Chapter 29
Christmas seemed to pass in a flash, true to the adage that time flies when you’re having fun.
Christmas pudding was served as an episode of Doctor Who was dissected with many arguments over who was the best Doctor. I will forever be Team Tennant, but Josh and Bob were vocal fans of Tom Baker and Denise was a rogue Paul McGann fan.
‘He’s barely in it!’
‘They did him dirty!’
I turned off my phone after the sixth email alert from Elijah. Denise was right, it could wait. I wanted to enjoy this Christmas and, boy, did I.
By the time we went to bed, all of us were waddling we were so full of food.
‘I apologise in advance for what may occur this evening,’ Megan had told me on the way up to her bedroom. She was yawning and burping simultaneously. ‘I had about sixteen Brussels sprouts.’
Oh, dear God!
‘Maybe I’ll sleep in my old room tonight,’ I told her, already dragging the air mattress from the floor of her old bedroom. ‘With Josh.’
‘Yay! Sleepover.’ Josh clapped, and then whimpered, ‘I feel like a beached whale.’
The springs of my old bed rang out as he fell onto it.
Entering my teenage bedroom was a flashback, but not a particularly detailed one.
It was hardly ‘my’ room at all. I never put my stamp on it, despite Denise and Bob always encouraging me to.
Unlike Megan’s room, which still held the evidence of multiple boy band posters, edgy floor rugs and doodles across her bedroom furniture, my room was neat and tidy with nothing on the walls except for some basic artwork Denise helped me to choose at IKEA when she took me shopping to ‘find my style’.
What ten-year-old has the style of ‘Farmhouse’ or ‘Kitsch Kitchen’?
I never allowed myself to find my style, I was too concerned about behaving and not upsetting the flow of the family just because I had become part of it. Now I regretted it.
I refused to be sad about the past on Christmas Day, though, not after the wonderful day we’d had. Besides, next on the calendar was New Year’s Eve, and that was a time for looking forward.
‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ I told Josh, but he was already snoring. I forgot how loudly he snored, but was reminded at 3.00, and 4.00… and 5.00 a.m., until finally, at 6.00 a.m., I gave up and reached for my phone, turning it on for the first time since the previous day.
As predicted, a flurry of emails from Elijah buzzed on my screen, which I promptly swiped away, and then there was one text alert:
‘Hey, it’s Simon.’
Underneath there was another text.
‘Simon Holland. The busker.’
‘I got your number from Doug – he’s the one who throws knives.’
‘It’s his job. He’s a busker who throws knives. Not just a regular guy who throws knives.’
‘Not that there are many of those – not regular guys at least.’
‘Anyway… it’s Simon Holland and I wanted to give you my number and say merry Christmas.’
A grin so large erupted on my face that for a moment I wondered if it would rip my lips. I knew I was back in my teenage room, but the giggle that escaped me was downright girlish! I was five seconds away from hugging my phone to my chest.
Checking the time, I realised I could leave him a text and say a belated merry Christmas, it wasn’t too early.
So I did.
‘Hey, it’s Evie Frost. Merry Christmas to you too. I hope you had a good one.’
As soon as I pressed ‘Send’, a lump the size of a piece of coal landed in my stomach as I remembered about his mum, and his dislike of the Christmas season as a result of her loss.
But all fear of upsetting him was removed when my phone suddenly began to ring. Out loud. I had knocked it off ‘Silent’ when I was texting.
‘EVIE!’ Josh was vicious when he was woken up, as I knew all too well. ‘What are you doing to me?’
‘Sorry, sorry. It’s Simon.’
‘Simon who?’
‘The busker.’
I’ve never seen Josh sit up so quickly; I was worried for his vascular health.
‘Answer it!’ he said, his voice steady while my hands were shaking.
‘It’s 6.00 a.m.’
‘So? Answer it.’
‘Josh, I—’
‘Evie Frost, answer the goddam phone.’
‘O-okay.’ I pressed ‘Accept’.
‘Hello?’
‘Hey, I didn’t wake you, did I?’ Simon sounded as panicked as I felt. ‘I did, didn’t I? Was that text from yesterday? Did it just send?’
