Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

BEE

I come awake slowly in my nest of duvet and blankets. I lie for a second, hearing loud voices and laughter from somewhere in the apartment. I move my head cautiously, expecting the usual hangover, but it’s not there to my surprise. My head aches dully, and I feel sluggish but that’s nothing a hot shower and some ibuprofen won’t cure.

I turn my head toward the window and then grab my glasses. Edinburgh has become a magic city of ice and snow overnight. Snowflakes come down, first drifting, then coming down heavily.

The memory of last night returns in a flash, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. The two of us alone in the snow on an old street at three in the morning. The kiss . I stretch, feeling my cock stir. If Tom shags like he kisses, I’m going to be very lucky. And I will be. He wants me, and although he’s holding me off for some reason, it makes the game all the better. If I’d known abstinence was so sexy, I’d have done it years ago rather than shagging most of central London.

I lick my lips at the thought of him on top of me—that long body, his easy strength and lazy smiles in my bed.

Shoving my hand into my boxers, I draw out my cock. It’s already hard, the head glossy with precome. I fist my length, feeling the sparks run through me, and then look for the lube. After grabbing the bottle from the drawer of the bedside table, I squeeze out a stream over my cock and then stroke down the length, spreading the liquid until the glide becomes sublime.

I don’t usually think of anything when I’m wanking, only the feel of my hand and how quickly I can get myself off. It’s the utilitarian part of my sex life. But today an image comes into my head—lurid and in technicolour—of Tom naked in bed with me. His body is lean and muscular, and he moves between my spread legs, lowering his weight onto me and kissing me hard.

I shouldn’t think of him. That’s not good .

I stroke harder, but in my mind, it’s him touching me, pinching my nipples and biting and sucking at my neck, where I’m insanely sensitive. In my head, I wrap my legs around him, feeling his cock rubbing against mine, while in reality, I’m cupping my balls with one hand while the other one moves fast on my cock, the schlick-schlick sounds loud and obscene in the quiet room.

I squeeze my sac gently. I’m close, but Tom is still in my head, and I see him inside me, my heels on his arse as I urge him to move faster and faster.

“ Harder .” I breathe the word out loud, my hand now moving frantically in long, firm strokes, the head popping out of my fist and then back in. I release my balls and slide one finger down to my hole. I stroke it, spreading lube, and then poke one fingertip inside.

In my head, Tom throws his head back, shouting as he comes, and that image is enough. White lightning travels down my spine, my balls draw up, and I come over the sheets in a sticky mess, feeling my toes curl with the strength of the orgasm.

After a few seconds, I grab a tissue from the box on the bedside table, clean myself briskly, and then relax back into the sheets, satisfaction running through me like honey.

Then I stiffen. “What are you doing ?” I say out loud.

I don’t get involved with blokes beyond their names and sexual preferences, and sometimes, I don’t bother with the first. Yet here I am, thinking of Tom constantly, and not just about his body and what it could do to me. No, I’m remembering his smile, the easy way he has about him, the charm that’s heady because it’s so natural. You can’t help being drawn to Tom. He’s like a very attractive magnet.

“It’s just because he hasn’t shagged me yet.” The words echo in the empty room filled with snowlight. “Once that’s done, he’ll be like all the rest.”

Nodding in satisfaction, I leap out of bed and head for the shower.

Half an hour later, I emerge from my room dressed in jeans and a jumper I found at the vintage shop Tom took me to. It’s a mod racing jumper, black and close-fitting, with a red and white stripe running down the right-hand side. I feel good in it.

I open the lounge door and blink when I walk into a wall of noise. Everyone is already here, and I feel a sense of chagrin because, for the last two days, it’s just been Tom and me in the morning. My eyes home in on him like they’re laser-focused. He sits on the comfy armchair, Freddy perched on its arm. Tom’s wearing faded jeans and a grey bouclé jumper with a shirt underneath. His boots are on his feet and unlaced, which makes him look like a lumberjack I saw in a porn film once. My gaze meets his and holds.

I feel a sudden sense of awkwardness, as though everyone is observing us. Being the focus of attention is not my thing and never has been. Tom tends to shatter my composure, and this morning my already precarious calm becomes even more shaky.

