Page 46 of The Key to My Heart

‘So, what, you don’t do relationships?’

Tom hesitates and gives a childlike smile. ‘Not really. And with good reason, I reckon.’

Me, being an unsuspecting stand-in at the bar sort of makes sense now. A puzzle piece slotting into place, and I stop myself leaning over and putting a hand on his, although in this moment I really want to. Because it’s sort of sad to think of Tom holding himself back from love. He is nothing like his dad. I know that about him already.

‘And crocodiles too,’ says Tom, reaching for a bag of opened crisps he’d tossed in the middle of the table when we first arrived. He opens them. ‘I’m definitely shit-scared of crocodiles. It’s the eyes, it’s the lumpy, weird skin …’

‘Love and crocodiles,’ I say. ‘An understandable combo, to be honest.’

Tom gives a crooked, guarded smile, eyebrows raised but says nothing, just jiggles the bag of crisps in his palm as if weighing it up. A wordless,‘… But that’s for another time.’

‘It’s koalas for me,’ I say. ‘They look like they’re dreaming up something. Something bad.’

Tom nods, earnestly. ‘Armed robbery,’ he says. ‘Eucalyptus trafficking. Wouldn’t put it past them.’

Walking back to the car later, with Tom, I feel floaty. Like weights have been removed from my shoes. That specific feeling you get after sharing an afternoon with someone. Like you’ve been in a vacuum, just you two, and an endless conversation you swear could go on for several years if you let it. And just having Tom say that –I’m here. Padlocked, it meant something. Shifted something.

‘Your mission is to find out what’s in Joe’s notebooks,’ says Tom. ‘I’m guessing bad poetry. Beachy Joe who writes in notebooks in cafés? Screams bad angsty poetry to me, Foxes, sorry, hate to break it to you.’ A smile breaks out on my face at the sound of him calling me Foxes.

‘Okay.Sherlock.’

‘Speakingof Sherlock,’ replies Tom. ‘I did manage to check the piano. But no luck, I’m afraid.’

‘I assumed,’ I say flatly. ‘Ugh, is it bad that sort of breaks my heart a bit? It was getting me up in the morning. That excitement of it.’

‘The spark.’

‘Yes. The spark. Exactly. God, that makes me sound like a right saddo, doesn’t it? My name’s Natalie and mystery paper is what excites me, how about you?Very normal.’

‘Ah, stop, you could never be a saddo.’ Tom slows by the car, swings the car key around his finger. ‘Although, I do have a theory. About your music.’

‘Do you?’

I circle to the passenger seat door. Someone holding a bunch of flowers waits at the door of a house behind me.

‘Maybe it stopped because Maxwell got caught and he’s secretly in love with you. Felt bad when you approached him. Didn’t want to torture you any longer.’

‘What?’

Tom laughs. ‘What? I thought it was a good one.’

‘It isn’t.’

‘I just feel like I might leave music for someone if I was in love with them—’

The person with the flowers is greeted with a whoop and a ‘oh, hello!’ and the door closes behind them, the knocker jingling as it slams.

‘I’m afraid you should stick to photos, Thomas Button. Your fan theories aren’t welcome here.’

Tom opens the car door and rolls his eyes. ‘Just get in.’

Chapter Fifteen

WhatsAppfrom Jodie:Good luck today, love! Where’s he taking you? (And that is not a bad euphemism, I genuinely am asking where, lol.)

WhatsAppfrom Priya:HAPPY WHITE TUX DAYYYY! Hope you have the best time! I want you to inject details into my eventless, bloated life asap btw. I’m living for it!!!

Today is one of those classic, airless summer days, which turns London into a raging furnace and morphs every resident into a grumpy expert on historical architecture.‘These buildings were just not built for these temperatures.No tiles, no air con! British houses keep heat in, they don’t let it out!’The rehearsal rooms at music therapy, as expected, were unbearable this morning, and I lasted all of seven minutes in the smelly room which smelled like passing a landfill on a motorway. Joe had arrived in the final minute, poking his head around the door. ‘Sort of ironic that this is therapy,’ he said, ‘today it’s more like a Bear Grylls challenge.’

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