‘No, no!’ Josh was bouncing up and down on my bed so loudly the springs were at risk of breaking – or waking the whole house up.
I rushed to my feet and ran outside, shutting the door and clamping it shut so he couldn’t escape.
‘I just sent it, I’m at my… erm, my parents’ house.
’ It felt nice to say, but also strange.
‘I didn’t know if I would hear from you. ’
‘Doug gave me your number,’ he said. ‘The knife-thrower.’
‘Thanks, Doug.’ I rubbed my eyes, feeling the flakes of mascara I’d failed to take off the night before coming off against my knuckles.
Josh was rattling my bedroom door but I retained an iron grip on the handle.
‘Are you okay?’ Simon asked, amusement or concern in his voice.
‘Yes, sorry.’ I cleared my throat so that I sounded a tiny bit more human. ‘I’m trying not to wake anyone.’
‘Oh, yes. I sort of saw your text and called. I didn’t even look at the time.’
‘You were just up at 6.00 a.m. on Boxing Day?’
‘Well, I volunteered at the shelter last night.’
I laughed. ‘You are after a sainthood, aren’t you?’
His smile resonated through my ear – and I know it’s a physical thing that can’t do that, but it did! I could see it, I felt it, and it was wonderful.
‘How was your Christmas?’
‘It was amazing,’ I admitted. ‘Though my head aches a bit this morning.’
‘Ah,’ Simon replied knowingly. ‘How’s the hangover?’
‘It’s… it’s there.’ It felt like the back of my eyes were burning. ‘Nothing a shower won’t sort, though.’
‘Fingers crossed.’ He paused. ‘So Ethan told me that you came by on Christmas Eve.’
‘Yeah, I did.’ Josh had managed to open the door a crack.
‘Evie Frost, open—’
I slammed it shut again. ‘I was trying to catch you before I left for Christmas.’
‘Ethan mentioned you spoke to Doug; I got your number off him, but Ethan said you talked.’
I laughed. ‘Yeah, it’s a long story, but I was looking for you and I found Doug and he told me you were visiting your mum – your mum’s grave, I mean. Sorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ he laughed awkwardly. ‘I was.’
‘How was your dad?’ I asked stupidly but then, with a surge of sass, I added, ‘I’ve met your father by the way.’
‘You have?’ His voice practically rose an octave.
‘You didn’t say he was a broadcaster.’ I tried to keep my tone light. ‘I meet them all the time.’
‘Uh-huh, I can only apologise.’ We both chuckled. ‘Did he interview your boss?’ His voice had a touch of confusion.
‘Oh, God, no!’ I exclaimed, maybe a little too eagerly. ‘We had more of a run-in… a few run-ins, in fact. One of which went viral.’
‘Viral?’
I was unsure how to phrase it without it sounding like some ridiculous reality-show drama. ‘Yes… my boss and he have, erm, history. And it was caught on camera and went viral. It was all over the news.’
‘I don’t have social media,’ he reminded me.
‘But… no news alerts?’ I asked, still in disbelief, as Josh stopped rattling the door in the hope that I would release the door handle. He should know me better than that. ‘Even about your dad?’
I could practically hear Simon’s eyes rolling through the phone. ‘I don’t pay attention to what’s trending in celebrity culture. It’s just noise.’
‘Well, I guess that explains why you haven’t seen the video of your dad and my boss getting into it outside the BBC.’
Josh’s surprise attempt to open the door failed and I heard him cry out in a high-pitched tone as he stubbed what I assumed was his toe, kicking the door.
‘Hang on.’ I placed my phone against my chest and opened the door to Josh. ‘Stop it!’
‘I’m just going to listen.’
‘Fine, just… shut up!’
I shut the door again, shivering with excitement as I heard Josh pressing himself against my bedroom door. Only at the exact moment for the bedheads of Megan, Denise, and Bob to appear at their doors.
I opened my mouth to explain, but no sound came out. Instead, I walked into the bathroom and locked the door.
‘Fuck!’ I mouthed into the mirror silently, before sitting on the toilet seat and taking a calming breath. ‘Sorry about that, the whole house is awake.’
