Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

TOM

“ A re we nearly there?” Bee asks.

I look down at Bee or what I can see of him. He’s currently swaddled in so many layers that he looks like a badly wrapped Christmas parcel. He directs sparkling eyes at me, and the sight makes me smile and feel warm inside.

“It’s not far,” I say. “They’re all there, according to Freddy. They’re just waiting for us.”

“Oh no. We’ve kept everyone waiting?”

“No need to be sorry. I told you these holiday arrangements are more fluid than a pint of water. We do what we want to do.”

He gives a sudden exclamation.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I think I have the answer.”

“To what? The meaning of life?”

“ Much more important than that.” He fumbles in his pocket and brings out a pen and a small notebook. Opening it, he looks around as if bemused that there isn’t an available desk on the street.

“Here, you can use me.” Repressing a smile, I turn around to face away from him.

There’s a startled pause. “I beg your pardon ?”

I wriggle my shoulders. “You can rest the pad on my back.”

“I have to say I’ve never done that before with a bloke.” His tone is amused.

“I’m all about the new experiences.”

“And you really don’t mind?”

“Of course not. Get on with it.”

I feel the pad press down on my back and then he comes close enough for me to feel the heat of his body. I have a second to wonder if this is going to be an erotic experience but then the muttering starts.

“Let me see. This? No, maybe that. Shit , that’s wrong.”

My smile breaks free, and I exchange nods with a couple passing. “Important paperwork emergency,” I call, and they chuckle and move on.

Bee ignores it all. I can practically feel his big brain ticking, and it’s almost intimidating as he scribbles away for a few more minutes.

Finally, he exclaims in triumph. “Got it.”

“Take that, Bembridge scholars.”

“Pardon?”

“It was from The Mummy .”

“The ones at the British Museum?” he asks tentatively.

I turn around as he takes the pad away. I see a flash of symbols and equations before he closes it. Then I remember what he was saying. “It’s a film. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen it?”

“I don’t watch a huge amount of films,” he says almost apologetically.

“Well, you must see this one. We could watch it together.”

I hold my breath at the implication that we could see each other outside the holiday, but he’s focused on something else. “You’d watch the film again?”

I grin at the puzzlement in his voice. “I’ve probably watched it fifty times. Maybe more.”

“I don’t understand that.”

“What?”

“I don’t understand why people watch the same things over and over again.”

I shrug. “Comfort.”

His eyes sharpen. “What does that mean?”

“When you’re stressed, sometimes it’s good to know the outcome so there isn’t a horrible surprise at the end.”

“Oh my god, that sounds really good. Sometimes my brain needs to switch off.”

“That’s hardly surprising. Anyway, don’t sound so amazed. It’s nice to know what’s going to happen even if it’s just a film.” I nudge him. “But sometimes surprises can be good too.”

“Well, it’s one or the other. Take your pick.”

“Nah. Life’s not like that. It’s possible to have both. You just have to find your balance.”

His look of concentration is cute. It’s as if I’ve imparted words of great wisdom, and for a second his hand strays towards his notebook like he’s going to write it down, so I say briskly, “Come on. It’s cold.”

We cross two streets while he peppers me with questions about films until I see the restaurant’s windows glowing gold in the dark street. I hold the door open for him, feeling the heat from the restaurant hit us and a waft of lovely smells. It makes my nose twitch like a dog on the scent of something good, but even food doesn’t distract me from the startled pleasure in Bee’s eyes at my polite gesture.

I shake my head. Let’s call it what it truly is—a chivalrous gesture. I am actually courting Bee Bannister as though I’m Sir Ivanhoe. I try to remember if the film Ivanhoe had a good ending or if he died horribly.

Sal went through a stage of repetitively watching the old film version of the story. For a time, she judged all men compared to Ivanhoe, which was a bit unfair. The upper sixth didn’t have access to horses and broad swords. I can recall nearly every line of that bloody film, and even after three years at uni, I never managed to shove the information out of my head. But I still can’t remember the ending.