Luckily, Ivy waves me over. “Alright?” I ask, smiling as I slump into the space beside her on the sofa, and wishing I could vanish into the fabric. “Have I kept you?”

“Well, it would have been nice to get an early start,” Steven starts to say, but everyone talks over him with a chorus of “No.”

Sal grins at me. “We were just talking about what everyone is doing today.”

“Well, I’ll be leaving for my conference tomorrow, so Jack and I need some alone time,” Steven says, flicking at a thread on his jumper. He looks as put together as ever.

“You’re going to a conference?” I ask without thinking.

His gaze becomes steely. “I do distinctly remember telling you that I was working on the last day of the holiday, Bee.”

“Oh, silly me, it must have slipped my mind,” I say faintly.

“Anyway, Jack and I are going to spend the day together. Alone ,” he adds in case we hadn’t got the memo.

“Will you be planning your pensions for the next life as well as this one?” Freddy asks.

Steven rolls his eyes. “I sorted my pension years ago, Fred. As should you have done.” He looks around the room. “I hope it’s okay with everyone if we vanish.”

Tom looks like a retort is hovering on his lips, but he just winks at Jack. “I’m fine with you lovebirds having some alone time.”

Jack snorts, but Steven nods in an important manner.

“What’s everyone else doing?” I ask, trying not to look at Tom, even though I can feel his gaze warming the side of my face.

“We’re going shopping,” Georgina says, leaning forward on the couch.

“ Again ?” Freddy says.

Theo nods resignedly from beside her. “Yay,” he says feebly and gets a punch on the arm from his girlfriend. “Ouch.”

“Sal and Ivy,” Georgina says, “what do you think about going to Multrees Walk and lunch afterwards?”

“Don’t you want some alone time with Theo?” Ivy asks.

Theo grins at her. “Not while shopping. I find it best to keep my distance. Sometimes, I pretend Georgie lives in China, and I’m at the North Pole.”

I laugh and look over at Ivy. “Are you going shopping?” The thought makes me want to squirm. I don’t want to see the insides of any more shops this holiday. They’re too bright and busy.

She looks torn. “I thought I’d have the day with you.”

“No need.” I pull my sheet of paper from my pocket, noting disapprovingly how very few things have been crossed off. “I’m going to Holyrood and the Scottish Parliament, and then the Scott Monument and the National Museum of Scotland.”

She blinks. “In one day?”

I nod. “It can be done.”

“By someone with a time machine.”

I grin at her. “So go shopping. You hate sightseeing.” I hold up a hand to forestall her objections. “I honestly don’t mind.”

And I don’t. I like sightseeing on my own. Nobody rushes me with sighs and demands for hot chocolate and food breaks. Namely, Ivy.

“Are you sure?”

I nod.

She grins at the girls. “Yay, shopping.”

Freddy gets up and stretches. “The girls from next door are going zip lining at a place outside the city.” He looks at Tom. “Coming?”

I can see the temptation in Tom’s eyes, so I’m amazed when he shakes his head. “Nah, mate. I think I’ll go with Bee.”

The conversation stops, and everyone stares at Tom. The tips of his ears turn red.

Jack stirs. “ You are going to a palace, a parliament, a monument, and a museum? You ?”

“Yeah, why not?” He smiles at me. “It can be done with enough determination.”

Jack looks amused. “Culture. You?”

Tom huffs. “Hey, I’m super cultured. I’m into all that… all that shit.”

Sal breaks into laughter. “I’m very tempted to come too,” she says, eyeing him intently. “Just to see you do culture shit, Tom.”

He scratches his ear, looking rather discomposed. “Well, I’m going if it’s okay with you, Bee?” he says suddenly, obviously realising he’s invited himself along.

Everyone’s heads turn to me like they’re at Wimbledon, and I feel my cheeks get hot. “That would be great,” I say.

He obviously hears the truth in my voice, because his lips curve into one of those smiles I like so much. Maybe too much.

Freddy stands up. “Okay, how about we meet up for dinner tonight at that Mexican restaurant Sal was on about last night, and then do the ghost tour afterwards?”

We all agree, and Sal grins. “I’ll book the tour, and you can pay me back later.”

