Page 60 of On Circus Lane

“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. “Thatis 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 shouldnevergo 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 youspotted 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 ofThe 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?”

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