“Tom. Bee. Over here.”

My sister’s shout is loud enough to silence the whole restaurant, and I grimace. “Sorry,” I mutter to Bee. “We looked very hard, but it appears she came without a volume control. I wanted to send her back because she was faulty, but I was never allowed to.”

He snorts, and I take his coat from him and hand it with a smile of thanks to the waitress who’s waiting for it. Bee unwinds two scarves from around his neck and removes his hat. His hair is a tangled mess, with one bit at the front sticking straight up as though he stuck his finger in a socket. His glasses are steamed up, and he takes them off and wipes them on his T-shirt. It reveals an intriguing glimpse of pale skin that’s tight as a drum.

My mouth waters at the sight. I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to stop myself fucking him. As things go at the moment, every hour of abstinence is a triumph because he’s been opening up and talking with me more and more. I could listen to him talk all day. He’s fascinating, and I’d be intimidated by his cleverness if he didn’t seem to take just as much pleasure in my company.

Today has been wonderful with just the two of us, and all the frantic googling I’d done this morning was well worth it. I’ve done more research for this man than I managed to do at uni for my dissertation. If my try at Bee fails, I’m pretty sure Mr Google will want to marry me.

“Are you eating at the table or just cramming food down your throat in a doorway?” my sister bellows.

Ah. Just the two of us—what bliss .

“Coming. I just need to wait a few seconds,” I call.

“What for?”

“To see if nature grants me my hearing back.”

She rolls her eyes, and I put a hand at Bee’s back as we walk towards the table. His skin is warm beneath his jumper, and this close, I can smell his cologne and something that seems to be just him. The first time I did this, he immediately moved away. Now, I’m gratified to feel him inch closer.

Take it an hour at a time, I tell myself. Try for one more hour of abstinence . I look at him just as he licks his lips and repress a groan. Maybe thirty-five minutes and then a shag in the toilets will do instead.

We’re greeted with a wave of hellos when we get to the table. Everyone looks flushed and merry. I’m disappointed to find that Bee and I don’t have seats next to each other at the table, but then cheer up when he heads for the seat facing me. At least I’ll have someone pretty to look at.

“Nice of you two to finally turn up,” Steven huffs, shaking out his napkin disapprovingly.

For a brief glorious moment, I contemplate gagging him with it, but decide that the restaurant staff might object.

“Well, someone has to get this party started.” I wink at Bee as he settles down next to Ivy. “Anyway, we’ve been busy imbibing culture. Not like you shopping shitheads.”

“What did you do?” my sister asks, a twinkle in her eyes. She’s been fairly restrained with me so far, but I’m betting that isn’t going to last long.

“Oh, Tom showed me the sanctuary stones at Holyrood and then took me to a graveyard,” Bee says happily.

Everyone turns their heads towards me. “Hey, don’t knock it,” I say. “History can be the shit. Graveyards are exciting places.”

I’m not quite at Bee’s level of appreciating them, but I did like the quiet and the ability to stand near him while he read every stone. He’d then drop little anecdotes about the time the deceased had lived in, which were actually fascinating. I’m betting if I’d had him for a history teacher, I might have got more than a D in my GCSEs.

I glance at him and his full mouth curls into a smile. But I’d have had a lot more wet dreams.

“It was amazing,” he raves. “Tom is such a good tour guide.”

“Really?” my sister drawls. “I’d only have put the words tour guide with Tom’s name if you inserted pub crawl in the middle.”

“I am woefully misunderstood,” I say plaintively as they start to laugh.

“There is no one who likes a good graveyard more than me,” Bee says emphatically, which kills the conversation for a few seconds.

“Well, maybe the dead?” I offer.

He snorts before turning to Sal. “He took me to Canongate Kirkyard to find David Rizzio’s grave.”

“Who is…” Freddy sneaks a look at Steven. “Who the fuck is David Rizzio?”