‘Oh, shit! Did I wake everyone up?’
‘No, no, that was mostly my fault – and Josh’s.’
‘How are the terrible twosome?’
‘That is not what they’re called!’ I laughed, enjoying the fact he had already given my friends a nickname.
‘Well, I can hardly call them Cindy Lou Who and John McClane for the rest of time.’
‘Yes, you can.’ I grinned. ‘And I’ll forever call you the Grinch.’
He groaned down the phone. ‘Supersexy!’
‘It was.’ I froze at the realisation I had said that out loud. I could take it back or cover it up. But why should I? ‘Erm… I’m going to stick by that comment.’
‘Really, no takebacks?’
‘You sound way too proud of yourself right now.’
I could almost picture him strutting home after his saintly volunteering a sexy Grinch.
‘I might just retain that moniker for the rest of my life. I’m going to put it on my tombstone. Evie Frost said I made a sexy Grinch.’
My only response was to laugh and blush.
Denise, Bob, Megan, and Josh’s feet were gathered outside the bathroom door. They thought they were being subtle, listening in to my conversation, but it was so obvious. I threw a lazy-gift bath bomb at the door and heard them shriek in surprise, then back away.
I paused for a moment. ‘Anyway, that wasn’t why I wanted to speak to you on Christmas Eve: I had a question to ask you.’
‘Sounds ominous.’
‘It’s not, I just wanted to check what your plans were for after Christmas?’ A sudden wave of nausea hit me, partly from the hangover and Bob’s trifle and partly from the sudden realisation that I may have sounded as if I’d just asked him out.
‘I’m busking and volunteering…’
I interrupted. ‘Oh yes, your sainthood application.’
‘But,’ he continued. ‘I’m free this evening. If you’re not… doing anything.’
‘Tonight?’ I repeated, thinking about Denise and Bob, and how I’d only spent a day with them. Not to mention how would I get back to London, unless Bob was to drop me off like a first date at thirteen? ‘I – I…’ I stumbled over my words when suddenly a piece of paper flew at me from under the door.
SAY YOU’RE FREE, it read in all caps, in Josh’s handwriting.
The note was quickly followed by another.
I’M DRIVING, in Megan’s handwriting.
And then there was another.
DENISE IS PACKING YOU A TO-GO BOX, in Bob’s handwriting, with P.S. REMIND HIM I OWN A SHOTGUN… OKAY I DON’T, BUT IT’S MY FATHERLY DUTY TO SAY I DO.
‘Uhh…’ My mouth hung open, but then I found myself grinning. ‘I’m free. What time, and where, should I meet you?’
‘I cannot believe we’re doing this!’ Josh was shrieking from the back seat while Megan floored it on the M20.
‘It’s seventy miles per hour,’ I pointed out, as I glanced over at the speedometer and realised she was clearly exceeding it. ‘I don’t want to die before I get there.’
‘It’s Boxing Day.’ She gestured to the completely clear roads with her chin. ‘Just fix your make-up.’
‘I’m not meeting him until five this evening.’
Josh was handing me eyeshadow after eyeshadow – his own, of course – and listing everything we’d need to do once we got back to Megan’s.
‘She can’t go dressed like a piece of tinsel. Megan, do you have anything that will fit her?’
‘Loads,’ Megan scoffed. ‘Don’t fuss.’
‘It’s 365 days until Christmas. I need a new project,’ Josh insisted, clapping his hands together.
I dared not think what he would do once we got back to Megan’s with a full wardrobe of Zara basics and MAC make-up.
‘What about Alex?’ I asked.
Megan shrugged. ‘He’s at his parents and then he’s coming to get Alfie, so he won’t be there.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Where’s he taking you?’
‘He said he was going to surprise me.’ I tried not to grin too hard. ‘But to meet him on the South Bank, near Foyles.’
‘Ooh, sexy location.’ Josh winked in the rear-view mirror, before primping himself. How someone could look good with a hangover was beyond me, but he made it work. I, however, was reminded of my hangover as Megan put her foot down again.
‘Oh, Jesus! Take the wheel.’