Page 28 of The Key to My Heart

‘Who is actually Shauna. Who I talk to every single week. Who I love and look to like an oracle.’

Tom laughs, and now I know, it’s so obvious. Tom has Shauna’s nose, and the cleft in the chin. The crinkles by the eyes when he smiles – they’re hers too.

Tom straightens, adjusts the strap of his rucksack that’s tossed over his shoulder. ‘So, do you wanna … walk or something? I’ve got an hour to kill and you look like you might need it.’

I nod, just once. I know what Shauna has said about her sons, and if she’s telling the truth, as oracles often do, he wouldn’t be the worst person to talk to. And I need to – to talk to someone that isn’t going to look at me like Lucy did, over granola and unsolicited jacket potatoes.

‘Sure,’ I say. Then, ‘It’s my birthday.’

Tom’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Today?’

‘Yup.’

‘Well, that’s …tragic, Natalie. Seriously.’

‘Thanks very much, Tom.’

‘We need to at least get you a cake,’ he says, holding out a hand. ‘And a tissue for your eyes, too. You’re looking like a Tracy Emin sketch, sitting there. Not a good look.’ He flashes a smile as I get to my feet. ‘For you. But especially for me.’

Tom leads us out of the station and onto Camley Street. The May sun is out now, high and proud, and the air is a thick mixture of warm, damp pavements, garlic from nearby restaurants and exhaust fumes.

‘You, er, ever been to the nature reserve?’ Tom asks, looking up and down the busy road, waiting for a space between traffic to reveal itself.

‘There’s a nature reserve? In King’s Cross?’

Tom looks to his side at me and smiles, a breeze ruffling his dark hair. ‘Yep. First time I ever saw a heron was at this place, believe it or not.’ We cross the road to the opposite pavement, leafier and greener than the other side, as a moped buzzes by, like an overgrown bee. ‘So, the heron – take a guess at what it had in its mouth.’

‘Erm, I don’t know. What do they even eat?’

‘Well,guess.’

‘Um. A fish?’

‘Boring.’

‘Okay – a margarita then?’ I smile.

He grins. ‘Surprisingly, way off.’

‘Guacamole?Huevos Rancheros?’

‘Amazingly, still way off,’ he laughs. ‘A rat.’

‘Oh myGod.’

‘I know. So, so grim. I took some photos. I’ll have to show you some time. Heron with massive rat.’

‘Um. Sure.’

‘Ah, come on, Natalie,’ he says, nudging an arm to mine, ‘that’s one of my best lines.’

Tom slows, as we come to a dropped kerb – an entranceway – and a pair of tall, wrought-iron gates, like those at the entrance to a zoo in a children’s book. An arched metal sign above spellsCamley Street Natural Park.

‘God,’ I say, ‘I had no idea this was here.’

‘It’s a cool little place,’ he replies. ‘And maybe we’ll see another heron.’

‘With arat,’ I say, following Tom down the wide pathway.

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