Merry Measure - Lily Morton Page 0,68

huge Christmas tree in Dam Square in front of the Amsterdam Royal Palace. We take photos, before moving off and punctuating every two yards with another drink at another bar.

By the time we reach the Jordaan neighbourhood, we’re well gone, and I fling myself thankfully into a chair outside a little bar. There’s a patio heater near my chair, so it isn’t as cold as it should be, and I wrap the blanket that lies along the chair around me. The door to the bar opens, letting out a snatch of Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’, and Jack appears. He’s ruddy-cheeked, his hair has collapsed into a mess, and his eyes are bleary. He looks wonderful, and I smile at him, knowing I look besotted and not caring. I lift the blanket, and he slides in next to me.

“Alright?” he says and bends to kiss me. His lips are full and soft, and I can smell the sweetness of the blue Kamikaze shots we had.

“I am now,” I say, loving the cheesiness. He grins and pulls me closer to him. He’s lovely and warm, and I snuggle in. “Where are the others?” I ask.

“Diana and Bee nipped to the loo, and Freddy and Tom are waiting for the drinks. I ordered you an Irish coffee.”

“Lovely,” I say. I look out at the canal and the little bridge spanning it. It’s festooned with fairy lights and lit by the glow of an ornate lamp. A boat slides by, cutting through the water and breaking the reflection of the lights into hundreds of glittery pieces. On the other side of the canal, is a row of old canal houses, their uncurtained windows bright squares of light. The houses look warm and inviting, and I can see people busily living their lives. Through one window, two boys play on a games system, while through another, there’s a glamorous dinner party going on.

“It’s like looking in on the inhabitants of a row of dollhouses,” I say. “I remember Sally had this big old one when she was little.”

“I remember that,” he says.

“I was fascinated with it when the doors were closed, and you could look through the windows at the dolls.”

“You’re a closet peeper.” I snort, and he smiles. “You’d be at home here, then. Amsterdamers are well known for not closing their curtains at night.”

“Really?”

He nods. “They’re saying they have nothing to hide.”

“I like that,” I say softly.

“How do you feel?” he whispers. “Are you sore?”

I smile. “A bit, but I love that. I love knowing you’ve been in me. It’s a new sort of knowledge,” I say thoughtfully. “I mean I know so much about you already, but this other stuff is new. I want to find out everything.”

“We just need to get to know each other in a different sense. As lovers,” he says. “We have all the time in the world.”

“Alright, Louis Armstrong.”

He laughs and looks up as Tom and Freddy come out, placing the drinks in front of us. I pick mine up, inhaling the scent of coffee and whisky and cradling the hot mug in my palms.

“You alright?” I ask Tom. “You’ve been a bit quiet in the last two bars.” He’s also drinking heavier than I’ve seen him do before.

He shrugs. “I thought I’d be engaged by now,” he says disconsolately. His voice catches and slurs and his eyes are slightly crossed. He’s utterly pissed.

“You will be,” I say softly. “But in the spirit of honesty, the only thing that’s holding you back is the fact that you haven’t actually asked him yet.”

“I know.” He sighs. “I just wanted it to be perfect for him.”

“There’s no such thing,” I say, standing up to hug my brother and feeling an overwhelming surge of love for him. “Look at Mum and Dad. They met when he was wearing head-to-toe leather, and she was dressed as a porno spacewoman, and he threw up in the Hot Gossip dressing room. A nightmare for anyone else, but somehow it was perfect for them.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he slurs and points at me. Well, he obviously thinks he’s pointing at me. He’s actually pointing at a nervous-looking couple nearby and is staring at me like I’m David Icke.

“You’re right,” he says loudly, banging his hand down on the table for emphasis. “You’re always right, Arlo.”

“You’ve obviously had more than enough to drink now, Tom,” Jack says.

“Oi,” I say, pinching his waist. “Don’t spoil this, Jack. In fact, have you got your phone?”

“Why?”

“I need you to record