Freddy smirks at Tom. “I’ll think of you when I’m ziplining, sweetie. You and the Lewis chessmen.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “Just so you know, I’ve thought of a novel place to insert the king, and it has nothing to do with chess.”

Freddy roars with laughter and bends down to smooch Tom until Tom shouts in disgust and shoves him off. “That sounds like more your thing than mine.” Freddy winks at me. “Try and keep control of him, Bee. He’s an animal in a museum.”

“How would you know?” Tom protests. “I don’t think you’ve ever set foot in one.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong. I did the Guinness Storehouse in Dublin. I’m very knowledgeable about Guinness.”

With a lot of laughter, everyone stands up and leaves in a chorus of insults and jokes. Jack is the last to go, with Steven clutching tightly to his hand as if he’s about to escape. Jack directs one last yearning look at Tom before he’s pulled out of the door.

“Poor fucker,” Tom says, stretching.

I try to ignore the length of his legs in those faded jeans. I’m also trying to ignore the fact that we’re alone with a whole day ahead of us.

I stand up abruptly and brandish my list at his startled face. “We’d better make a start,” I say briskly. “I’d like to do Holyrood before the crowds get there.”

He blinks and then gives me another easygoing smile. There’s an edge of sweetness to it that I try to ignore. I’m burying my head in the sand so much on this holiday that I could be a desert mole.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll grab my coat.”

I look out of the window. The snow has stopped, but it’s very grey, with thick clouds scudding over the sky. “Do you think it’ll snow again?”

“Yep,” he says, heading out of the room. “We’ll have a few more inches before nighttime,” he calls.

“Just what every boy wants to hear.” I wander to the door of his room and lean against the jamb, watching him pull his coat on and check his pockets for his wallet. The white sheets on his bed are rumpled, the pillow dented, and the whole room smells of his sexy woodsy scent. I take a surreptitious breath. It’s very intimate being here where he sleeps. More intimate than shagging him somehow. I look up and catch his eye and straighten.

“Let’s go, then,” I say briskly and march towards the door.

“Aren’t you missing something?” he calls after me.

“Eh? What?”

He points at my feet, his eyes twinkling. “Maybe some shoes today, and hey, go wild and put on a coat too.”

I dart to my room. “I’m just excited to see things,” I call.

The wind hits us as soon as we emerge from the apartment courtyard. “Jesus,” I gasp, pulling my scarf up higher.

“Will you be warm enough?” he asks, eyeing me with concern.

I glance up at him in surprise. I’m not used to the way he throws concern for my welfare at me like confetti—casual, light, and bright. “How can I be cold in my lovely new coat and boots?”

He grins at me, and we start to walk along, our boots crunching in the thick snow. I stop, startled, when he tugs my arm. “What?”

He nods in the direction of the road. “I thought we’d go on that.”

I gape at him. “On a Hop-on bus ?”

“Is that such a surprise?”

“Aren’t they for tourists?”

He chuckles. “You sound so disgusted. Aren’t you a tourist?”

“Well, I suppose so. I just like to look like I’m not.”

He grabs my arm and steers me towards the queue for the bus. “It’s the best way to see a new city.”

“On a red bus with flowers on it?”

“You’re focusing on the wrong thing. You can get on and off all day.”

“I can do that at home in my bed.”

He snorts. “I’m afraid you can’t do that on a bus.” He pauses. “At least, I don’t think so,” he adds thoughtfully. He shakes himself as I try to hide my smile. “Anyway, you can really explore the city, and you get a feel for how it's laid out and where everything is.”

When it’s our turn, he reaches for his wallet, hands the man on the bus a note, and takes the tickets. He steps up and winks at me. “Coming?”

I step onto the bus and suck in a startled breath when I see how many people are on it already.

“You okay?” Tom asks, frowning as he looks at my face. He pulls me to the side so the people behind me can get on. “What’s the matter?”

I breathe in. “I’m a bit claustrophobic, and it’s very crowded in here.”

I brace for the raft of questions I usually get, but he nods as casually as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Well, how about going upstairs? Half of the bus is open, so you’d get fresh air. Would that be okay, or do you want to walk to Holyrood instead?”

“Wouldn’t you be cold up there?”

