Chapter 11 #2
‘Excuse me!’ I shouted, pushing past racers and the growing crowds of viewers, all of whom took double takes when they spotted – or heard – my wildly jingly costume.
‘Christmas emergency!’ I added for good measure, feeling my role overtaking my personality.
It was remarkable how many people seemed to stop and pull children and their handbags out of the way at that declaration.
Suddenly it was as if I was an ambulance, and crowds were respectful enough to pause and pull into gaps.
‘I’m trying to save Christmas!’ I shouted again for effect, and once again the crowds parted, and I found myself back in the open-air market of Covent Garden.
Looking around to find my bearings, scanning the festive chaos, I spotted the Christmas tree and ran towards it. A police officer shouted, ‘Slow down, love!’ but I simply waved energetically and carried on running.
Simon was still there.
He was reaching the crescendo of ‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day’, his voice soaring above the crowd, his arms flung wide, his body moving to the beat, and the onlookers were completely enthralled, clapping, and singing along.
I pushed through them, earning a few glares but mostly laughter as my jingling skirt swished around me. I stopped just short of tackling him.
His eyebrows shot up when he spotted me. For a second his voice faltered, his eyes widening as if he couldn’t quite believe I was back so soon. His mouth curled into a half-smile as he continued to sing, his voice unwavering even as his expression clearly asked, ‘What are you doing?’
Awkwardly I bobbed along, looking to one of the observers that I had just pushed past with an apologetic ‘I’m just excited’ smile, before turning back to Simon.
My heart was racing, anticipation bubbling in my chest. Waiting for him to finish was excruciating.
I couldn’t help it – I started making subtle hand gestures, mouthing hurry up, which only earned me a confused head tilt and a playful eye roll.
Finally the song ended and he stepped back from the microphone, slightly breathless but grinning, as he called, ‘Thank you so much! Merry Christmas!’ Coins clinked into his hat as people came forward, and I took my chance, ducking around them to reach him.
Simon immediately made room for me with a very confused and amused: ‘What’s up with you?’
‘I’m so sorry, but I need a favour,’ I blurted out, trying to keep the urgency out of my voice, but failing miserably.
‘A favour?’ He turned every few seconds, nodding and thanking the crowd as they dropped coins into his hat. ‘Couldn’t it wait?’
‘Well, it’s kind of time-sensitive,’ I said, feeling my phone buzz repeatedly in my bag. Clearly Josh was losing his mind. ‘I need you… now. Like, right now.’
‘Now? I’ve got to clear up, I’m…’
‘I know! And I swear I wouldn’t ask unless it was life or death.’ I hesitated, then amended, ‘Okay, maybe not death, but definitely Christmas.’
His eyes softened, his posture relaxing just a fraction. ‘Christmas, huh?’
‘Yes! We need a fourth for the Great Christmas Pudding Race.’
His head swerved and his eyes bulged in a way I could easily translate as ‘No fucking way!’
‘Oh please! Alex – Megan’s husband – is ill and we don’t have a fourth, and we need a fourth or we lose our spot, and it’s for charity. You love charity!’
His face fell for a split second before he caught himself. ‘Evie…’ His voice was softer now, less guarded. ‘I – I do but…’
‘It’s for a really good charity,’ I interrupted furiously. ‘It’s Cancer Research, who, you know, do really great stuff and cure cancer – or try – and I’d really like them to keep trying so no one else gets cancer like Mum and die…’ Ooft! Straight for the sympathy jugular.
Simon visibly flinched, his body stiffening as his gaze snapped back to me, his eyes wide and glassy. His mouth parted, but no sound came out at first. ‘I…’ His voice was a whisper. ‘I’m so—’
I panicked, throwing my hands over his mouth. ‘Don’t say you’re sorry. Just say you’ll save Christmas and run the race.’
His eyes widened in surprise, but I felt his mouth curve into a smile beneath my palms. I dropped my hands, suddenly aware of how close we were, the space between us charged once again, as if my body had just been plugged into the mains.
He didn’t attempt to say anything, but I hadn’t realised how loud I’d been speaking, or how close to his microphone I had said it.
‘Oh, go on, lad!’ one of the bystanders said. ‘Do it for the girl!’
‘Do it for Christmas!’ another woman said, smiling in a mischievous way that made me feel as if I was in the middle of a Hallmark movie.
‘You should listen to them,’ I said, lowering my hands slowly from his mouth.
‘Yeah, listen to us, mate! Go on, eh!’ another man, in a backwards cap and a large red puffer jacket said, walking past. I don’t think he had a clue what was going on, but it seemed to have the desired effect. I saw Simon’s misgivings disappear.
