. Loved your tits, when we were face to face. Nice and biteable. And just now, when you were walking away…”

I got my first smile. “You liked my bum, la?”