He grins, as easygoing as ever. “Nah. Gives me a chance to road test my parka.”

“I might be okay if it’s open,” I say tentatively. “I just can’t abide being shut in with lots of people.”

He immediately turns to the driver. “Is it still okay to sit up top?”

The driver nods. “It’s fine at the moment. Everything is dry. If it snows again, though, we might have to close that bit.”

Tom looks at me. “We could try it and see. If it’s no good for you, we’ll get straight off and walk down to the palace.”

“It’s that easy?”

“Yes.”

He turns towards the stairs, and I hasten to follow him. The top level is empty, apart from a couple snogging passionately on the back seat. I eye them, startled. “It’s a bit early for that,” I whisper as I slide into a seat.

He grins. “It’s never too early for lurve .”

“Well, I never mix pleasure with culture,” I say briskly.

He winks. “I find it’s actually the best way. Is this okay for you?” he asks, looking around.

“It’s great. Thank you,” I add fervently.

“No need to thank me. I just want you to be happy.”

He’s not interested in just my comfort. He wants me to be happy.

The bus moves away, and I tip my head back, feeling the air cold and lovely on my face. He's watching me when I lower my head, and I flush.

He doesn’t say anything. He just pats my hand and looks out at the view going by. Strangely, the lack of questions makes me volunteer information. “I’ve been claustrophobic since I was little,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes soft and warm. “That’s a hard thing to grow up with.”

I nod. “It used to limit me.”

“Used to?”

“I went to therapy, and that helped a lot.”

“That’s good, babe.”

I try to ignore how the endearment makes me feel gooey inside and carry on talking. “It did me a lot of good. I can go in lifts now and sit in cars and on trains. It’s just sometimes it trips me up and makes me feel weak. Like when we first got on the bus.”

“I think we all have something from our childhoods that trips us up. I actually admire you for how strong you are.”

“ Really ?”

There’s nothing but honest admiration in his eyes. “Yeah, Bee. It’s amazing.”

I bite my lip, and then I tell him something that only my dad, Ivy, and my therapist know. “It’s because my mum used to lock me in a cupboard when I was little.”

“ What ?”

His exclamation is loud enough and horrified enough that it stops the couple in back from snogging. They look at us curiously and then go back to their lip action.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout,” he whispers.

I smile at him. “It’s okay.”

“So, she locked you in a cupboard?” He hesitates. “And it sounds like it was more than once?”

“Yeah. I was a bit of a crimp on her social life, so if she was having one of her lovers over to the house, she used to lock me in a cupboard until she was done.” He stares at me in horror, and I hasten to add, “It had a light in there, and I had lots of books to read. And food and a drink,” I finish as an afterthought.

This is the most about my childhood I’ve ever shared with a man, and I’m already second-guessing my impulse. Now, we’ll likely have to talk about it forever.

His hand comes down on mine, and I sneak a cautious look at him, but he’s staring out at the view. I consider pulling away, but something stops me. Probably the same bloody impulse that led me to vomit my past all over him. But I decide I don’t want to ignore that impulse to share things with him.

I squeeze his fingers tentatively.

He looks at me for a long second, then leans in and kisses me. I’ve had many kisses in my life, but something about the soft, sweet press of his lips against mine makes my eyes hot. When he pulls away, he smiles.

“You’re missing the Royal Mile, babe,” he says. His understanding of me is something I feel deeply, almost at a cellular level.

I squeeze his hand in gratitude and fall into watching the scenery flash past. It’s a bustling street lined with buildings that I’m sure are full of history and facts, but I can’t focus on any of that. All I can see and feel right now is him, and for once, I have no fear about befriending this man. Just a sense of easy inevitability and…joy.

“This is us,” Tom announces as the bus trundles down the hill. He jumps out of our seat, and I follow him down the winding little stairs. The bus stops momentarily in the traffic, and I lose my balance, falling into him.

“Sorry,” I say, trying to push up my glasses and keep my balance at the same time. I go still as he sets one long finger on my glasses and does it for me. “Oh, thank you.”

His eyes are dark in the shadowy stairs. He gives the space a quick glance and then, satisfied no one can see us, he reaches up for a kiss. I tip my chin happily, and our lips connect. I savour the softness and the taste of peppermint. His tongue runs along my lower lip before he bites it gently. I gasp, and he steps back a little.

