He hadn’t really explained on the phone. Some garbled story about ‘IT’ being here and a swooshing sound, a nasty smell and sparks shooting from the skirting.
I had known Tim four years. Not given to flights of fancy, if he said something was happening then it was.
He had said nothing as he showed me in and then left to put the kettle on.
At least that was the click I thought I heard, difficult to recall precisely after the flash.