Chapter 18
Walking in London at Christmas was something I thought would be a nightmare.
The late-night shoppers, the tourists taking photos of the city lit up in neon, and the early drunken revellers falling out of pubs from the office Christmas parties.
Yet somehow, despite the chaos, I’d found it was one of my favourite ways to unwind.
There were only five days left until Christmas Eve, and Pim’s event.
We had officially sold out of tickets, helped in part due to the added publicity from the viral video that was slowly dying a death online, and the TV company was thrilled to finally get the go-ahead with scheduling and were making a song and dance about it in all the popular TV magazines.
Pim’s photoshoots increased as digital journalists and broadcast newspapers asked for features and interviews to be shared pre- and post- the event.
And through my intervention – cashing in a lot of favours – we were able to minimise the noise on the Michael Holland debacle.
Pim’s star was shining bright, yet her tunnel vision was still in full force.
‘I need you to meet your new assistant,’ I had insisted that afternoon, standing beside Pim in yet another make-up chair as she got primped for a Christmas photoshoot for The Times.
‘Possible new assistant,’ she corrected, dabbing powder off her cheeks.
I had to stop myself from snapping. Unless she wanted to hire someone herself, during Christmas Alison was her new assistant. Or she would be assistantless.
‘You’re going to love her,’ I said, deciding to move ahead with plans for an afternoon-tea meeting between them next week.
‘I need more powder,’ Pim replied, calling over another make-up artist, who quickly flourished a powder puff and did as Pim instructed.
Poor Alison, I thought. Although it wasn’t me being difficult, I felt like I was really messing her about.
I knew what it was like to lack stability in a role, particularly at Christmas, and I wanted her to be secure in the knowledge that the job was hers, if she still wanted it.
But she needed to meet Pim. There was no other way around it.
And maybe I just had to stop pussyfooting around it, like I did with everything else.
With a deep breath, I stepped out of the shoot and called Megan. Straight to voicemail. Again.
‘Megan, pick up,’ I sighed, frustration tightening my chest.
I had left about ten messages but still she hadn’t messaged me back.
I had spoken to Denise and Bob multiple times, and each time they had tried to get Megan to take my call.
Denise even got sharp with her; and this was the woman who couldn’t bring herself to give anyone anything less than four stars on review sites, even when the service was terrible.
‘Megan, it’s Christmas. My last Christmas in London for a while.
Are you really not going to talk to me because you’re annoyed that I knew about Josh’s affair and you didn’t?
’ I hesitated, unused to letting my frustrations pour out of me.
‘It wasn’t for me to say anything, and I didn’t want to add to your…
’ To her what? Worries? Stress? No one had an issue adding to mine lately.
I hung up, exhaling forcefully. Now was not the right moment to leave a message, clearly.
Instead, I took myself for a walk around London. By the time I reached Covent Garden, my go-to place lately, the tension had eased. A hot chocolate on the steps of the open market, surrounded by the hum of Christmas music and the laughter of strangers, was exactly what I needed.
Maybe I’d see Simon. To tell the truth, I was really hoping to see him.
He hadn’t been on a shift – if buskers had shifts – the last few times I’d been by. But still the setting of the market brought me peace, amidst Christmas chaos.
He wasn’t busking when I arrived. There was a group of female carollers at his usual spot singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ at the open doors of St Paul’s Church.
The warm glow of the interior beckoned, twinkling lights and signs pointed to the entrance through Bedford Street, and I thought, why not? It was something new.
Following a slow but steady stream of intrigued listeners, I headed through the gates into a small courtyard, following the sound of harmonised notes and the smell of freshly brewed mulled wine.
The church was warmly lit with many yellow candles, a second group of carollers inside stood on a raised plinth near to the altar and sang a gentle rendition of ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’.
The church was not yet full, although I felt the propelling electricity in the air that was leading not just me, but also many others, into the hall, and I knew it wouldn’t be long.
People cuddled together on pews, while others gathered near a makeshift bar at the back of the church.
I thought of swapping my hot-chocolate order for a mulled wine when—
‘Was this one from your list?’
The familiar voice sent a spark through me.
I turned to see Simon leaning casually against the wall, a flask in his gloved hands, his smile warm enough to thaw me from the inside out.
