“Clementine, look!” I know it’s childish and unprofessional, and I shouldn’t, but I hold the handcuffs up in the air. They’re a dull silver colour, and feel weighty in my hands.
“What are they?” she gasps.
“What does it look like?”
“Yeah but what are they for? He doesn’t look like a cop. I thought he was banker or something.”
“Well,” I peer over my shoulder back into the neatly organised drawer. “I found them in the drawer with a pack of condoms. So what do you think?” Clementine may be the most vanilla person I know but surely I shouldn’t have to spell it out to her.
I watch her eyes begin to widen. “Sex?”
“Yeah.” It’s immature but we both start giggling.
“But why were you in his drawer?” she asks suddenly all serious again.
“I was just… tidying… and it was sorta open, so I had a little peek inside.” Clementine narrows her eyes as if she doesn’t believe me but then returns to her job of making up the king sized four poster bed. I’m about to put the cuffs away when she suddenly says, “Do you think he’s used them here anyone?”