Page 102 of On Circus Lane

“Babe, he’s going to say yes. You do know that, don’t you?”

“I think so.”

“Tom!”

“Okay, I know he’ll say yes. It’s just that it has to be perfect. He’s too important to me to fuck it up.”

“You and your romantic gestures,” she says affectionately. “Just on average, how many of them go the way you planned them?”

I consider that. “Thirty per cent, and I think that might be a generous estimation. Oh mygod.”

“Babe, calm down. I’m just saying that he thinks you hang the moon, the stars, and entire solar systems. Everything you do is wonderful to him. This proposal will be exactly the same.”

“Are you sure?”

I reach into my pocket and bring out the small velvet box I’ve been carrying around for weeks. I flick open the lid and look at the band. It’s a simple platinum band with one diamond on it because that’s what he is to me—hard and bright to the world, but one of a kind to me. The symbol 1/∞ has been engraved on the inside. I googled “How to say I love you in maths” and got this equation. I love it because it apparently symbolises a love that is so big that no numbers can represent it, and that’s how I feel about Bee. I have zero doubts that Bee will argue about theaccuracy of the equation, just as I have zero doubts that he’ll love it, too.

Ivy carries on talking. “I’m absolutely positive, babe. You’reitfor him. I’m just so sad I can’t make it to Amsterdam. Bloody work.”

“It’s fine, Ives. We’ll see you and Sal afterwards when my parents get there. It’ll be quieter when everyone else goes home. We’ll go out for a few meals.”

“As long as we go out for those meals and Bee isn’t cooking them.”

I shudder. “I promise.”

“That’s a sacred oath, Tom. Ithasto mean something.”

I chuckle. Bee has taken to cooking with the enthusiasm he always has about learning a new hobby. Unfortunately, it’s not going as well as his fencing or pottery classes. For someone whose career revolves around writing instructions, he appears unable to follow even the simplest recipes. He’ll get so far with everything looking nice and then suddenly go completely off-piste and add an ingredient that he swears will work. News flash, it doesn’t. I shudder at the thought of the Bolognese he made last week and reach into a kitchen cupboard to grab a tube of Rennies to put in my pocket.

“He says he’s cooking Christmas dinner today,” I confide.

“Oh god,” she says in a tone of hushed horror. “He’ll probably put cinnamon with the turkey like he did with that broccoli the other night.” I laugh, and she says, “I need you to ring me as soon as you’ve done it.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Love you, Tom.”

“Love you too, Ives.”

I click to end the call and listen out. Still silence. “You ready?” I call.

“Absolutelyready. I’ve just got to do this one small thing.”

I shake my head and wander out into the hall. We’re not due to leave for another hour, but he doesn’t know that. I’ve learnt that if I start making motions that we have to get ready, it still takes him at least an hour to tear himself away from anything. I examine the bannisters that I’m currently restoring and grab the sandpaper. I might as well fit in a bit of work while I’m waiting.

We bought this old house four months ago. Close to Bee’s university, it’s an Edwardian terraced house on a quiet street lined with lime trees. It belonged to an old lady who hadn’t worked on it for years, so it’s definitely a long-term project. It will need a new roof at some point, and the entire upstairs needs plastering, not to mention a new bathroom. We’re looking at having no money until we’re dead, but the walled garden has cherry trees lining it that Bee swears will be beautiful in the spring, and he’s passionately attached to the fireplaces with their original tiles. And when we close the door, it’s just us in our home.

I love living with him. He’s my best friend and lover, all rolled into one quirky and fiercely clever bundle. I never grow tired of hearing what’s running through his head. I knew he was special the moment I met him, and that conviction has solidified over the last year.

What did surprise me is how invested he is in me and us. He’s so clever I’d considered it inevitable he’d be a bit distant in a relationship, but I’d been completely wrong. He always listens to everything I say, which makes me feel ten feet tall.

He’s also fiercely protective. I remember being at one of his department parties, and one of his colleagues was incredibly rude. I hadn’t been spoken to like I was five since I was…well, five. I’d let it go, not wanting to make a fuss, but Bee had no such reservations, and he’d been sharp enough that the bloke had immediately apologised. I’d worried that it would affect Bee’s position in the department, but apparently the bloke has beensuper friendly since. The thing is, I know that Bee would still have done it even if he’d known there was going to be an adverse reaction.

He’s my protector and friend, and every aspect of my life interests him, even down to my Sunday morning football team. I know he’s busy and tired, and he could easily have a lie in, and I’d never have begrudged him that. I’d been amazed when he turned up for the first match—a small figure with the green-coloured hair he was trying at the time and my parka that drowned his figure. He’s continued coming every week, and now he’s a familiar sight standing on the sidelines cheering us on and taking to task anyone who shouts abuse at us.

His study door opens, and he appears, pushing his glasses up onto his nose. After a brief flirtation with purple hair dye, his hair is once more the brown tumble of waves that I secretly like best. I notice with a smile that he’s added a red streak to it this morning. He’s wearing black jeans, a Santa hat, and a bright red Christmas jumper on which is a humorous maths equation. He’d tried to explain the joke to me, but even Google wasn’t helping me with that one. I flick the bobble on his hat as he nears me, and it bounces against the sharp line of his jaw.

“Got everything done?” I smile as he walks into me, wraps his arms around my waist, and raises his face for a kiss. I oblige, sliding my tongue into his mouth and shuddering at the feel of his lithe body against mine. We made love this morning, but I’m always ready for him. Our sex life just gets better and better, which is probably because there’s such a lot of love underpinning it. We can sweat, groan, do anything, and try anything we feel like in bed, knowing we’ll curl up together and trade kisses and soft whispers afterwards.

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