Merry Measure - Lily Morton Page 0,7

believe that we’re here so Tom can propose to Bee. My brother. Our Tom.”

He smiles. “He’s ready, and Bee’s perfect for him.”

“He definitely is,” I say fervently. “I can’t imagine anyone else putting up with Tom.”

I’ve loved my spiky brother-in-law-to-be since the first time Tom brought him home. The two of them had met on holiday in Scotland through mutual friends, and it had been instant hatred. According to them, that shifted over the holiday, and as soon as Tom came home, we all knew he’d met someone special. Probably because he had more hearts flying around him than a card shop on Valentine’s Day.

Bee is a student currently doing his PhD. He’s scarily intelligent, but he’s funny and kind and loves Tom madly. He also doesn’t put up with any bullshit from my brother. It’s like he has magical Tom powers—he levels him with a look or makes him laugh, and Tom’s occasional arsehole tendencies vanish.

I look around curiously as Pieter steers the car onto a road where cars immediately seem to come at us from everywhere.

“It’s busy,” Jack says.

I bet if Pieter had ten euros for every time some passenger says that, he would be chauffeuring people around in a car made of gold.

However, Pieter nods happily. “The city is full at the moment. People have come for Christmas shopping and to see the lights.” He shrugs. “And then there are the residents. There are over eight hundred thousand people in Amsterdam and well over a million bicycles. That’s one and a half bicycles per person.”

“I’m sure the half makes all the difference,” I say idly.

Pieter laughs. “Be careful, though,” he warns us. “The bicycles have the right of way, and there are many of them. You must look left and right when crossing the roads.” He chuckles. “And then do it again for safety.”

I look around with interest as we drive through a built-up area. Tramlines spread across the road like veins on the back of a hand, and there are bikes parked everywhere. They stand in groups like mothers waiting outside school for their children. It’s a bit like London with lots of ordinary shops and butchers and flats, and I feel a little disappointed. Then we turn a corner and cross a bridge over a canal, and I inhale in delight. Tall, old houses slumber in the winter sunshine, towering over the canal and the myriad barges moored there.

“Oh wow,” I say softly.

Jack smiles at me, squeezing my hand. “You like it?” he asks.

I nod, my eyes everywhere. “It’s amazing. I’ve always wanted to come here.”

“Did you not do it in your first year at uni when you backpacked with your mate?”

I shake my head. “No, Evan and I did Europe, but we missed out on Amsterdam.” I’m glad I’m seeing it with Jack by my side, but I don’t add that.

“A lot of these roads were once canals,” Pieter says. “But they were reclaimed because we needed the roads.”

“For the bikes?” I say.

“Absolutely, yes.” Pieter smiles. “It is a way of life. You’ll notice that none of these bicycles are expensive, though.” I had actually wondered about that, because they all look ancient. Pieter carries on. “That is because we do not believe in shiny new things. If you had a brand-new bicycle that was very expensive, you would stand out like …” He searches for the phrase. “… like a sore thumb,” he says triumphantly.

“Really? I can’t imagine that in London. Bikes are status symbols like cars over there. Flashy and expensive with everyone wearing the best gear. The other day a child cycled past me, and I swear she was better kitted out than Bradley Wiggins.”

Pieter nods. “Even the king rides an old bike. You can often see him cycling around the streets of Amsterdam. Very happy.” The car slows, and we turn down a street alongside a canal. “We are nearly there,” he says.

I look out of the window eagerly. Tom arranged for us to stay in the Jordaan neighbourhood, and it turns out to be lovely, with gracious old buildings and cobbled streets. Funky shops and restaurants glow in the early evening light. Then we turn down a small road, and Pieter pulls to a stop. My mouth drops open. The pictures in the brochure Tom sent me didn’t do the extraordinary hotel justice. The building is formed from ten Golden Age canal houses; it’s six storeys high with lovely gables and tall windows and sits placidly beside a peaceful