Page 57 of On Circus Lane

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 sopretty.”

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? Ohno.” 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.”

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