Page 23 of On Circus Lane

“Dickinson’s Real Deal.”

“Is that because you’re secretly seventy-five?”

He snorts. “It’s rather fascinating how orange he is. Similar to the colour of our garden shed when my dad creosoted it in the summer.”

I think of my self-tan cream and wonder if I could do a Dickinson. “I always like his clothes,” I admit. “His tie and pocket square rarely coordinate, which I appreciate more than you can know, and he looks like he picked up those suits when he made his time machine go back to the seventies.”

He laughs and we both look up as Steven and Jack appear. Jack looks weary, which is hardly surprising, as Steven is holding court.

“Where’s Freddy?” I ask, looking beyond them.

Tom stands up, grabbing his parka. The khaki colour suits him. “He’s next door.”

“At the girls’ flat?” I ask. He nods, and I laugh. “He’s a quick worker.”

“You have no idea,” Jack says wryly. “At freshers' week, he spent ages telling everyone in our halls where the best bars were when he’d only got there an hour before them.”

“He always does this,” Steven says peevishly, settling next to me on the sofa. “Never stays with the group. It’s very rude.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “I suppose I’ll enlighten Bee about how our friends spend a holiday together. I don’t want him to think we do more coordinated activities than those poor kids inThe Sound of Music.” He turns to me. “Everyone is entirely free to do what they want here. Sal and Ivy already said they want to go shopping, Freddy is busy making friends, and Georgie and Theo will probably be staging their next argument outside Edinburgh Castle.” I chuckle, and he shrugs. “It’s up to you how to spend your time. We usually meet at night, and all have dinner together.”

“I can work with that,” I say. “Ivy will be happy she doesn’t have to visit the museums and galleries with me.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Steven exclaims. “I’m so pleased you like that sort of thing. This lot wouldn’t know culture if it bit them.”

Tom shrugs. “He’s not wrong.”

“Yes, I still remember the Natural History Museum,” Steven says acerbically. He turns to me and my body tenses. “We can go together.”

My heart sinks as I try to think of a way to get out of spending time with Steven.

“I’ll come too,” Tom says quickly.

“Oh really?” I say happily. “That would belovely.”

Jack chokes on the water he’s sipping. “You’ll dowhat, Tom?”

“I’ve seen a lot of Edinburgh, but I’ve never done the museums before.” His cheeks have become interestingly rosy.

“Hmm,” Jack says, staring at Tom. They seem to be carrying on a silent conversation, similar to how Ivy and I speak. “I suppose itwouldbe lovely to have you along, Tom.”

“Surprising, too,” Steven adds. “You hate museums. The last gallery we went to you spent the entire visit critiquing the artwork.”

“To the artist,” Jack adds and starts to laugh.

“My mother taught us to be honest in all circumstances,” Tom says very piously.

We all look up as the door opens and Freddy comes in.

“Nice girls,” he announces. He spots Steven, and quickly adds, “Fuck me, I’m absolutely motherfucking starving.” Steven winces, and Freddy winks at Tom. “Are we ready? The others are waiting downstairs.”

The wind hits me as soon as we step outside the courtyard and onto the main street. The sky has darkened to a dark grey, thick clouds scudding along it and blown by the wind. Gulls soar in the air, calling raucously, and I can hear the rattle of the trams.

I shiver and pull my jacket closer around me, but the wind still manages to find gaps and poke my skin with its icy touch. The others are all bundled up in expensive-looking coats and jackets, so I straighten, feeling a little silly and trying to look as if I intentionally brought this jacket with me rather than packing it in a drunken haze.

Ivy races over when she sees me. Her face is vivid with enthusiasm, and I look at her affectionately. “Enjoying yourself?” I ask, crooking my arm so she can slide hers through. She leans into me.

“It’s lovely here. This wassucha good idea.”

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