Page 24 of On Circus Lane

We follow the others, dipping and weaving through the crowds. We pass bars and restaurants already full of people. Street performers and buskers spill noise near a cathedral that stands still and imposing like a parent observing a children’s party.

“St Giles Cathedral,” Tom calls over to me.

Ivy nudges me, and I ignore her, focusing intently on the buildings. I’m beginning to notice charming little details—a pair of carved dragons guarding the entrance to a side street, a buttress under a bay window that spirals like a fruit twister lolly.

“So, is it nice sharing with the girls?” I ask Ivy.

“So lovely. I don’t know why I was nervous about it.”

“Because they’reworkfriends.”

She elbows me companionably. “Thank you for coming anyway.”

“Ah, well, maybe I think it was a good idea, too,” I say, keeping my eyes firmly off Tom’s broad shoulders and luscious arse. She smirks, and I lightly demand, “Shut up.”

The others come to a stop. Ivy shudders as we observe what’s in our path. “Stairs.”

“Ugh,” I agree. “Not just stairs. Stairs on steroids.” The steps ahead of us are stone and steep and seem to wind endlessly up to the sky. “I knew I should have gone to the gym on legs day.”

“Or just gone at all.”

“Must you yuck my yum?”

She skips up the steps as nimbly as a mountain goat—or someone who goes to the gym to use it properly and not to ogle men in tiny shorts. The others follow her.

Sighing in resignation, I start to climb.

I’m barely twenty steps up when I falter. “JesusChrist,” I gasp to no one. “Is the air thin around here?”

The good news is I’m no longer bothered about my coat keeping me warm. I’m now sweating as if I’ve done the LondonMarathon. The bad news is I’m also panting like a dog. I move to the side to let the queue that’s formed behind me get past and fumble for my inhaler.

Footsteps sound, and I look up to see Tom coming back down the stairs. “Alright?” he asks, his grey eyes concerned.

I wave my inhaler at him, my face getting hotter. “Just taking a puff.”

He stands next to me, leaning his back against the wall. Two men pass, tutting and glaring at me for keeping them waiting. To my surprise, Tom straightens up with a frown on his handsome face. “Can I help you?” he snaps.

They scuttle past, disappearing into the distance, which could possibly be heaven, considering the incline of these stairs.

“Sorry,” I wheeze.

“You can’t help having asthma.”

I take another breath of the inhaler, holding it in as I was taught years ago. Eventually, I manage to croak, “Yes, but I could possibly help being chronically unfit and preferring eating crisps to going to the gym.”

He laughs, and I eye him. “You have the look of someone who likes the gym,” I observe.

“Was that meant to be said in the same tone of voice you’d use to discuss Jeffery Dahmer hogging the meat end of the buffet?”

I start to laugh. “It is a character deficit, in my personal opinion, but probably not as much as serial cannibalism at the all-you-can-eat.”

He chuckles, and to my surprise, he stays beside me, leaning against the wall companionably as I take more breaths.

Freddy is the next to appear. “What’s up?” he calls.

I groan. The last thing I want on our first day is to be identified as the group's weak link.

“I needed a break,” Tom calls.

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