I repress a smile. “Some bloke who fancied Mary Queen of Scots and was sitting under her dress when he got stabbed.”

A moment’s silence greets my declaration before Freddy stirs. “Just how big was her dress?”

I scratch my head. “Isn’t that right?” I ask Bee.

His mouth is twitching, but he nods very seriously. “He tried to hide behind her when Mary’s husband’s men broke into the room to kill him. He clung to her skirts while they were trying to drag him away.”

“Ah, I reckon EastEnders did that plot a few years ago,” Freddy says.

Jack’s phone rings, and with a muttered apology, he gets up and strides out of the restaurant to answer it.

I shake my head and raise my middle finger at Freddy. “I can’t help it if you are a complete neanderthal.”

He winks. “Did you just use words of more than two syllables, Thomas? Well, colour me flabbergasted .”

Bee laughs, and it’s so warm and merry that my stomach tightens. “Anyway, the body was dragged away and disposed of, and historians reckon it might be in a grave in Canongate Kirkyard.”

“ Might be?” my sister asks hesitantly.

“Yes, no one knows for sure.”

She taps the table thoughtfully. “So, let me get this straight. Tom showed you sanctuary stones and then took you on a tour of a graveyard looking for a non-existent gravestone?”

“Yeah.”

She shakes her head. “You’re fucking brilliant, Tom.”

“Yep,” I say proudly. “I think I can safely say that I add an element of fun to every occasion.” I wink at Bee. “Although I’m sure I can find some testimonials that say I’m particularly good on the occasions that don’t require clothes.”

“Or a viable brain cell,” Steven says acidly. “Shall we order now Tom and Bee have finally graced us with their presence?” He turns to Bee. “I need an early night because I have to be at my best for the conference tomorrow. It’s expected of me by now,” he finishes pompously.

As conversations begin around me, I turn and whisper to Freddy, “Steven’s self-importance seems to have dialled up to a dangerous level. What’s up with him?”

“Ah, he wanted to go to his conference early, but he decided not to when Jack said he was still going out with us.”

I blink. “Why is it always winter and never Christmas?”

Freddy sighs. “God forbid he leave Jack on his own. He might do what Steven’s already done.”

“You know Jack wouldn’t cheat,” I whisper.

“Steven obviously doesn’t because he’s like a fox guarding the henhouse at the moment.”

The waitress arrives, and I take a cursory glance at the menu and order prawn tacos with pineapple pico de gallo and amarillo mayo before turning my attention to my sister.

“Oi, Sal, do you remember that old film you used to watch?”

She blinks. “That might need narrowing down a bit.”

“ Ivanhoe . It had the blond posh bloke you fancied for ages in it.”

She snaps her fingers. “Anthony Andrews.”

“That’s the one. What happened in the end?”

The last time I saw a stare like hers, it was on a basilisk in a film. “Why?” she finally says.

“Just thinking about it. Did it have a happy ending?”

“Well, he married Rowena.”

“Did he?” I say, disappointed. “Not Rebecca? She was way better for him. That’s a bit of a boring end.”

“Hmm,” she says slowly. “And is there a particular reason you’re thinking about a film about a knight?” Her eyes narrow. “A chivalric knight.”

“No reason,” I say quickly. “All this culture must be catching.”

Bee looks delighted. “ Really ?”

Steven rolls his eyes. “He’d be more likely to catch syphilis than culture, Bee, don’t fool yourself.”

Bee puts his napkin down. His face is set and hard in a way I haven’t seen since the start of this holiday, back when he thought I was a twat.

He turns to address Steven. “Tom’s been extremely kind to me, and he’s also incredibly knowledgeable about many things. I couldn’t have picked anyone better as a tour guide.” He smiles up at the waitress as she appears at the table with his mojito. “How lovely. Could you possibly bring me ten more and then just keep them coming?”

Ivy laughs, and the conversation picks up quickly as Steven glares impotently at Bee’s profile.

