Page 98 of On Circus Lane

“That was a complete accident,” I say huffily. “I put my foot on the phone.”

“Well, it was definitely one for the family memory books.”

“What do you want?”

“We just wanted to know you’d got there safely. The added bonus was listening to you swear and breathe heavily. Rather like an old boyfriend I used to have.”

“That’s justwrong, Arlo.”

“I love these little chats we have.”

“I think he’s home. His light is on.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because I don’t want to wake people up.”

“Why don’t you ever think that about me?”

“You don’t count.”

“I’m truly wounded.” He pauses and I hear Jack saying something in the background. “So, we want to know if you’re going to do something? Ring a bell maybe?”

“No.” I look around and a brilliant idea occurs to me. “I’m going to throw snowballs at his window.”

“What thefuck? Why?”

“It’s romantic.”

“Whanging shit at people’s windows is not romantic. It’s asking for a trip in a policeman’s car.”

“No, it’s romantic,” I insist. “He’s got this Juliet balcony and when he looks down, it’ll be like Romeo and Juliet.”

“Did Romeo throw shit at his bird? I must have fallen asleep at school and missed that bit. Anyway,Romeo and Julietis not a romance, Tom. They both die.”

I pause in scooping up some snow. “So why does everyone say it’s a romance?”

“I don’t know. Why does everyone say that eating broccoli is good for you? The world is a strange place.”

I cradle the phone under my chin as I gather more snow and roll it into a compact ball. “Well, here goes nothing,” I say.

I throw the snowball at Bee’s window. It lands with a soft thunk right on target.

“Woo-hoo,” I crow far too loudly.

“Has he come out?” Arlo asks.

“No, but you missed a spectacular throw. It was like when I played cricket for the under elevens.”

“Unlike my attempt at cricket, where Dad attended and said I ran like the Bionic Man after drinking five tons of Campari. I still don’t know who that bloke was, but Dad kept shouting, ‘Don’t panic. We can rebuild him.’”

“I remember him finding that hilarious,” I say fondly. “The cricket teacher, not so much.” I shake my head. “No movement from the flat so far. Let’s go for another one.”

“Oh, by all means.”

I gather another handful of snow and roll it into a ball and pull my arm back.

Then two things happen. Bee’s window opens, and he looks out over the balcony, his hair ruffled and his eyes bleary. Unfortunately, my arm jerks and I let go of the snowball. I watch, horrified, as it spins through the air and hits Bee in theface with the force of a missile. He promptly gives a squawk and falls backwards into his flat. There’s a loud crash and the light goes out.

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