“Holyrood Palace,” the driver calls.

“This is our stop,” Tom says, his voice a little hoarse as he takes my hand and helps me down.

It’s only when we’re standing on the pavement that I realise we’re still holding hands. “Oh,” I say, pulling away reluctantly.

His eyes twinkle. “Well?”

I look around, and all my thoughts fly away. “ Wow .”

The Scottish Parliament is a huge modern building made of white stone with sharp angles. It stands vast and new against the backdrop of green hills dusted with snow like someone shook icing sugar over them. The contrast between old and new is almost jarring.

People are milling about everywhere, talking and laughing or walking purposefully, and the many flags snap in the cold wind. Tom’s hands rest on my shoulders, and I fancy that I can feel his warmth through my thick coat. He turns me and I see Holyrood Palace for the first time.

“Oh my god,” I say. “That’s so pretty .”

It’s like a small fairytale castle with its turrets and many windows set back behind huge, black-painted iron gates. Against the backdrop of the hills, it looks like it’s been plucked up from Bavaria and plonked down in Scotland.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Tom says. “Oh, watch it, Bee.” He grabs my arm as I go to step towards it and narrowly avoid being mowed down by a car. “You don’t want your first real view of Holyrood to be as you’re flattened by cars.”

“Oh, sorry.” I adjust my glasses again and stare. “ Wow .”

He grins. “I think I might like you being struck dumb.”

“Make the most of it. It doesn’t happen often.”

We cross the road, and he directs me down a narrow, cobbled lane towards the big gates. “Careful,” he warns. “They’ve gritted the cobbles, but it’s still a bit slippy.” He pauses at the gates. “They open in a few minutes, but I completely forgot to ask what time you booked your ticket for. If it’s for later, there’s plenty to do around here.”

I blink. “What ticket?”

He hesitates. “Didn’t you book a ticket like they said in the group chat? It gets busy this time of the year.”

“Oh.” There’s a long pause. “I didn’t exactly pay a lot of attention to the group chat.”

“And that’s why you still have your sanity.”

“Well, maybe I should have, because I didn’t know I had to book tickets for anything.”

A man in uniform walks over and smiles at us. “Good morning.”

“Hello,” I say anxiously. “Could we book two tickets before you get full?”

“Ah,” he says.

My face falls because I already know what’s coming.

He adds, “The palace is closed today, I’m afraid.”

“What? Oh no .” My voice is a little too loud.

Tom snorts. “He’s very keen on history,” he confides.

The man nods. “Him and half of Edinburgh.”

“Do those people have a list the size of the M1 to get through before they go home?” Tom asks.

I nudge him. “But why is it closed?” I ask, gaping at the man.

“Ah, they’re cleaning.”

I lean forward and whisper, “I’m really not bothered about a hoover going. I can keep out of the way.”

“He can,” Tom adds helpfully. “He’s small and very self-contained.”

“That makes me sound like a Tupperware container.”

He shrugs. “It’s a very valuable character trait in life.”

The man’s lip is twitching. “So, could we possibly come in?” I ask.

He sighs in a regretful fashion. “I’m afraid it’s deep cleaning. They’re steaming the curtains and polishing the floors.”

“Couldn’t they just spray Febreze? I’ve found that’s the answer to most of my housework problems.”

“We’re going now,” Tom says to the man, who is not even bothering to hide his smile now. “Happy Christmas to you.”

I wave my hand limply. “Oh yes, definitely.” I follow Tom disconsolately. “Oh my god, this holiday is cursed . Why did I not pay attention to Ivy and the group chat? Why did I think my DPhil was more important?”

“Because it is,” he says calmly. “There’ll be other days.”

“Not on this holiday.”

“You’ll come again,” he says with a surety that comforts me even though he can’t possibly know that. “You’re determined.”

I come to a stop, and he pauses obligingly, watching as I draw out my trusty sheet piece of paper. I look up at him. “So, do I need tickets for all the other things I mentioned?”

He considers the question and nods reluctantly. “Probably all of them, apart from the monument, although that gets very busy. I thought you had tickets.”

