Page 33 of On Circus Lane

“And golden syrup,” he adds solemnly.

I laugh. “And golden syrup. So, I suppose anything is possible.”

He takes my arm and leads me down the road, dodging oncoming pedestrians, and after a few twists and turns, we arrive on a quieter side street. Small shops line either side of the narrow road. There seem to be more boutiques than big brands, and their windows are bright and warm with Christmas decorations. Over our heads, someone has hung lines of snowflakes that stretch from lamppost to lamppost, their white fairy lights twinkling against the grey sky. Nearby, a man on an accordion plays “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday.”

Tom pulls me to a stop outside a shop with a brown and red striped awning. Lights twinkle in the window, and as someone comes out, I can smell cinnamon and leather in a warm gust of air.

“Come on,” he urges. “You’ll find some boots in here.”

The shop is warm inside, and I follow him as he edges around racks of brightly coloured coats.

I eye the shelves of colourful jumpers and the stands full of things I don’t recognise but presume will help with walking. “I’ve never been in a walking shop before.”

“Oh, Ilovethem,” he says enthusiastically.

“Yes, you do seem rather energetic.”

He laughs and asks, “Why was that said in the same tone you’d use to announce I’ve got herpes?”

A woman stirs nearby.

Tom winks at her and adds, “Which I haven’t got, by the way. Notthisboy.”

The woman and I both smile, and I turn to examine a bewildering mass of items. “Do you really need all this paraphernalia just to go for a walk?”

Tom stands by me, so close I can smell his cologne and a fresh warm smell that must be his skin. My stomach swoops.

“It depends where you’re walking,” he says.

I pick up what looks like a big clip. “Well, let me see. I tend to walk from the university to the pub. Would I need one of these?”

His mouth quirks. “Not unless you’re on averysteep incline. That’s a carabiner for climbing mountains.”

I snort and exchange it for what appears to be a long, thin stick. I experimentally swish it and inhale in horror as it breaks into three pieces. “Ohshit, I’ve broken it.” I turn in panic to Tom. “Oh my god, is that expensive? You look. I can’t bear to see.”

He’s silent for a second and then bursts into laughter.

“Is there something funny about my oncoming bankruptcy?” I ask.

He takes the broken pieces from me, and they snap back together with a twist of his hand. “Trekking pole,” he says, his serious voice slightly spoilt by twinkling eyes. “They’re made to fit in a pocket or rucksack.”

“So is chocolate, andthatdoesn’t give me a heart attack.”

That sets him off again, and I watch him, my mouth twitching. Finally, he recovers and draws me over to the racks of shoes. “Okay, look at these. Do you see anything you like?”

I contemplate the number of different kinds of boots and scratch my head. “I don’t know,” I reluctantly admit.

After experiencing the feeling of being a fish out of water for many years, I tend to avoid new experiences like the plague now. Ivy says I’ll never learn anything by treading the same well-worn paths, but she has never experienced the sensation of constantly being breathless, so she can pipe down.

I lick my lips and point at a random pair. “Those ones.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

I narrow my eyes. “Yes, why?” I snap. “They’re perfect.”

He puts his hand over my eyes. “Describe them.”

“I’m sorry?” I gasp.

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