I take a moment to consider how Bee just stuck up for me. There was no real need. Steven couldn’t find my feelings if he had a map and compass, but Bee’s gesture was still extraordinarily nice. Like a prickly hedgehog just donned his suit and armour and rolled into battle on my behalf.

I look to my left and find Sal watching Bee as well. There’s approval and calculation in her eyes, so when she turns to me, I make sure to offer her a placid smile. That never fails to wind her up.

Jack comes back to the table. Steven glares up at him, and Jack falters. “What?” he asks cautiously.

“Oh, nothing,” Steven says in a poisonously sweet voice. “Where have you been?”

Jack waggles his phone. “My boss rang me and then I was just speaking to Arlo.”

“ Again ?” I say in stupefaction. “What on earth do you find to say to my brother?”

A flush dapples his cheeks. “I don’t find it difficult to talk to him at all.”

“Well, apart from the lowering of your intellect before you connect the call,” Steven says in a low voice that both Jack and I hear.

Before I can say anything, Jack straightens. “What did I tell you about that?” he says in a steely voice. Everyone looks up, but he keeps his focus on Steven. “Arlo is my friend.”

“And I’m your boyfriend.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “It’s a shame you didn’t always remember that.”

Bee winces and immediately starts to down his mojito as if it’s going to be taken away from him. “Another, please,” he calls to the waitress.

Steven throws his napkin down. “How many times am I going to be punished for that one little mistake?”

“About one more than me telling you to stop being nasty about Arlo,” Jack snaps.

Freddy reaches out and helpfully closes my mouth for me. His eyes are full of glee.

An awkward silence falls that’s broken by the food arriving.

“How wonderful. Food ,” Sal announces in a manner last seen at a royal garden party.

We all dive into the food, and the conversation picks up again.

“So, we’re going on a ghost hunt tonight?” Bee says. Ivy nods. “Well, that should be very interesting.”

I smile at him. “You’ve never been on one before?”

“No. I see them around Oxford all the time, but I’ve never ventured there. Although they’re said to be good markers for the social mores of the time.”

Freddy grins at him. “I don’t know about that, but they’re awfully good at startling Tom.”

“Shut up.” I glare at them when they laugh. “All I’m saying is that if you hide in dark alleys and jump out at people, you are asking for problems.”

“And apparently damage to your eardrums,” Freddy offers.

Bee stares at me. “You hit a ghost-tour operator?”

“Of course not,” I say quickly. “It’s just that he was a blurred streak of movement, and he startled me.”

Freddy grins at Bee. “Startled is an understatement. Tom’s scream could be heard in China.”

“It wasn’t a scream ,” I tell Bee, whose eyes are twinkling with amusement.

“It took out the glass in nearby windows,” my sister helpfully offers, and I glare at her.

Freddy laughs. “The best part of the altercation?—”

“Misunderstanding,” I interject.

“The best part of the misunderstanding before we were asked to leave was that Tom didn’t even spill his chips when he deafened the leprechaun.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think he was a leprechaun, mate.”

Freddy stares at me. “ Really ? Why was he green then?”

“He was a zombie,” Jack says. Freddy stares at him, and Jack spreads his hands. “Leprechauns wear green. They’re not actually green. They also don’t do a lot of ghost tours,” Jack adds.

Freddy considers that. “Well, the whole evening makes a lot more sense now.”

I shrug modestly. “Anyway, it’s all in the balance. No matter how many zombies come at me, I'm not wasting my food.”

“You’ll be very handy to have around in an apocalypse,” Bee says, and I grin at him.

“I can actually feel my IQ lowering,” Steven observes, but we ignore him.

Sal grins at Bee. “We’re going on the Greyfriars ghost walk.”

“Well, some of us wanted to try the vaults,” Steven says loudly.

“And some of us wish you were in one,” I mutter, sneaking a look at Jack, but he’s checking his phone and doesn’t catch it.

“So why aren’t you going to the vaults?” Bee asks.

