Chapter 18 #2
‘I lent it to another busker for the evening,’ Simon said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘We take turns with amps and guitars so we don’t have to lug everything back and forth. I brought it down this morning, he’s taking it home tonight.’
‘So next time he’ll bring it and you’ll take it back.’
‘Exactly. I only have that arrangement over Christmas, though. The rest of the year I hibernate.’
‘Hibernate?’ I laughed.
‘Like a bear.’
‘You? A bear?’ I almost snorted and I noticed he squeezed my hand this time and my stomach dropped to my knees.
I was walking hand in hand, in my favourite city at Christmas with a man I – I’ll admit – was obsessively attracted to.
This was a new feeling. I was not used to anything romantic, and this definitely entered that category.
‘I was thinking of you more like a squirrel – always darting around, playing music, charming unsuspecting strangers.’
‘I feel there’s a nut analogy coming, and I’m not sure I’m going to like it.’
I snorted noisily and the jolt made us both stop, crashing into others as we laughed.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Simon explained in charming fashion to unsuspecting strangers who laughed, somehow knowingly. He retook my hand and pulled me back into the street.
‘Have you guessed where we’re going yet?’ he chuckled, shaking his head as we stopped at a zebra crossing. ‘It’s unlike you not to interrogate me.’
‘Oh, isn’t it?’ I teased, acutely aware that we were still holding hands.
Were we just… not addressing this? Did handholding come with mulled wine and moonlit strolls, like some unspoken festive rule?
Was this normal? How was I supposed to know?
The last people I’d held hands with for this long were Josh and Megan – and only because, when drunk, I tended to fall over without physical intervention.
‘I feel like a surprise,’ I replied as he crossed the road and headed towards the North Bank.
‘How much of that mulled wine did you have?’ he asked, pointing with his spare hand to the flask I was still holding.
‘Not as much as I wanted,’ I admitted.
‘Well, hold off on drinking any more.’ His smirk grew wider. ‘You won’t want to be unsteady on your feet where we’re headed.’
‘You do remember how we met,’ I pointed out. ‘I’m not steady on my feet when I’m stone-cold sober, let alone with a quart of mulled wine in me.’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve got you.’ He gave my fingers another squeeze, sending my heart somersaulting into my ribcage. Everything in me seemed to become cinched and my breath caught in my chest. What was this feeling? Bloody gorgeous was what it was.
Suddenly, he stopped, and I – being my usual graceful self – crashed straight into him.
‘See?’ I yelped, giggling but feeling like I had just proved my own point by bruising my nose against his shoulder. ‘Exhibit A.’
‘Look up,’ he replied simply.
‘Here?’ At a crossroads and traffic junction.
‘Well, almost. That building in front of us.’ He pointed and I looked up. Somerset House.
‘Oh.’ My breath hitched in realisation.
‘What was one of the things on your list again?’ he asked knowingly.
‘Ice skating!’ I squeaked. ‘We’re going ice skating!’
He nodded as the green pedestrian light flickered on, and we dashed towards the entrance like kids on Christmas morning.
The gates were open, and a few shoppers and viewers strolled out, arm in arm or laden with shopping bags from the mini Christmas market inside. The ice rink shimmered under the glow of fairy lights, a few last-minute skaters gliding across the near-empty surface.
I was tempted to get my phone and start TikToking for my Assistmas series, but I didn’t want Simon’s surprise to fill a slot on my social channels. I wanted it to be something that he and I did. Together, and unshared.
‘Don’t you have to book?’ I asked Simon as we got closer. The ticket booth appeared to be shut. Clearly, they were wrapping down for the night. Maybe this wasn’t going to be the perfect surprise after all.
‘Wait here,’ Simon said, releasing my hand and walking away.
The sudden feeling of cool night air over my previously warm palm shocked me back to my senses.
A late-night stroll with Simon after carols and mulled wine was still a decent evening, even if a surprise skate would have just made this the most perfect of moments. Possibly the perfect moment.
I wrapped my arms around myself and my sparkly jumper with an embroidered snowflake in the centre. One of my own creations from my last Christmas with Pim, in Malta. I had been craving snow and a little bit of magic, and a hand-sewn snowflake was as close as I could get.
