Page 17

Chapter Two

The wind is icy cold, and the wind blows my hair back as we walk along the streets. I cuddle closer to Tom, and his hand tightens on mine. He shoots me a smile, his grey eyes glowing in the gloomy light.

“Alright?” he asks.

“Fine. It’s cold, though.” I pull my coat around me and snuggle into the warmth. I have a sneaking fondness for it, as the memory of buying it with Tom is cherished.

“We’ll definitely have some snow. I saw it on the local news this morning.”

“How did you interpret the forecast? You don’t speak Dutch.”

“The symbol for snow is pretty universal.”

I shoot him an affectionate look. He’s obsessed with the weather, which I suppose is down to his job. When you work outside, it’s rather important to know what weather conditions you’re going to deal with. He should have a hotline to the Met Office, given the number of times he checks their site. He’s very hardy, though. I’ve seen Tom go out to work in temperatures that would make me curl up under the duvet and refuse to come out.

We pass the station, and I follow as he forges a path down narrow streets. “So, where are we going?” I ask.

“Have I ever answered that question on one of my many surprises?”

I nudge him, unable to keep the smile off my mouth. “Never, but it’s always worth a try.”

“No need anyway because we’re here.”

I look at the sign on the narrow building. “ Café In ’t Aepjen ,” I read.

“It’s one of the only two remaining wooden buildings in Amsterdam.”

“Why so few? Fire?”

He nods. “The aepjen bit means monkey.”

“Okay. That’s unusual.”

“Babe, you haven’t heard anything yet,” he says as he steers me into the café bar.

The heat feels fantastic, and I look around with interest as we remove our coats. Tall glass windows show the street outside, but inside, it’s like going back in time. The café is wood-panelled with a beamed ceiling, and old Dutch advertising posters line the walls. The dim lighting makes it feel cosy, and the furniture looks old and comfortable. In one corner is the bar, which is made of polished wood, and the bottles behind it gleam in the low light. Stools topped in green leather flank the bar, and I notice a statue of three bronze monkeys grinning at me.

Tom leads me to a table tucked in the corner. “This okay?” he asks.

I nod, grabbing my camera. “It’s amazing.”

Pleasure lights his pretty eyes. “I knew you’d like it. I’ll go and grab some drinks while you take pictures.”

I watch him walk towards the bar, his stride easy and fluid. He’s wearing jeans that cling to his arse and a black jumper that shows off those broad shoulders of his. I snap a photo of him leaning on the bar talking and then wander the café. There are only a few customers — two sets of couples and a group of older people talking in American accents. I nod and smile at them and start to snap pictures.

A wooden staircase that goes nowhere — as it abruptly ends at the ceiling — earns a photo, and then I gaze along the shelves lining the room. Interesting bric-a-brac with old bottles and jars are crammed on them, and I notice the preponderance of monkeys amongst the ephemera. There are numerous little monkey statues, and monkeys feature heavily in the artwork. I savour the sound of my camera clicking away.

Tom comes back, and I snap another of him, catching the wavy brown hair and the strong face I think I could spend the rest of my life looking at and loving.

“What have you got?” I ask as I sit down at the little table. He unloads a plate of cheese and two small, tulip-shaped glasses filled to the brim with a clear liquid.

“Jenever. It’s the Dutch version of gin.”

I take a sip and taste the spicy juniper. “Wow, that’s potent,” I say, coughing.

He chuckles. “Shame we didn’t have this when Steven was here.”

I roll my eyes. “He doesn’t improve with distance, does he?”

“He’s a narcissist. They don’t tend to.”

I frown. “I hope he doesn’t cause trouble for Jack.”

“Nah. You know Jack. If it’s finished for him, he’s done. The fact that it lasted as long as it did is a testament to Steven being in another country for most of their relationship.”

I consider this. Should I tell him I saw Jack and Arlo embracing at the museum? I speak to him about everything, but something tells me to let this play out and not involve Tom. I’m sure Jack and Arlo are worried about Tom’s reactions, but they don’t need to be. I know my boyfriend, and he’s incredibly loyal and protective to the people he considers family, and that includes his friends. If Jack is serious about Arlo, and I know he is, then Tom will be fine. He’s the most loving man I know. I kiss him on impulse, tasting the juniper on his lips.

“What was that for?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.

“Can a boy not kiss the man he loves?”

He smiles and kisses me. “Absolutely.”

He sits back and pushes the cheese to me. “Eat some of that. The jenever is strong. I don’t think it’s traditionally served with food, but the Dutch must be a hardy race in that case because they’ll be rolling us out of here.”

“How long have we got before we meet them at Westergas?” I love being with our friends, but I also treasure the times when it’s just us.

He checks his watch. “We’ve got a couple of hours. I said we’d meet them there, so we can wander after this, and you can take more photos.”

“I love being with you,” I say fiercely.

He squeezes my hand. “Same, babe.” The simple honesty in his voice makes me feel warm all the way through.

“Okay, tell me about this place and the monkeys,” I demand. “I’m intrigued.”

He leans closer. “The place dates back to the sixteenth century. It was an inn where sailors could stay the night. Legend says if they couldn’t pay their bar bill and their lodgings, they would give the owner the monkeys they’d brought back from their overseas voyages.”

I gape at him. “Really? What did the owner do with the monkeys?”

“I knew you’d be worried about that,” he says affectionately. “A bar regular had some land, so he took them and kept them on his grounds, and that place became the Artis Royal Zoo.” He pauses, his eyes twinkling. “Or so the story goes.”

“It’s not true?”

He shrugs. “Who knows? It’s not unusual for landlords to make up stories to get customers in. Are you disappointed?”

I consider the question. “No, not at all. The tale is fascinating in itself.” I wrinkle my nose and lean closer. “But I have to tell you I am going to take the monkey story as the truth.”

He strokes a strand of my hair back. “Why?”

“Because I like it better, of course.” He laughs, and I explain, “I like the idea of naughty monkeys swinging around here and then going somewhere nice to live out their lives rather than being cramped up on a ship where they wouldn’t have had room to move.”

He grabs my hand and drops a kiss on my fingers. “When I first met you, I never guessed you had such a streak of sentimentality.”

“Just make sure you don’t tell anyone.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“It’s your fault anyway.”

“Why?”

“I’ve obviously caught it from you and your family. You’re contagious.”

He laughs, the merry sound drawing a few smiles from the people nearby. “That’s the first time it’s been said. Is that a good or a bad thing?”

I shake my head, but I know my eyes are soft. “Tom, anything with you is good. Don’t you know that yet? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He opens his mouth and then hesitates. “What?” I ask.

“Bee—”

There’s a sudden sound of glass shattering, and we both look over to see the barman laughing as he clears away a broken bottle. When I look back at Tom, he’s watching me, his eyes warm. “What were you going to say?” I ask.

He smiles. “It’ll keep.”

“Will it?”

“Oh yes.”

“And will you tell me at some point what is actually going on?”

His eyes are mysterious, full of unexplained thoughts and feelings. Then he blinks, and all that remains is love and affection. “I can promise that you will definitely be the first to know.”

I feel a tingle of excitement. I’ve always hated surprises. I like to know the why and where of everything. But after a year with Tom, I’ve come to know that his surprises are always amazing, maybe because they come from a place of love and caring and a desire to make life special for me. If only he knew that he does that just by being himself.

I grin at him. “Keep your secrets, then.”

“For now, anyway,” he says serenely.