We thank him and give the horse a pat on the nose. Princess tips the man profusely. All I see is a wad of euros, which makes my paltry addition seem rather stingy, but I’m not Miss Moneybags so it can’t be helped.
‘Wasn’t he lovely?’ Princess muses, linking her arm through mine as we wander Market Square, which is decorated to the hilt in festive flair. Wooden pop-up chalets circle the cobblestones and are doing a bustling trade, selling all sorts of festive fare like glühwein, spiced mulled wine, and roasted chestnuts. I turn in a circle to view the buildings that border the square. They’re as pretty and colourful as a town from a storybook. There are chocolate shops everywhere we look.
‘This city has oodles of charm, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, somehow it’s cute and quaint despite the size,’ Princess says. ‘Let’s get in line for a ticket for the belfry.’
While we queue, I glance at all the festive foodie options on offer, from Belgian waffles layered with whipped cream and chocolate sauce to speculoos, a spiced shortbread, traditionally served at Christmas. And have you even been to Belgium if you haven’t delighted in a cone of thick-cut doubled fried frites smothered in garlic mayonnaise? It’s the stuff of dreams.
‘Let’s work up our appetite,’ I say to Princess, wishing I was hungry.
Princess nods. ‘I’m keen for a big stein of Belgian beer, it would be rude not to.’
‘Beer, waffles, frites.’
‘And Belgian chocolate.’
‘Mulled wine.’
‘Ha, we better do these steps twice over.’
The belfry stands before us, as if reaching for the heavens. ‘I did a little reading about the history of it.’
Princess folds her arms against the cold wind that whips through the square. ‘And?’
‘It was built in the thirteenth century and is a UNESCO world heritage site. There are forty-seven carillon bells. I hope we get to hear them ring. Oh… and it’s only three hundred and sixty-six steps to the top.’
‘Three hundred and sixty-six! How can that be?’ Her eyes flash with surprise which is swiftly replaced by a more cunning expression. ‘If I run out of steam, I’ll pretend to faint right into the arms of the first handsome stranger that comes our way and he can carry me to safety. Let him know that the only way to bring me back to life is with glühwein and chocolate. Kissing is verboten obviously, or he’ll most likely die.’
My eyebrows shoot up.
‘Because of the curse, darling.’
‘Right. I’m sure if we take it slow, you’ll be fine.’ Princess doesn’t do anything by half measures, so I sense her fainting performance will be of Oscar-winning proportions. She’s got a one-track mind, that’s for sure.
Princess tunes the rest of my fun facts out and is accessing the queue for handsome men. Under her breath she mumbles: ‘No, definitely not. Maybe. Has potential. Yes, a big yes. No. No. Holy guacamole, yes.’
When she turns back to me, her eyes glitter with mischief but there’s no time to figure out why as it’s our turn at the ticket booth. Princess grabs my hand and pulls me ahead of people ambling upwards at a slower pace, you know, sensibly. She practically thunders up the stairs.
‘What’s the rush, Princess? At this rate you’ll burn out your quads!’ Or whatever muscle is needed to climb so many stairs.
‘Save your breath, Aubrey, and pump those legs!’
What. A minute ago, she was lamenting there were three hundred and sixty-six steps; now she’s trying to break the land-speed record for her ascent. And honestly, the woman can move. It must be her lithe frame that makes her so bloody fast and nimble. I’m regretting the big breakfast I ate, sure it’s the culprit for my sluggish pace. It couldn’t be my lack of fitness. So what if the only exercise I get is running for plane connections or reading romantasy novels – those epic tomes are heavy, I’ll have you know, and are responsible for my biceps that have the tiniest amount of definition from so many late nights reading.
Princess blithely ignores protesters as she pushes past, like she’s a thief running from police. Unfortunately, as I’m behind her, I cop the death stares and cries of ‘You’re pushing in!’ Ah, travel etiquette; it seems Princess doesn’t give a hoot about how long these people lined up before us. If they don’t climb at her rate, they get pushed out of the way. Must be a rich person thing. Move or be moved. I blush and fumble and apologise in that usual British way.
‘Don’t apologise!’ she cries. ‘It’s not your fault they move like slugs!’
How to win friends and influence people. ‘Well, it’s just that it’s not polite…’
She comes to a sudden stop and I smack hard into the back of her, which duly sends her sprawling. Oh God. I’m going to have a real death on my hands this time!
‘ARGH!’ she screams with so much gusto it gives me pause. Wait. Is that…? The puzzle pieces click into place as Princess latches like a koala onto the back of Jasper. Honestly, the way she’s clinched onto him is enough to make me burst out laughing, but we’re supposed to be in the throes of a terrible stumble so I rein it in.
With Jasper’s height and her tiny frame, it really does look like a koala latched onto a tree. Jasper turns and she turns with him. Both their faces are now directed at me. Princess winks over his shoulder but doesn’t let go. ‘Are you OK?’ he asks, trying to turn again, but the mad woman does not give up her position.
Princess pops her head up. Really, she’s impossible. ‘I just need a minute.’
