Page 22 of On Circus Lane

“Mate.” They high-five.

I smile. “Well, if you’re sure, I’d love it. The room is gorgeous.”

Tom looks far too pleased for someone who’s just given up a panoramic view of the city for one that probably looks out on the courtyard’s bins. “Okay, sorted. We’ll unpack and meet in the lounge in an hour, okay?”

I nod and watch them go. When the door closes behind them, the room seems oddly quiet. I have to laugh at myself. Am I craving the company of people I barely know?

I spend a few happy minutes looking at the view. My whole life has been about my studies. So, while I could give you a more detailed map of Oxford and around my university in London than a cartographer could manage, I don’t know much of the outside world, and I have a powerful yearning to see art and places I’ve only ever read about. I grin, excited for the week ahead.

After retrieving my suitcase from the foyer and heaving it onto the bed, I open it and pull out the contents. I stare at the items for a moment, scratching my head. I dimly remember throwing stuff in here in a complete panic, but I’m coming to the conclusion that I must have still been drunk. That, or I thought I was coming to a tropical island.

There are five pairs of shorts, three T-shirts, and a pair of Union Jack flip-flops that my dad had given me for some odd reason.

“Shit.” I pull my phone out of my back pocket and tap Ivy’s smiling contact picture.

“Hey,” she answers, her voice high and excited. In the background, I can hear someone laughing. “Aren’t these apartmentsamazing?”

“They are lovely,” I say dutifully. “Less lovely are the contents of my suitcase.”

“Why?”

“Do you remember saying you’d pack for me this morning, but Past Bee said he wouldn’t dream of troubling you?”

“Yes, although I don’t remember there being quite so many flowery words.”

“Well, I wish Past Bee had been a little less chivalrous.”

She snorts. “What have you got?”

“Enough for a holiday in Bora Bora. Chilly Edinburgh, not so much.”

She starts to laugh. “You’re going to have to go shopping.”

“Oh no,” I groan. “You know Ihatedoing that.”

“Pretend you’re shopping for a visit to a museum.”

“You’re absolutely no help.”

She laughs harder. “Promise me you’ll wear your swimming costume for our first group dinner.”

“Goodbye. I’m off to pick another friend.”

She lowers her voice. “Try Tom. He’s looking at you very friendly.”

“Why would I need to know that fact? Have you been drinking?”

She snorts. “You know I’m telling the truth.”

“Goodbye, ex-friend,” I say repressively, clicking to end the call and shut off her laughter.

I grab my washbag and take it into the bathroom. “At least this should be okay,” I mutter. I unzip it and then stare in dismay. I’ve packed self-tan cream for someone with a darker skin tone. I don’t know why I even have it, because I’m as pale as Casper the Ghost. Joining this tube is some Volteral and a prostate wand. The latter always comes in useful, and obviously, I’ll need the self-tan because I’ll be displaying more of myself on the streets of Edinburgh than is usually advisable in December.

“Fuck me. I’d better make a list.”

I wander into the lounge much earlier than the hour Tom specified. It only took two minutes to unpack summer gear and a sex toy. I smile involuntarily as I see Tom lying on the sofa watching TV.

“What are you watching?” I ask, slumping onto the tweedy sofa that is surprisingly comfy.

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