‘Cheers for having us over, Jade.’
Dressed only in white boxer shorts, cloaked in flowing yellow hair down to his waist, Jade Slattery shoulders past us and sniffs up and down the black driveway. He’s naked apart from the shorts and his body is armoured with veins and hard quadrilaterals of skinny muscle. There is zero fat on him and no tats. Not a single hair, either. He is pure snake. He patters on the balls of his feet all the way to the orange-lit road. When a car approaches, he immediately shoves himself between two bushes and stays rigidly still, playing predator, then slithers back into his flat.
He pulls me and Mini into the house. The walls of this place are covered with pictures of some black African family.
‘I’s just watching this David Attenborough thingy,’ Jadey goes. ‘It’s