‘Evie!’ Simon called from the nearby booth. He was talking to a man in an oversized black puffer jacket and baseball cap. I wandered over, still hugging my arms around myself. ‘We’re in! We’ve got thirty minutes.’
‘What?’ I gasped, as the man in the puffer jacket offered me a pair of skates.
‘Guessing you’re a five?’ he said, handing them to me.
‘Four, but I’ve got super-thick socks on.’
‘Give ’em a go,’ he said with a wink and headed back into the booth, where the tell-tale smell of burning dust made me think he had a contraband floor heater.
‘How did you manage that?’ I asked Simon, after we entered the purpose-built changing room, pulling on the hefty plastic boots, unable to contain my grin. Simon was hopping from foot to foot awkwardly, trying to balance on the skates on the primary-school blue carpet.
‘I told you the busking community was small,’ he explained. ‘We help each other out.’
‘That guy’s a busker?’
Simon nodded. ‘He plays the drums on the underground.’
This was blowing my mind – and I loved it. I pushed myself up from the bench and nearly toppled over.
‘This is bonkers!’ I said, wobbling slightly as I stood, grabbing hold of Simon’s arms to steady myself, although that wasn’t helpful since he could barely stand upright himself.
‘You’re telling me,’ he muttered, hopping awkwardly towards the rink entrance. ‘Come on.’
The safety marshals offered us each an arm to step on the ice. ‘Do a lap along the rail, then let go,’ one of them advised with a knowing smile.
‘Good plan.’ Simon nodded, gripping the side for dear life as he pushed off.
‘I think you’re supposed to glide,’ I said, testing my own balance. Surprisingly, I felt… kind of stable? Maybe it was because ice skates were actually meant for ice – unlike, say, solid ground and cheap carpeting.
‘Bend your knees,’ I suggested, finding that that helped my balance.
Simon squinted at me. ‘Since when did you become the expert?’ He was still gripping the side.
‘Since watching one tutorial on YouTube last Christmas.’
I dared myself to let go and skate around him. With a shriek I made it, and he threw out his arm to protect me, though I managed to skate ahead.
‘Let go,’ I encouraged. He shook his head.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you?’ I smirked, effortlessly – or comparatively effortlessly – skating around him.
His jaw dropped. ‘You traitor. You pretended to be bad at this!’
‘No, no, I am bad at this,’ I reassured him. ‘You’re just worse.’
He sighed dramatically. ‘This is humiliating.’
‘I thought you had done this before. Given that the ticket guy is your mate.’
Simon shook his head again. ‘I don’t often call in favours.’
‘Yet for me you’ve called in two.’
‘Two?’
‘The other buskers looked after your things when you ran the race.’
Simon smiled in recognition. ‘That was only a small favour.’
‘What did you have to give your friend in return for this?’ I skated backwards, tentatively releasing the side of the rink every now and then to test my limits. Poor Simon was hunched over like an arthritic, hardly able to move.
‘Give me your hand,’ I said, offering the one not holding the rink. At least this way I could bring him with me as I skated away.
‘Crikey, you’re fast,’ he said. Although, looking around the rink, we were moving slower than the two-year-old sitting on a skate aid, chasing their older sibling.
‘Go on then. What did this cost you?’
‘Nothing much,’ he said vaguely.
I narrowed my eyes. ‘Simon.’
He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, before finally saying, ‘I gave up my New Year’s Eve busking slot.’
My jaw dropped.
‘I was going to perform in front of the church again about one o’clock – you know, when all the bargain hunting shoppers are going mad, and they’re starting the New Year celebrations a little early so everyone’s a little extra-generous.’
‘That sounds like a good slot.’ A seed of guilt was developing in me.
‘It is,’ he admitted. ‘But there will be others about the city. I’ll book a new one.’
‘What about raising money for charity?’ I asked, stopping for a rest as we made it halfway around the rink. Simon sighed with relief and gripped the side fully, finally standing straight.
He paused and looked away. ‘I’ve been busking nearly every day this Christmas, after work and before work, so it’s not like I haven’t raised a ton of money for charity already. In fact, I’ve raised nearly triple what I made last year.’
‘Really?’ I asked, surprised to find that people were feeling that generous, even at Christmas.