Sal shrugs. “Tom texted me this afternoon and suggested the graveyard one instead.”

Bee’s eyes narrow, and he turns to me. I instantly lower the hands I was just using to gesture at my sister to shut up. “Why did you do that?” he asks.

“It’s supposed to be a better tour. Much scarier,” I say quickly.

His eyes are busy, and I can see the moment he realises. “And much more open,” he says slowly. “The vaults are very cramped and underground. Awful for anyone with claustrophobia.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I fork up some food and cram it into my mouth so I don’t say anything stupid.

“Hmm.” He says no more, and the group starts to talk again, but I swallow hard as he turns shining eyes on me. “Thank you,” he mouths, and I feel the now familiar wave of warmth and pleasure running through me like honey in tea. I like looking out for him.

“You’re welcome,” I say awkwardly. Looking up, I catch my sister watching me with amusement dancing in her eyes. She looks down at her phone, where she’s tapping away like a chimpanzee with a new toy.

“Hang on, who are you texting?” I say in alarm.

“Just Arlo,” she says innocently.

“Oh joy,” Steven mutters.

“Why?” I ask.

She winks at me. “I do like to keep him in the loop.”

“Fucking hell ,” I whisper, and Freddy starts to laugh.

It’s cold when we come out of the restaurant. As we start to walk towards the graveyard where the ghost walk is taking place, I look around for Bee. Ivy is arm-in-arm with him, and they’re talking in low voices.

Movement comes to the side of me, and I groan when I see Sal. “ What ?”

She threads her arm through mine in a companionable way. It brings back many memories of being kids together, and we grin at each other.

“Is that any way to talk to your sister?”

“It is when it’s you. What do you want?”

She hums thoughtfully, watching Ivy and Bee ahead of us. “He’s very nice.”

“Who?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t even try it, Tom.”

“He is nice.” I pause and then can’t help adding, “And very clever and funny, too.”

She nods and we walk in silence for a few seconds. “I knew you’d like him when I met him.”

“Did you?” I say, startled. “I wouldn’t have put us together at all.”

“Really? I think you go together like peas and salad cream.”

“What a beautiful and evocative comparison. Have you ever considered a writing career?” She snorts, and I nudge her. “Why do we go together, then?”

“Because you have always fancied clever or capable people.”

“We’re very different.” I know I’m opening myself up to ridicule, but I equally know that while Sal will take the piss out of me in almost any circumstance, this won’t be one of them. I’m proved right when her next smile is gentle.

“I must admit I think there’s probably only a small percentage of the population that could match his brains.”

“I know,” I say a little too gloomily. “Ouch! You pinched me.”

“And I shall do it again and again if you keep talking crap like that. Stop doing yourself down, Tom. He may be scarily bright, but you’re more emotionally astute. You also have an almost pathological need to look after people.”

“I do not. You make me sound like Mother Teresa.”

“You do. We’ve had more lame ducks staying the holidays with us over the years than a farmyard. You’re loyal, compassionate, and you make people feel good. We just all wanted you to find someone who’d match your warmth.”

“Bet you never thought you’d say that.”

“I must admit that wasn’t in my top ten of things I’d like to say to you, but it had to be said, and now we’ll never mention it again.”

Jack comes up next to us. “What are you two talking about?”

“Sal was just telling me how wonderful I am.”

She rolls her eyes. “We were talking about Tom and Bee.”

I nudge her. “Keep your voice down, for god’s sake.” I look around. “Where’s Steven?”

“Gone back to the apartment. So, you and Bee?”

“There is no me and Bee.” I stop when they both blow raspberries. “ What ?”

Jack shrugs. “I was just thinking that you might have calluses on your fingers from all the typing you’ve done on Google this week.”

My sister starts to laugh, and I grimace. “Shut up.”

Jack smiles. “Well, I think it’s nice.”