‘It might have been,’ I admitted, practically jumping over a church patron to lean against the wall with him.
I’m nothing if not subtle. I could feel my bad mood lifting from my body immediately as soon as I spotted him laughing at me.
There’s something magnetic about being able to make someone laugh, even if it’s at you.
‘It wasn’t on the cards for today, though. ’
He offered me the flask and I took it without hesitation. The scent of mulled wine hit me before I even took a sip.
‘Busking in the cold is fun,’ he mused, crossing his arms and shivering a bit. ‘But this is the real treat.’
‘Caught a chill?’ I asked, handing the flask back.
‘Always. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it gets bloody cold in December.’ He smirked.
‘Careful, we’re in a church. Don’t think you can say the B word.’
‘Bollocks, bloody, or blimey?’ he asked – loudly – just as the carollers reached their crescendo. Heads turned in our direction, as I blushed and nudged him in the ribs with my elbow. He grinned, utterly unrepentant.
‘I haven’t seen you around here in a few days,’ he said eventually, as the carollers began ‘O Come, All Ye Faithful’.
‘I’ve been around,’ I admitted, shrugging. ‘Didn’t spot you, though.’
‘We must have missed each other,’ he agreed.
‘Well, it’s not like you have a schedule. In fact, do you even have social media?’
He shook his head. ‘Hate all that.’
‘I got those vibes from you,’ I laughed. ‘Can’t really see you making TikToks of your shows or making reels for fun.’
His lips twitched. ‘I was tempted to download TikTok recently.’
‘Oh?’
‘To see what you were up to.’
I blushed and busied myself with another sip of wine. ‘Well, you would have been disappointed. I haven’t posted much lately.’
‘No? Not even our success at the Great Christmas Pudding Race?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘You’re really holding on to that victory.’
‘The others won’t let me forget it, so I might as well bask in the glory,’ he said, watching me with quiet amusement.
There was a calmness about Simon – something grounding. He didn’t try to fix things, didn’t offer unwanted advice. He just listened.
And right now, I needed that.
‘This is good,’ I said, having another mouthful of the spicy hot drink.
There was a familiar comfort about mulled wine.
It had the effect of warming you from the inside and making you feel like everything was going to be all right just because it was Christmas.
To me, this was the drink that the Ghost of Christmas Present offered to Ebenezer Scrooge.
The drink of good cheer. ‘I needed this.’
‘Mulled wine?’ Simon asked, though his expression was softer now, less teasing.
‘Work’s a bit much,’ I said. ‘And Megan and Josh had a falling-out,’ I carried on.
‘And now neither are talking to me as I didn’t take sides, but they seem annoyed that I didn’t take theirs or share their secrets or…
I don’t know.’ I took a breath, and he didn’t interrupt, surprisingly.
‘Plus, my new job got in touch and want me to do some work early, over Christmas. I’ve not really had a break. Or a real Christmas.’
I let out a breath, surprised at how easily it all came tumbling out.
He just nodded. I offered the flask, but he didn’t take it back. There was a definite understatement of you need that more than I do about his actions, which made me smile.
The fact he didn’t often express an opinion made him that much easier to open up to, though it was frustrating when I wanted to know more about him. This mystery man who I felt magnetised towards.
I nodded with a sigh but said nothing else as I returned to listening to the perfectly harmonised choir for a moment more.
We just stood there, side by side, letting the music settle around us.
He leaned down a little as the pews began to fill and we were pushed further into the wall by new viewers and excited families.
Then, Simon leaned in, his voice low, just for me. ‘Want to get out of here?’
I turned my head slightly, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes. ‘And do what?’
‘I have an idea.’ He offered me his hand but didn’t elaborate. He just held out his hand, an invitation wrapped in warmth and quiet adventure.
I hesitated for less than a second before slipping my fingers into his.
‘Lead the way.’
Even when we stepped outside into the crisp December air, he didn’t let go. His fingers were freezing, but I could feel the ridges left by his guitar strings, the evidence of his music imprinted into his skin.
I squeezed his hand slightly, just to see if he’d squeeze back.
He did.
‘Where’s your stuff?’ I asked as we ducked down a side street, the market glow fading behind us as we reached the Strand.