Chapter 19
After shuffling off the ice – awkwardly assisted by the marshals, since neither of us could quite remember how to walk, as a result of the kiss or the ice I couldn’t tell – we made our way to the carpeted changing rooms in silence, smiling dorkily at each other, and we unlaced our boots, neither of us quite knowing what to say to the other.
‘You ready?’ Simon asked as I handed over my boots to the bemused-looking cloakroom agent and nodded.
He offered me his hand.
I took it after a beat.
We made our way to the nearby Christmas café. It was open later than the rink, thankfully; it was the kind of place that permanently smelled like a gingerbread house.
‘I haven’t been skating since I was a kid,’ I said as we sat down, cradling a hot chocolate Simon had treated me to. It was drowning in whipped cream and marshmallows. ‘I forgot how much fun it was.’
‘And how hard,’ he added, tipping half a container of cinnamon on top of the cream on his drink before attacking it with a spoon. ‘My mum took me skating once. I was about as useless as I was tonight.’
‘You got the hang of it,’ I reminded him.
He shook his head. ‘She and I gave up after about twenty minutes. Just sat, drank hot chocolate, and watched everyone else fall over instead. It was one of my favourite days with her.’
There was something in his tone – warm but also fragile, as if the memory was holding him together and breaking him at the same time.
I smiled. ‘That sounds lovely.’
I licked my lips to clear the cream off my chin but missed a spot. Simon leaned forward without thinking, his thumb brushing just below my lip. He licked the residue off his finger, completely unfazed.
I cleared my throat, suddenly unable to hold his gaze.
His expression became playfully amused. ‘What about you?’
‘I have memories like that with my mum, but I don’t tend to think about them much.’
Simon didn’t push. He just nodded, the way someone does when they understand something too well.
‘I think about memories more at Christmas,’ he admitted. ‘She’s still such a big part of the holiday season, though it’s been more than ten years since I spent Christmas with her.’ He took a breath as if wanting to saying more, but he stopped himself.
‘You love Christmas, don’t you?’ he asked instead. ‘Even with… everything?’
I nodded slowly at first and then quite passionately. He laughed.
‘I can’t help it. It’s the season that just lifts my mood. Everything seems hopeful, or possible. The year’s coming to a close, fresh beginnings are going to happen.’
He nodded slowly now too, running his finger around the top of his hot chocolate.
‘I do get that,’ he said. ‘But I suppose it’s just a weird time for me.
I seem to remember a lot of stuff at this time of year, especially about my mum.
And, usually, the small things more than the big ones; like the way she would only use a particular bowl or spoon to bake the Christmas pudding, or how she used to hum when she was thinking. ’
Simon’s gaze flicked up to mine, sharp with recognition.
‘People always talk about grief like it’s this big dramatic thing,’ I said. ‘But mostly, it’s the little things that catch you off guard, isn’t it? A smell, a song, a stupid movie you watched together once.’
‘Yeah,’ he murmured.
For a second, we just sat there, both of us orbiting the same kind of loss.
It felt strange to have someone understand such a large part of me, without even the need to truly explain it.
It lifted a weight off my shoulders I hadn’t even realised I was carrying.
I wasn’t used to that ease. It shifted something in me, the way I saw him, the way the space between us felt less like distance and more like a tether.
After a moment, I allowed myself to smile.
‘It was Denise, Megan’s mum, who was the one that took me ice skating the first time,’ I continued, chasing away the heaviness.
‘With Megan, of course. Megan was convinced she’d be a figure-skating prodigy, and I was more interested in being a hockey player. ’
‘Violent, you mean?’ Simon teased.
I shook my head passionately. ‘I was obsessed with The Mighty Ducks, actually. But one disastrous attempt at skating with a stick led to some bruised knees and a very bruised ego, so I let the dream go pretty quickly.’
Simon laughed and, as he leaned back in his chair, his shirt rode up slightly. My gaze dropped, catching a glimpse of a trail of hair under his belly button – and the faint outline of an ab. A real, defined ab.
