An hour or so later, I arrived home with Ilya. An event which didn’t even surprised Jessi.
“Hi, David,” she said. “The bathroom’s a state if you want to clean it.”
Somewhere between the Tube station and the warehouse, he’d started carrying my stuff. I still wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but one thing had emerged clearly from the experience.
My shoulder bag made me look like a loser; Ilya wore it like it was high fashion. Right now, he put it carefully down by the door. “I’d be glad to.”
“No way.” I made what I hoped was an Jessi-checking gesture. If such gestures even existed. “He’s not cleaning the bathroom.”
“Why not? It needs doing.”
“He’s my guest. Guests do not clean bathrooms.”
Jessi scowled. “He’s my brother’s lapdog.”
“Actually, he’s not. So you’re not going to ge