“When on earth did you get the impression that I’m in the slightest bit organised? Certainly not on this holiday.” A smile plays on his mouth, and I stare at him as a sudden thought occurs to me. “So, have you got tickets for anything?”

“Nope.”

I stare at him. “So, what were you intending to do while I visited these places?”

He scratches his head. “I thought I’d wait outside for you.”

“You’d have waited outside for me in the snow? Why?”

“You’re good company.”

“I am?”

His mouth twitches. “Has no one ever told you that?”

“Well, Ivy, but she doesn’t count. She’s biased.”

“What about your men?”

“You make it sound like I have a stable of them.” I consider his question. “Not really. Most of them said my arse was the tightest they’d ever had, if that helps.”

He groans and adjusts himself quickly. “No, it really doesn’t,” he grumbles.

I eye him. “So, if I can’t do tourist things, we could always go back to the flat.”

He studies me, and the temptation in his eyes is so hot that I sway towards him.

Then he clears his throat. “We can still do tourist things,” he says hoarsely. “I hate that you’re disappointed.”

“But we haven’t got tickets for anything.”

“That doesn’t matter.” He pauses. “Do you trust me?”

“Strangely, I do.”

“Where did the strangely bit come from?” he asks indignantly.

I laugh. “That’s like a five-star review from me. I don’t trust anyone .”

He looks disproportionately pleased by that statement, and I smile at him.

“Okay,” he says, thinking hard. “Come with me.”

“Is it back to the flat for a shag?”

“I have something even better than that.” He shakes his head. “What am I saying ? It’s not even close to being better. But this will still be fun. Follow me.”

I traipse after him, wishing his parka was shorter so I could look at his arse. I may have been denied Scotland’s beautiful sights, but I reckon Tom’s bum knocks all those out of the park anyway.

He stops at the top of the lane outside a crooked old building with chimneys, funny angles, and a pointed roof that looks like a witch’s hat.

“Queen Mary’s Bath House,” he announces like a tour-guide leader, which I suppose he is. “The rumour is that Mary Queen of Scots used to bathe here. They say she bathed in white wine.”

I blink. “Really? Sounds like something my mum would have done, although she’d have drunk the contents of the bath afterwards.” He gapes at me, and I realise what I just said. “Hmm,” I say, peering up at the building’s narrow window intently. “Mary lived here during a very turbulent time in her life,” I say thoughtfully. “Although her whole life could be classed as turbulent.” Also like my mum, although I refrain from mentioning it this time.

I look up at the wild hills and the grey sky rising behind the building. I glance back at Tom and am surprised to find he’s standing by the side of the road leading to the palace. He’s scraping at the grit on the pavement with his boot.

“What are you doing?” I ask, after meandering over to him. “Are you digging a hole so we can get into the castle?”

He grins at me. “Come and look at this.”

I oblige him and look down. A glint of gold on the cobbles catches my eye, and I peer closer, taking care my glasses don’t fall. The gold appears to be in the shape of an “S” and it’s embedded in the stone.

He darts to the road’s centre and points down. “Here, too.”

I join him and see another shiny brass S embedded in the cobbles where they meet the main road. “What on earth?”

“And there’s another one here,” he calls, moving to the other side of the road. “Look.”

I gaze at the third S and then at the other two across the street. “It’s like they form a line,” I say.

“I bet you can guess what they were for.”

I blink. “You bet I can ? Isn’t it usually the other way around?”

“Not with you.”

My chest warms at the admiration in his voice, and then I gaze at the S’s again. “What does the S stand for?” I muse. I look at the old buildings around me, and the answer comes in a flash. “Sanctuary,” I say.

He laughs in delight. “I knew you’d get it. Yeah, they’re the boundary of what was called Abbey Sanctuary. If you were in debt, you could gain refuge here from your creditors and be fed and housed.”

“Wow.” I stare at him. “How did you know they were here?”

He sighs in a sorrowful fashion. “Ah, Bee, I read my tourist guides. You should try it sometime.” I shove him while he laughs and then stand watching him. He shifts a little uneasily. “What?”

I shrug. “Just waiting for the next item on the Tom Wright Tour of Edinburgh.”

He brightens. “Yeah? Was that interesting?”