A shiver ran up my spine, and for the first time in a long time, I felt… well, something stirring. Like a tornado in my midriff.
‘So was personal assistant the next grand ambition or were there others in between?’
I rubbed the back of my neck and lifted my gaze to his face, trying to remember how to form words. ‘I had plenty of dreams,’ I admitted. ‘Vet, Oscar-winning actress. I wanted to own a launderette at one point. There was even a phase where I was convinced I’d be a time traveller.’
‘Did Doctor Who inspire that dream?’
‘Nope. Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.’
That got a proper laugh out of him. ‘Clearly TV and film were a pivotal part of your childhood.’
‘Oh, massively.’
‘And now you’re off to be a producer,’ he pointed out, a flicker of emotion – disappointment? – lurking beneath his words. ‘Success incoming.’
I swallowed. Could he hear the same hesitation in my voice that I heard in his?
‘They’ve sent me some work to do, actually.’
‘The new job?’ he confirmed, and I nodded. ‘Over Christmas?’
I nodded again. ‘I haven’t opened the email – emails – yet. I’ve got too much on with Pim and her show. Plus Megan and Josh, and all that.’
Simon tilted his head slightly. ‘What’s going on with them?’
While I’d been refusing to talk about what had happened with everyone, from Pim to Denise, for some reason with Simon I felt I could share anything, and it would be safe to do so.
In this moment, sitting in this Christmas-themed café bedecked with garlands of holly and tinsel, with aromas of cinnamon, orange, and hot chocolate, and as countless lights softened our expressions, I thought I could hand him my soul and he would take care of it.
So, I told him everything.
From Megan and Alex’s split, Josh’s situation with a married man, Pim’s show, her new assistant, and the weight of my guilt over leaving her. And the strangest part? The job I’d spent years dreaming about, the one that should have felt like a golden ticket, which just… didn’t.
‘It’s one of the best studios I’ve ever worked at, and I’m ridiculously underqualified for the role, but they offered it to me anyway. I should be thrilled, right? I just can’t seem to focus enough on it to care about it.’
Simon considered me for a moment. ‘Fear perhaps?’
His hot chocolate was now completely gone, while mine was practically untouched, the cream had folded into the delicious molten chocolate while I had been explaining everything.
‘It’s not easy changing jobs, especially after a long period of time in another. And eight years in the same job without a promotion or pay rise is a long time.’
I laughed bitterly, thinking about the scripts in my inbox and the dread. ‘I never thought I was a procrastinator before. Or that I was afraid of change.’
‘Most people don’t,’ he said, leaning forward on his elbows. ‘But big change is terrifying. Even good change. And if you make the wrong decision, you can regret it.’
‘Is that how you live your life?’ I asked, blowing on my long-cold hot chocolate out of habit.
He smiled, glancing up and down at me and my cup. I felt like I was being X-rayed.
‘Mostly,’ he began. ‘I feel for you, though. It sounds as if everyone around you is going through something right now, and it’s bleeding into your own life.’
I considered for a moment, not having thought of it that way.
‘It’s odd to think that, when I was living abroad, I felt closer to everyone than I am now.’
Simon reached across the table, his hand resting on my arm briefly before pulling away. ‘They’ll come round.’
‘It’s Christmas,’ I reminded him and myself. ‘Every movie, book, and song tells me that they’ll come around, so it must be true. Right?’
‘The odds are in your favour.’
‘I just wish one of them would answer their phone,’ I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket to check for messages. There were none, not even from Pim.
My stomach clenched at the emptiness of the screen, the reminder that the people I cared about were keeping me at a distance. Simon glanced at the screen.
‘What about your TikTok? You said you haven’t been posting much.’
I shrugged. ‘I enjoyed making TikToks when I had things to share. My glamorous life, so to speak, and it hadn’t felt very glamorous of late. It’s weird to share TikToks that your friends watch when your friends aren’t speaking to you.’
He frowned. ‘You’re worried they’ll be angry if it looks as if you’re having a good time while they’re falling apart?’