“You do?” I stare at the man who is my best friend and has been since I met him at primary school. He’s always been the quietest in the group, but he’s the glue that holds us all together, and we orbit him like he’s a particularly gentle sun. There is no one whose opinion matters as much to me as Jack’s.

He nods. “You need someone like Bee to keep you on your toes, Tom. You’ve always had it so easy with men and women.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is,” my sister interjects. “Casanova had worse sexual luck than you.”

“Exactly,” Jack says. “You need someone for whom you have to put in some work. Anything worth having and keeping is worth working for.”

“Hang on. Who said anything about keeping?” They both direct matching stares at me, and I groan. “I don’t know what it is about him, but there’s something there. Something I’ve never felt before. He’s fascinating.”

My sister shakes her head in wonder. “You’re Dad.”

“Have you been huffing glue or something?”

She pinches me, then ignores my sound of pain and stares thoughtfully into the distance. “You know Mum and Dad’s story. He says he met her and never looked at another woman.”

I nod. “He said he knew immediately that she was different.”

“Well, then.”

“Well, what? Could you be any more cryptic?”

“I don’t think she’s actually being cryptic at all,” Jack says. “And neither do you, Tom.”

Silence falls. “I know,” I say after a moment. “Somehow, he’s different than everyone else.” My thoughts swirl.

Jack hums thoughtfully. “You’re a romantic.”

“I am not ,” I say, disgusted.

He nods. “You are, and how could you be otherwise with your parents? I’ve always loved that about them. It’s so inspiring to see two people who love each other so much. My parents feel more for the conservative party than they do each other.”

“They’re less inspiring when they snog at the Sunday dinner table,” my sister says, and I nod in agreement.

We find Theo and Georgina waiting, swaddled in coats, when we arrive at the graveyard. “This is a creepy place,” Georgina says, passing out hugs.

Freddy reaches into his pocket and produces some Santa hats. “One each.”

“On a ghost walk?” Jack says, amusement tugging at his mouth.

“No arguing.”

My eyes automatically gravitate towards Bee. He’s not the loudest or the most opinionated in the group, but for me, he shines brightest. He puts on the red velvet hat and has a rather judicious expression that makes my mouth twitch. He looks over as if sensing my gaze, and the wide smile he immediately gives me makes my heart beat faster.

I smile back helplessly and then look over at Jack, whose eyes are twinkling. “Shut up.”

He makes a zipping motion over his mouth, and I roll my eyes.

I don my hat as our guide approaches. He’s a thin, serious-looking man wearing what looks to be a highwayman’s costume, but he accepts the hat Freddy offers him with a smile.

“Good evening. Are you the Wright party?” Sal nods, offering him the receipt of our payment. “That’s great. We’re just waiting for another group to join us, and then we’ll begin.”

As if on cue, a group of blokes come around the corner talking loudly. They pass next to us, and the smell of booze almost makes my eyes water.

The tour guide gives them a sideways glance but carries on gamely. “So, tonight, we are entering one of the most haunted cemeteries in the world.”

Bee edges next to me, and I grin at him. “How do they know that?” he whispers.

“Know what?”

“That it’s the most haunted cemetery in the world. Ghosts are unquantifiable objects, so it’s impossible to gain a correct measurement of these things.”

I push his glasses up onto his cute, beaky nose. “You tell him, tiger.”

He flushes and shoves me, his eyes sparking with laughter. “You’re such a prat.”

“It has been said.”

His eyes cloud. “By who?” he asks fiercely, as if preparing to confront them.

“Sal, mainly.”

He snorts. “She’s quite scary, so I’m afraid you’re on your own, babe.” He blanches, looking as astonished as if he’s just sworn out loud.

“ Babe ?” I mouth.

He flushes bright red. “A common mistake. I meant to say …” His words trail off as he’s obviously unable to think of anything that rhymes with babe.

“Of course you did.” I wait a second. “You’re completely right, babe.”

This time, a laugh comes out, and our guide pauses. “Did you have a question, young man?”

