“Mmm-hmm.”
“Just so we’re clear, you’ve got a, um, a … a …”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. Just, y’know, making sure.”
Petra looked up to the moon as if appealing to its grace. She liked this one and wanted more, but she was afraid there was no hope of that.
“Sorry, I just … So you used to be a guy. J. T. Woodland. Of Boyz Will B Boyz.”
“Yes.” “Right.”
“It’s okay. I can tell you’re freaked out.”
Petra started to get up. Sinjin took her wrist gently. “Well, yeah. But mostly because you used to be in Boyz Will B Boyz. That’s unbelievable! I mean, you played Top of the Pops!”
Petra allowed a small smile. He had surprised her. That didn’t happen often. She sat down again. “Should I tell you the story?”
“Yeah.”
“How much should I tell you?”
“Everything.”
She did, and when she finished Sinjin nodded, taking it all in. “Blimey. Your manager sounds like a right bastard.”
“Now it’s your turn,” Petra said. “What about you?”
“Me?” Sinjin thought for a moment. He wasn’t good with disclosure. And he had nothing to compare to Petra’s tale. What if she thought he was shallow or boring? Unworthy? He wasn’t used to being taken off guard, but Petra made him feel both comfortable and nervous at the same time, as if he knew he was safe from the elimination round but he wanted to do his best and impress anyway. More than anyone he had ever met, he wanted her to like him. Because he really, really liked her.
“I grew up in an orphanage in London. Horrible place.”
“Really?”
Sinjin nodded. “Mmm. Saffron Hill.”
Petra raised an eyebrow. “Saffron … Hill?”
“Yes, Saffron Hill. And a terrible place it was. Made us work all the day, never got enough food. Mr. Bumble — the headmaster — used to beat us.”
“Sounds like you had a dickens of a time.”
Sinjin glanced at Petra’s impassive expression. “Indeed, indeed. Finally, at fifteen, I couldn’t take it any longer. I ran away. Lived on the streets with m’ pal, Jack D —”
“Dawkins?”
“D’you know him?”
“Our mutual friend? Purely coincidental. Go on.”
Sinjin’s grin spread. “I had great expectations about how my life would go and then …”
“… Nicholas Nickleby! — you fell on hard times and were living in a real bleak house.”
“Absolutely. I was totally scrooged.”
“What a pip.” Petra’s smile wobbled into a laugh. “If you figure out how to work The Mystery of Edwin Drood into it, I’m yours for life.”
Sinjin laughed. It was a good laugh, Petra thought.
“So what’s the real story?”
Sinjin shrugged and leaned back. “The real story is dead boring. I grew up in London with me mum and dad, sister, brother, and a parakeet named Benny Hill.”
“Come on!” Petra laughed.
“Swear!” Sinjin raised three fingers on his right hand like a scout’s pledge. “M’ parents are still very much in love. We have this old piano, and on Friday nights we’d sing and eat beans on toast and watch telly all together and have a laugh. It’s a nice, comfortable life. That’s the tragedy of it. I’ve got no dark secrets. I love my family and mates. I’m just as content playing darts as I am waiting for the bus. I see beauty in everything. I’m a happy person,” Sinjin said with utter sincerity. “God. That’s awful, isn’t it?”
“I think that’s lovely.”
“Thanks,” Sinjin said, almost shyly. Carefully, he tucked a strand of hair behind Petra’s ear and let his hand rest for a moment against the soft, wide plain of her cheekbone. “I think you’re beautiful. And brave. And really f**king cool. And you can make Charles Dickens puns.”
Petra leaned the weight of her face into Sinjin’s palm. “You know who and what I am. So, if this is just the old curiosity shop, you can stop right now.”
Sinjin looked her in the eyes. There was not a trace of smirk in his expression. “‘I hope that real love and truth are stronger in the end than any evil or misfortune in the world.’”
“David Copperfield,” Petra whispered, positioning her lips close to his.
“Why are you bringing magicians into it?” Sinjin said and kissed her tenderly. It was a kiss small in its ministrations but epic in its feeling.