He looked at me intensely, his gaze flicking over my Elf costume once more, lingering for just a beat longer than necessary. I watched his resolve crumble, his shoulders dropping in defeat. ‘When?’ he asked.
‘Kind of right now,’ I said, pointing over my shoulder awkwardly. ‘We’ve got the costume waiting and everything.’
He groaned, his head dropping back as he looked up at the sky, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. ‘You’re impossible, you know that?’
I grinned, feeling a wave of relief and something else – something warmer – flood my chest. ‘It’s part of my charm.’ I jolted my hip on purpose, to get the bells to ring.
He shook his head, his smile softening as his eyes met mine. ‘Yeah. It really is.’
His voice was low, almost vulnerable, and I felt a shiver race down my spine. I cleared my throat, trying to break the tension. ‘So… is that a yes?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, his shoulders relaxing as he bent down to gather his things. ‘It’s Christmas after all.’
‘Amazing!’ I did a little leap. ‘We just need to hurry up and get you in your costume.’
Simon had bent down to gather some of his belongings, but he stopped midway to his toes at the reminder of the ‘costume’.
‘It’s very tasteful!’ I said immediately, trying to placate him. ‘Josh, one of the other runners, is a professional.’
‘A professional what?’ he asked, returning to his task, but still glancing back at me and my jingly costume, probably trying hard not to imagine what kind of outfit we had in mind for him.
‘A professional Christmas organiser,’ I said, rushing to pick up some of the money and his flat cap to try to help. It felt slightly odd gathering someone else’s money for them, but time was of the essence.
‘That’s a job?’ he said, pulling his microphone off the stand and quickly dismantling it as the next busker entered the cordoned off-stage area to set up his own equipment.
‘It is.’ My phone buzzed again in my bag, and I awkwardly pulled it out as I placed Simon’s cap of money on top of his full arms with the microphone and stand. ‘Hold on.’ I placed the phone against my ear. ‘I’m coming! I’ve got someone to join us.’
‘Well, hurry the fuck up!’ Josh shouted down the phone, although the relief in his voice was apparent. ‘The race starts in ten minutes. They’re doing the warm-up.’
‘We’ll be there. Warm up for me!’ I hung up quickly. ‘We have to get going now, like right now.’
Simon, who usually appeared so calm when performing to crowds of hundreds suddenly exhaled in a panic-stricken way.
‘Okay, okay.’ Looking at his many boxes and wires and up at me again, his eyes flickered over my shoulder.
‘Ethan,’ he called, walking past me to the next busker setting up.
‘Sorry to be a pain, mate, but can you watch my stuff? I need to get off to this charity race.’
‘The Pudding Race?’ Ethan said, stopping organising his circus-trick apparatus to turn and grin. ‘You?’
‘Yes, me. I’m helping a friend.’
I’m officially a friend?
I felt a warm glow in my chest. ‘Can you just look after it until I get back?’
Ethan looked at the boxes and then nodded. ‘Sure thing. I might even come and watch if I’m done with my set in time.’
‘But who would watch my stuff?’ Simon froze.
Ethan laughed mischievously. ‘I’d have no shortage of volunteers to help me bring it over, don’t you worry.’
‘Don’t you dare tell anyone about this,’ Simon said, clapping him on the back in reluctant thanks.
Ethan smiled and turned his head slowly in the direction of his microphone as I grabbed Simon by the wrist and quickly pulled him away.
‘Okay, fine. I won’t tell the other buskers that Simon’s running in the Great Christmas Pudding Race,’ Ethan’s voice reverberated out of his speakers and almost immediately the buskers patiently waiting for their sessions under the cover of St Paul’s Church began to jeer.
Their cheering followed us as they shouted, ‘Go for it, Simon!’
‘Thank you,’ I said quickly, to distract Simon from the echoing jeers of his fellow buskers, brushing his hand with my fingers as I handed him a few last coins.
His hand closed around mine for a second, his thumb grazing my knuckles, before he pocketed the coins. ‘You owe me for this one.’
I laughed, the sound breathier than I intended. ‘I know. And I’ll make it up to you. Promise.’
‘Good,’ he said, his voice lower now, his eyes locked on mine. ‘I’m counting on it.’
His words hung between us, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
I grabbed his hand properly, giving it a playful tug to break the moment. ‘Come on – Christmas isn’t going to save itself.’
His fingers curled around mine, holding on just a little tighter than necessary. ‘Lead the way, Jovie.’