I immediately try to duck behind Freddy, but Bee raises his hand with an eager expression. “Yes, I know yew trees are very prevalent in churchyards. I’ve heard that’s because they thrived on dead bodies and were a prime source of wood for medieval longbows. Maybe so, or it might be because they were a Celtic symbol of death and resurrection.” He pauses to take a breath.

I nudge him. “You forgot the question, babe.”

He gives a cute snort. “Sorry. What is the most common tree here?”

“I’ll come to that later,” the guide says gravely, as if there is no chance in the world that he won’t get his phone out in five minutes and find the answer on Google. He can mention my name for a good table.

Bee, however, just nods. “Thank you,” he says earnestly.

Repressing a smile, I place my hand on his back and steer him forward as the guide begins walking.

We come into the main part of the graveyard, and the excited chatter stops immediately. It’s a very creepy place. The snow has covered everything in a carpet of white that gleams eerily in the weak streetlights. The branches of the trees rustle in the wind, sounding horribly like skeletons trying to climb out of their tombs. The church is a dark, squat shape, and I avoid looking at the windows in case I see something peeping out. Bee has no such reservations and is looking around, no doubt happily thinking up new questions for our poor guide.

The cold is fierce and biting on our exposed faces, and I nestle into the folds of my parka and pull Bee’s Santa hat farther down over his hair. He offers me a warm grin of thanks, and I’m astonished when he slides his arm through mine.

“Is this okay?” he asks in a quiet voice. The guide is talking about a haunting that’s been seen in the spot where we’re standing.

“It’s more than okay,” I say, hoping my hoarse voice will be taken for the cold. But how could I be cold when his slim, lithe body is next to mine?

“The ground is uneven,” he says quickly.

I nod, repressing a smile. “It certainly is. We can’t have you falling, babe.”

We follow the group, hearing hushed whispers and a few tiny shrieks as the wind blows the trees about, making fantastic shapes on the church walls.

“Now gather around,” the guide calls. “Do you see that house there?” We look obediently at one of the many houses that surround the graveyard. Its windows are lit up in bright lozenges of colour. “The owners have lived there for twenty years, and even in daylight, the windows facing the graveyard have their blinds lowered. Apparently, they have seen moving lights in the graveyard in the dead of night and have heard screaming and the sounds of a violent argument. Can you imagine what could have caused that?”

Silence falls as everyone looks at him and then at the graveyard as if expecting a spook to come flying out at us.

Bee clears his throat, and I bite my lip because this is going to be good.

“Black mould,” he says succinctly.

“Gesundheit,” Freddy mutters. Bee grins at him.

“I beg your pardon?” the guide says.

Bee nods. “Black mould is prevalent in damp places. It is a well-documented fact that black mould can cause extreme hallucinations, brain fog, and depression.”

The group shifts, and the guide clears his throat, looking slightly panicked. “Well, which is more likely? Some rare flower?—"

“Mould.”

“—or lonely spirits doomed to roam the graveyard?”

“Probably black mould,” Bee says apologetically.

I can see the moment the guide gives up. “On to the next haunting,” he cries, and we follow him. He shoots a dubious glance at Bee who he has obviously identified as an educated troublemaker.

Bee mutters something, and I bend towards him. “What?”

The feel of his breath makes me shudder. “Did I do wrong?” he whispers.

“Absolutely not,” I say immediately.

His body loses some of its tension, and I feel a deep affection towards this clever but still very kind man.

I add, “You were very polite and just saying your opinion. You didn’t shout or call him names.”

“Even so, I think I’ll keep the facts to myself. It’s rude.”

“Okay, babe.”

He snorts and nudges me.

The guide comes to a stop by a gravestone. “Now, I have something here for you. No mould,” he says hastily, and Bee grins at him. “Something is different about this gravestone. Can you see?”

The group stares raptly down at it, a couple of the blokes swaying as if their balance is off. The grave is covered in a long cage that’s green with moss and age.

“Why does it have a grill over it?” Freddy asks.

