Merry Measure - Lily Morton Page 0,49

food. She sets them down on the table with a bang, but then melts as Jack thanks her earnestly with his sweet smile.

I nudge him when she’s gone. “So, you bought us food?”

He grins. “Of course I’ve bought you breakfast, Arlo. I don’t need you getting hangry in Van Gogh’s museum.”

I look down at the plate of Pannekoeken—Dutch pancakes with bacon. I’d discovered a love of them yesterday and ate three in one go. “God, I’m starving.”

He passes me my cutlery, and for a while, there’s a comfortable silence as we eat our food, interspersed with the odd word or two. When I’ve finished, I push my plate back with a happy sigh. “God, that was good. Much nicer than the hotel breakfast.”

He eyes me. “Really? Even the truffle oil?”

I wrinkle my nose. “The hotel is a bit stuffy. I much prefer this. It feels more real sitting in a small cafe with the sun on our faces and this lovely view.” And you, I think, eyeing his face and the windblown waves of his dark hair. I love sitting with you.

My phone beeps with a text and I look down and laugh, extending the screen so Jack can see it.

Tom: You owe me, Arlo. A LOT!!!

I tap a response.

Me: I don’t. But for the sake of my curiosity, why do I owe you?

Tom: Because Steven has decided that to save face, he’s still got to come out with us, and he’s not thrilled about Freddy’s choice of museum.

Me: Which is?

Tom: The Heineken exhibit.

I start to laugh. “Oh my God, the thought of Steven in a brewery museum. It’s just too wonderful.”

Jack shakes his head. “Is it wrong that I’m happy to be on my own with you?” He immediately looks shocked at what just came out of his mouth.

I repress a smile. “Not at all. You’re just a superb judge of character.” I watch as an old man rides by on an ancient-looking bike. “Pieter wasn’t kidding about the lack of flashy bikes,” I say. “That looks like the one my mum rides about on.”

“She’d like it here,” Jack says.

“Well, of course, she would. Bikes and blow. It’s a dream come true for the woman.”

He laughs. “Did Tom arrange a room for them?”

I nod. “One room for them and one for Sally. They’re all coming out on our last day. Sally’s on a course in Belgium. She’s flying straight here and meeting Mum and Dad at the airport. Tom and Bee can then have a day with them all on their own.”

“And what will you do?”

I shoot him a glance. Spend some more time with you. “Oh, I’ll go home,” I say lightly. “Unfortunately, by plane.”

Something crosses over his face, but then he smiles at me and checks his watch. “Time to go, or we’ll miss our slot.”

It doesn’t take us long to reach the museum, Jack’s long legs eating up the distance and me trotting alongside him. He moves through Amsterdam as if he was born here, never once stopping to look at a map. The only delays are caused by me stopping to take hundreds of photos.

“Hmm,” I say, staring up at the unprepossessing building. It’s made of grey granite and doesn’t exactly look like it houses a world-famous art collection.

Jack smiles. “All the colour is inside where it should be.”

I follow him in, and he’s immediately proved right as we find ourselves in a huge, airy room open to the roof with big windows through which the sunlight pours and lays lazy waves on the wooden floor.

Jack is practically vibrating with excitement, and I don’t even try to repress my smile.

“What?” he asks as I gesture for his coat.

“You,” I say as we head over to the coat-check counter. “You’re like the human equivalent of a packet of spacedust.” I hand the woman our coats and glance back at him with a smile. I catch him looking at my arse, and I raise my eyebrows at the guilty look that comes over his face.

“Why would you say that?” he asks hurriedly.

“You’re like an artistic bloodhound.”

I take the ticket from the woman and shove it in my jeans pocket. “Okay, Mr Cooper. Show me some Van Gogh.”

“Do you like him?” he asks as we start up the stairs.

I shrug. “His paintings have never really appealed to me.” He looks suddenly anxious, so I quickly add, “But I’ve only ever seen them on school trips to galleries, or as cheap prints in souvenir shops. I’m sure this will