Page 92 of On Circus Lane

“Yep, we’re late.”

He jumps out of bed much more gracefully than I managed, and I stand up, watching as he pulls his jeans on and shrugs into his shirt. “Fuck,” he says again.

“You can certainly say that again.”

“I haven’t even packed.”

“Neither have I, but in all honesty, I could probably leave half the shit I brought and never miss it.” I consider that and then add, “Not the prostate wand, though.”

He grins and, coming closer, kisses me without any consideration for our morning breath. “Mmm,definitelytake that home.”

I blink and he’s gone, opening the door, sliding out, and saying something that makes Ivy laugh. I hear a distant cheerfrom someone in the lounge, and then the door opens again, and Ivy appears.

“Oh mygod,” she says, hands on her hips, looking at the wreck of the room.

“I know,” I say piteously. “You have to help me.”

“This is becoming a recurrent theme in our lives.”

“What?” Her meaning sinks in, and I grimace. “Yeah, it’s certainly not good for mysavoirfaire.”

“Alright, Terry Thomas.”

“I wish I was him,” I say morosely, thinking of our five-hour marathon of his films last week. “He was always so wonderfully blasé about everything.”

“He probably didn’t shag a different man every night, though.”

“Yeah, there is that. And it’s only been one man this holiday,” I say indignantly.

She grabs my case, and I start to draw things off their hangers and throw them in. She then takes them out and folds them neatly while I prepare another handful. “Yes, and why do you think that is, Bee?”

“What?” I dart into the bathroom and grab my toothbrush. Then I brush my teeth while cramming stuff into my washbag. It takes me three tries to get the zipper closed and then I chuck it to her. She looks at me expectantly and I remember her question. My stomach roils at the implications, and I groan. “Please, not now. I’m hungover, my arse hurts, and I’m late again.”

“You’re like a very louche white rabbit.” I scramble into my clothes and shoes and, as an afterthought, hand her my toothbrush. She tuts. “And sometimes you can beverytrying.”

The next hour is full of bustle as everyone rushes about packing suitcases and cleaning the flats. I see Tom in passing, but there’s always someone with him, so I don’t have time to talkto him. It’s probably a good job because I’m not entirely sure what I’d want to say anyway.

Finally, everything is done, and we haul our cases downstairs. Theo hefts Georgina’s case. “Jesus, Georgie, did you buy Edinburgh?”

She shakes her head, and they start to bicker about luggage, both perfectly content.

Tom comes to stand next to me as Sal hands in our cards. “Alright?” he asks in a low voice.

I sneak a look at him to find him watching me with an expression I can’t quite work out. It’s a blend of anxiousness and affection that makes nerves squirm in my belly. Not for the first time, I wish people were as easy to work out as algebra.

“Yes,” I say. I hesitate, stuck for what to say with everyone around us listening. I wish I didn’t feel so awkward in groups of people. The trouble is I have too much going on in my head for anything to come out in coherent form.

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

Before I can respond, Sal approaches. “Shake a leg, everyone,” she says. “We’re done.” Tom glares at her but she just ruffles his hair. “Let’s go home.”

He turns reluctantly, and I follow, wondering what he was going to say.

We get outside and find Steven waiting in the courtyard. He’s dressed in a suit and long coat and checking his phone with his luggage neatly packed at his feet.

I sneak a look at my own case, where a shirt hangs out of the bit that we hadn’t managed to force the zip around. I put it behind me.

“Alright?” he says coolly. “Goodness, you do all lookdreadful. I started the day with a gym workout and a swim. You should try and do that rather than drinking like alcohol is going to be outlawed at any second.”

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