Page 97 of On Circus Lane

I shake my head. “Well, I’m off. I may be some time,” I proclaim.

They all smile and wave at me with varying degrees of inebriation, and I grin back, pleased with my idea. I walk into the hallway, my dad following me, and pull my coat on. “Alright?” I ask.

“You’ll struggle to get a bus.”

I shake my head. “It’s only a couple of miles away. I’ll walk.”

“You’re serious about this lad, aren’t you?”

I stop in the middle of winding my scarf around my neck. “When I first saw him something inside me stopped and said, ‘Thisone.’”

He stares at me. “Like me with your mum?” he says, awed.

I nod. “I know it’s ridiculous, Dad, but there’s something different about this one. There’s something about him that’s…”

I pause and he grins at me. “Yours?”

“I knew you’d get it.”

He comes closer, pulling me into a hug. “Then go for it,” he says. He steps back and gives me his crooked smile. “And then bring him home so he can meet us all.”

“He’ll love you,” I say with complete certainty. I can see Bee in the midst of us. He’ll fit in so well.

He kisses my forehead and then pulls my hat over my head, tucking in my hair the way he used to do when we were kids.

“Off you go then, Sir Galahad,” he says, opening the door. He blinks. “Man, it’s snowing hard.” He winks at me. “Christmas, eh?”

“Love you, Dad,” I call as I walk out into it.

“Ring when you get there,” he orders and shuts the door.

I stand looking at the snow tumbling heavily around the old, detached house on the quiet street. I pull a strand of mistletoe off the tree in the front garden and tuck it in my beanie for good luck. Then with hope and excitement filling me, along with a hefty dose of eggnog, I start walking.

London looks magical tonight. Snow falls over the houses and shops, making the mundane look suddenly beautiful. Cars are covered in white, windows glow bright with fairy lights, and I can hear snatches of Christmas music and laughter as I pass by houses. The wind blows and I nestle close into my coat, seeing my breath on the air.

I pass the odd worker heading home, but by and large, I’m on my own, and I think of that moment on Circus Lane when Bee and I had danced in the snow. It had felt like magic, but the ordinary kind that makes life better.

I wonder what he’s doing. I know he was going to be on his own on Christmas Day and was then going to see his dad on Boxing Day. For the first time it occurs to me that he might not be alone. I remember the way he’d sacked off that bloke, and then I recall the handshake he’d given me, and I stop dead in the middle of the street.Has he gone out and pulled today?

My stomach turns and then I remember other things. The way he seemed to come alive under my attention. The shy smile that he only gave to me. The way we confided in each other. I remember all of that and then I start to run, my feet slipping on the snow and splashing my legs in coldness. I need to see him.

A man reels up the road towards me, clearly pissed. “Oi, where’s the… Where’s the fire?” he slurs.

I give him a wave. “I’m off to get my bloke,” I call.

He snorts and gives me a theatrical bow that sets his balance off, so he lurches into a bush. “Off with you then, Sir Lancelot,” he calls from the depths. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” I pick up speed. “Merry Christmas to you,” I shout. He echoes the sentiment.

When I finally get to Bee’s flat, I stop to catch my breath and bless the fact that I keep fit. Even though I’m used to running, I’m hot. I raise my head, the cold air striking my face. The snowis falling thickly now and gives everything that heavy, muffled sound.

My phone rings, and I fumble for it with cold fingers. “Yes?” I say breathlessly.

There’s a pause and then Arlo says, “Are you already with him?”

“What? No.” I look up at Bee’s balcony window. I remember Ivy waving from it at the start of our holiday. Now, it glows bright, with fairy lights sending spangly shadows over the snow on his balcony. “I’m outside his flat.”

“Oh, that’s a relief. I thought you’d answered the phone while shagging. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

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