“This is a mortsafe,” the guide says in a tone of revelation.

Everyone stares at him apart from Bee, who immediately steps forward, dragging me with him in his enthusiasm. “Oh, my goodness , I’ve read a lot about these.”

“You have?” I say.

He nods enthusiastically. “Yes. I’ve just never seen one live, so to speak.” He grins at the guide. “Do tell everyone. It’s fascinating .”

His approval is as endearing as usual, and the guide puffs up. They smile at each other, and the guide turns to the group. “In the early nineteenth century, the city’s medical school was full of eager students, but they had one problem. They didn’t have enough cadavers for the students to dissect. Legally, these bodies were supposed to come from public executions, but there simply weren’t enough bodies. Gangs of thieves would come into the graveyards to dig up the fresh graves in order to sell their occupants to the medical school. People, therefore, set up watchmen to guard their loved one’s graves, and wealthier members of society would even build these mortsafes—cages that covered the graves and locked them into place.”

Georgina stirs. “Would you have done this for my grave, Theo?”

Theo jerks as if waking from a standing sleep. “What?”

She taps her chin. “Well, would you pay to cover my grave so no one could have access to my body that you loved so much in life?” She brightens. “Or would you lie next to the grave because you couldn’t bear to lose me?”

All heads swing to look at Theo, who laughs carelessly. “I’d put the grate over it to keep you in.”

He chuckles with the breezy air of a man who doesn’t know that death is imminent for him, and as one we all step back.

“How funny ,” Georgina says in a poisonously sweet voice. “What a comedian you are, Theo.”

It’s a testament to the DEFCON aura of the exchange that even the drunk men get out of range.

“Okay, on to the next ghost,” the guide says frantically.

We follow him, with Bee and I bringing up the rear. He pauses, and I stop alongside him. “What?” I ask.

He motions back at the now hissing argument that has erupted by the mortsafe. “Will they be okay?”

“Yeah, of course. They’ll argue for a while and then go home happily to have angry sex, which everyone in their flat will have to listen to.”

As if on cue, the two turn and march off, still arguing.

“I was getting a bit worried, to be honest,” I say. “They haven’t had a row in a couple of days. I feel so relieved now.”

“You’re all quite mad,” Bee says.

“Maybe it’s the black mould,” I say companionably.

He laughs, shoving me. I grab his hands, and it sets his balance off, so he falls against me, looking up and laughing. His face is vivid and wicked in the light from a nearby streetlight, and I suddenly realise that we’re alone. The wind howls around us. I feel the first flakes of snow dropping on my face, but I’m suddenly blisteringly hot.

“Bee?” I say hoarsely.

He watches me for a second, his eyes dark in the gloom. He tips his chin, and I couldn’t stop my next move if an army of spooks were marching towards us. I bend and take his mouth, feeling its plush contours with a shock of familiarity. How can it be that I’ve kissed him twice, and it feels like my lips have memorised him?

My thoughts scatter away like snowflakes on the wind as he kisses me back, sliding his arms around my shoulders and pulling me closer. His tongue is hot as it tangles with mine, and heat and want roar through me like a fire that’s out of control.

I dimly realise that I’ve backed him against a tree when he groans, but instead of protesting at my weight, he just pulls me closer, rubbing his hard cock against my leg.

“Tom?” he whispers between kisses and panting.

I somehow manage to force myself away. “What?”

His lips are full and swollen, and his breath is coming fast. “I suppose you’re going to make a witty remark and move away now?”

All thoughts of holding out have fled, and desire has taken the lead. My cock is hard and throbbing, and all I can think of is burying myself in his lithe body and never leaving.

I can barely focus enough to get the words out, but somehow I manage.

“Let’s go back to the apartment and go to bed.”

He licks his lips as if tasting me on them, and his smile is wicked enough to warrant a kiss. And then another and another until he pulls away, and we lean against each other, panting heavily.

“Lead the way,” he finally says.

So, I do.