‘So why this place?’

‘So why this place?’ you ask, genuinely curious. ‘You just like watching the skaters, or… ?’

‘Hey!’ Emma looks amused. ‘Who says I just watch? I had an Avril Lavigne phase just like everyone else. Big-time Avril phase, come to think of it. Had the tie and everything.’ She winces at the memory. ‘Yeah, I actually went out at fourteen years old in a tank top and necktie. Bless my poor, sweet mother for not saying a word.’

‘I’m not sure Avril could actually skate,’ you point out. Emma waves her sunglasses at you threateningly.

‘That’s my childhood you’re trampling on, asshat. And, anyway, that’s not the point! I could skate, back in the day.’ She grins suddenly, and you try to picture it. ‘Well, kind of. Well, a bit. I used to go down ramps without falling off, most of the time.’

‘That,’ you tell her, glancing outside at the bowl, ‘is something I would very much like to see.’

Emma meets your gaze, eyes sparkling. ‘Are you asking me to prove something?’

You shrug. ‘Did I say that?’

Emma holds the stare for a few more moments before breaking off, laughing. ‘Maybe later. I have a feeling we might draw some, ah, unwanted attention.’

She’s got a point; the usual swarm of tourists are crowded around the barriers overlooking the concrete bowls, and Emma’s disguise is thin to say the least. ‘Do the sunglasses actually work?’ you ask, nodding at the massive pair of dark glasses in her hand.

Emma makes a non-committal noise. ‘Kind of. I wish I could get away with a mask, but you tend to attract even more attention when you look like a serial killer.’

You nod. ‘At least people would be crossing the street to get away from you, instead of the other way around.’

Emma slurps on her drink. ‘Good point. Maybe I’ll try it sometime.’

Then her face softens, and she fixes you with a sympathetic look. ‘So… she still hasn’t called, huh?’