Page 63 of On Circus Lane

“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 amwoefullymisunderstood,” 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 bigwasher 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 reckonEastEndersdid 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 meflabbergasted.”

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.”

“Mightbe?” my sister asks hesitantly.

“Yes, no one knows for sure.”

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