“It really was,” I say softly, but it’s probably not for the reason he’s thinking. I love history, but it’s knocked into a firm second place when I put it against the sight of Tom with his warm grey eyes and wind-ruffled hair standing against this backdrop.

I follow him back to the bus. The heat is startling after the cold outside, but he doesn’t even try to persuade me to sit in the crowded downstairs where many tourists are seeking shelter against the snow. He makes for the top, where he settles with no sign of discomfort on the outer seats. Needless to say, we’re alone.

“Ooh, they have headphones,” I say, reaching for the plastic packets. “That means they have a tour guide.”

“No need,” he says briskly. “I’m your guide today.”

I look out at a huge old gothic building. “Okay, so what’s that?”

He winks cheekily. “ That is the house where they used to spank gossipers.”

I snort. “I’m pretty sure that isn’t true. But just in case it is, Ivy and I should never go near it.”

“Didn’t management warn you that some of my tour is made up?”

“They must have missed that bit.” I nudge him. “You’re really good at this,” I say quickly.

“At being a faux tour guide?”

“Well, yes, but more that you make everything fun.”

“Really?” He looks as if I’ve just given him an Oscar. “We’ve been all over the world with my mum and dad because of their jobs, but wherever we were, my dad made us all go out and walk around the city. He hates anything organised and said you spotted a lot more when you weren’t listening to automated tour guides.”

I smile. “Maybe he was right.”

He seesaws his hands. “Possibly not on the tour of Naples when he pointed out the place where he slept with my mum for the first time. There were a few too many details involved in that story, which leads me to think there’s a good reason that information didn’t appear on official tours.”

I start to laugh. “Your parents sound lovely.”

He smiles at me. “They are. They’re great. We had a very chaotic childhood. The house was always full of rockers who seemed to vacillate between being pissed, crying, or stoned.” He pauses. “Sometimes, they were all three.”

“It sounds nice. Mine was like that but with academics.”

“Was your mum at Oxford too?” He bites his lip, obviously worried that he’s overstepped the line with me, but I’m beginning to think he couldn’t do that.

“They met when she worked at the library he used.”

He’s looking at me with interest and a little trepidation in his eyes. Maybe because of my earlier comments.

I don’t like seeing him worried, so I rush into speech. “She left us when I was eight.”

“Why?”

The simple question cuts through all my usual bullshit. “I don’t know,” I finally say. “I used to think it was because we weren’t enough for her, but now—" I shrug. “Now, I just think she wasn’t enough for us.”

His hand is warm and rough with calluses, but his fingers clasp mine gently. “I’m sorry.”

I smile at him. “Thank you, but we were actually better off without her. She was never really there when she was home. I could sit in the same room as her, and it’d be like I wasn’t there. Like I didn’t exist. I think she thought that being a don's wife would be very different from the reality.”

“Did she watch too much of The Godfather ?”

I start to laugh. “Well, we never woke up to a horse’s head in our beds, which was probably good because neither of us are any good at cleaning.”

He watches me, his eyes kind. “Do you miss her?”

“No,” I say, and it’s firm enough that he relaxes. “I still hear from her occasionally. She lives in America now with her new husband, but we have nothing to talk about. I know my dad sounds ditsy, but he’s lovely, really. I didn’t miss out.”

“Well, at least you didn’t have your mum come to year seven at school to do a talk about her job.”

I bite my lip, grateful that he deliberately changed the subject for me. “Wasn’t she a Hot Gossip dancer? Did you say that was a dance troupe?”

“Yep. They used to show up on music programmes and do very odd dances if the artist couldn’t be bothered to turn up and play. At school, we’d had parents who spoke to the class about being pilots or accountants. My mum’s talk was memorable because she did the splits and then gave a very serious talk about the importance of waxing and how to place yourself in the right position so your vagina doesn’t fall out of your leotard.”

My laughter is far too loud. “ Really ?”

“Oh yeah. Sal said it scarred her for life, and I ended up with a lot more boys wanting to come to my house than was strictly necessary.”

I’m still laughing when he stands up and rings the bell.

“Where are we going?” I ask, peering out. We’re on a part of the street lined with shops.

“The next step of your marvellous mystery tour.”