I hesitated. Hearing it put like that made me feel small. Ridiculous, even. But it was true. I nodded, tracing my thumb along the edge of my phone.
‘I know I’m only hearing one side,’ Simon continued carefully.
‘But, to me, it sounds as if it’s Josh and Megan that have issues to sort out, and neither of their issues are with you but, for some reason, you’re bearing the brunt of their drama.
If I’m being honest, I think they’re being a tad selfish, Evie. ’
‘They’re not…’ I started, the automatic response slipping from my lips.
But something stopped me. A knife-in-the-gut realisation that I had been making excuses for them, that I was angry.
Not just hurt but properly pissed off that my so-called best friends had taken their stress out on me.
‘I’m the fixer,’ I told Simon, my voice quieter now.
‘I’ve always been the people-pleasing, happy-to-help fixer in life. ’
‘Why?’
The question landed heavily between us.
I narrowed my eyes. ‘Are you my therapist now?’
Simon held up his hands in surrender. ‘I don’t mean to dig. I just know what it’s like to be the person that takes on other people’s problems.’ He paused for a moment and played with his collar. ‘It’s a way of avoiding your own.’
That hit harder than I cared to admit.
‘Look, I’m not trying to shame you or anything, I’ve only known you for a few weeks – Christ, I don’t even have your number – but I just…
’ He stopped and cleared his throat quickly.
‘I just care about you, in a way I’ve never really cared about someone before, certainly not so quickly.
’ He paused again, not making eye contact but appearing to tremble.
My breath caught in my throat.
No one ever said things like that to me. I never gave them the opportunity.
I’d spent years being useful and caring for others, even from a distance. Being cared about – openly, without expectation – felt unfamiliar, almost destabilising.
Simon looked away as his voice became gentle.
‘I know what it’s like,’ he said hesitantly.
‘When my mum died, I thought if I stayed busy enough, distracted enough, I wouldn’t have to feel it.
Wouldn’t have to stand still long enough for the grief to catch up with me. But it does, Evie. It always does.’
I looked away, my throat tightening.
‘I think you’re doing the same thing,’ he said, more quietly still. ‘Running. Running so fast you don’t even know what you’re running from any more.’
I swallowed hard, wishing he would just stop.
‘I mean, what happens if you stay?’ His voice was almost a whisper now. ‘If you stop fixing, stop people-pleasing, stop running. What’s left?’
I hated how much the question shook me, and that I didn’t know the answer.
‘You think you’re living life to the full,’ he said, a little more direct now. ‘With your friend’s Christmas list and your fun runs, I see someone who’s scared to live her own life, or rather follow her dreams.’
A hot flare of anger rose in me, defensive, protective. What the hell did he know? We’d only known each other a few weeks. He didn’t get to dig into my life, into the cracks I kept hidden even from myself. And yet he wasn’t wrong, which was the worst part.
‘You’re allowed to want something for yourself, you know.’
I looked away, suddenly feeling too seen, too raw. His words sank into me, thick and uncomfortable, like swallowing a large marshmallow whole.
‘I should get going,’ I said abruptly, the lump in my throat making my voice tighter than I intended as I slipped from my chair.
Simon’s expression shifted, concern flashing across his face. ‘Evie, I—’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I cut in, forcing a small smile. ‘I have an early start with Pim tomorrow. The show’s only a few days away.’
‘Evie, I’m so—’ He seemed to growl at himself, as if he had realised his own mistake. ‘Can we walk to the station?’
‘I’m getting a bus,’ I lied.
St Martin-in-the-Fields was only a short walk away but Simon was standing and, despite the wonderful evening, I suddenly really wanted to be alone.
I had spent all evening confiding in him and now I regretted it. I felt as if I’d said too much, and just one comment from him had made me feel more unsteady than I had felt on the ice.
Simon hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but wary of saying something wrong – or more wrong – and I wasn’t ready for whatever it was he could say. So, instead, I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. That shut him up.
‘Thank you for tonight,’ I murmured, my lips grazing the light stubble on his jaw. ‘It was really wonderful.’
Before he could react, or before I could change my mind, I turned and left.