Chapter 32
The winter air outside Television Centre in White City was crisp, the kind that made your breath cloud in front of you but wasn’t cold enough to be unpleasant.
Simon was leaning against a railing, scarf loosely wrapped around his neck, hands tucked into his coat pockets. His hair was slightly ruffled from the winter wind and he had that effortless kind of presence that made him stand out, even when he looked like he was trying not to.
He was scanning the entrance as if he didn’t quite belong here. Waiting.
For me.
I felt it immediately, the awareness of him, the unmistakable pull that had been there since the moment we met. Electricity crackled between us as our eyes locked, a current strong enough to make me want to run to him.
I pulled my coat tighter around me as Simon spotted me. My mind was still catching up with the whirlwind of the last hour, so it was Simon who reached me first.
‘How’d it go?’ he asked, slipping his hand into mine.
‘It was something.’ I couldn’t help grinning.
A new job. In London. The words didn’t quite feel real yet.
The Head of the Studio had been polite but firm when discussing an Executive Assistant role on his social media team, I explained to Simon.
It was something I knew I could do with my eyes closed, but with the added bonus of being in the thick of television production and social media – precisely where I wanted to be – but based in my favourite city.
And all because Pim had made a call. A call that I didn’t think she had in her; even after eight years, Pim could surprise me. Her contacts may be older, but that just meant they had more power. There was me thinking she was irrelevant in the UK, but really it was just her lack of interest.
She’d reached out in such a Pim way too; breezy, casual, as if pulling strings in the industry was as simple as asking for an extra shot of espresso in her coffee. Not that she ever ordered her own coffee.
And the call had paid dividends for her too; she was in talks for a new baking show. A big one.
‘Just imagine,’ I said, nudging Simon. ‘Pim on primetime. She’ll never be able to go to the supermarket again without being mobbed by fans.’
‘Not your problem,’ Simon pointed out.
I skipped down the steps. ‘I just can’t wait to see her critiquing sponge cakes with a level of disdain usually reserved for war criminals.’
‘That will be a sight to see,’ Simon agreed. ‘I’m glad she made the call, though. My dad might have been willing to help, but I doubt he’s popular enough to get you anything nearly as good.’
‘I don’t know.’ I shrugged. ‘His programmes make money; he’d probably have some sway. But Pim’s recommendation personally means a little bit more to me.’ I smiled and Simon agreed with a reciprocal grin.
‘Now, tell me,’ he said suddenly, twirling me on the spot and wrapping his arms around me. ‘How does it feel to be officially staying in London?’
I exhaled slowly, as if I could release all the uncertainty and fear with it. ‘Good,’ I admitted. ‘Really, really good.’
And it did feel good. No more running. No more pretending I didn’t want to be here. I was precisely where I wanted to be, and I was staying.
‘Thank you,’ I told him.
‘For what?’
‘For inspiring me.’ I shrugged. ‘For reminding me to use my content creation as leverage, for making me realise how much I love it here.’
‘I wasn’t the only one.’
I sucked my teeth playfully. ‘Well, if I have to thank Megan, Josh, Pim, and all the others, where will it end?’
‘With Christmas cards,’ Simon whined.
‘The horror!’
I tiptoed to reach his lips. I was all for being professional, in case someone was looking out of the window as I came out of the interview, but my body had other ideas. My breath hitched, my stomach flipped, and every single nerve ending I had lit up at once.
‘Hi!’ I said, keeping my voice steady.
‘Hi!’ he replied with a smile.
I wanted to have a lot of Hi! moments with Simon. I linked his fingers between my own as I tried to push myself off him and not remain close enough to smell his cologne, or I was at risk of losing my resolve entirely.
My pulse roared in my ears. He was here, real and solid in front of me, looking at me as if I was the only thing he cared to see, and I couldn’t believe it. I had never felt like this about anyone and, with being graysexual, I never thought I would. But here we were.
‘Just so you know,’ I said, not sure why I felt compelled to say it, but at the same time knowing I needed to. ‘I’m not staying just because of you.’
Something altered in his expression, not disappointment but something almost like pride.
‘Good,’ he said simply. ‘I don’t want that. I want you to do what you want to do.’
‘Oh, I know,’ I laughed, remembering our conversation at the ice rink. ‘You’ve made that pretty clear.’
‘Hey, I’m a big believer in following your dreams. Look at me!’ He gestured to himself, all easy confidence and quiet passion, the type of person who had never once wavered in what he wanted.
I stepped up and kissed him on the lips – I knew then he never would have wanted me to change my life for him. Just like I never would have done it. But the fact that my new life happened to be here, in the same city as him? That was something we could both be very, very happy about.
And I was.
‘Thank you!’ I said, stepping back as he rolled his lips, his eyes suddenly straying from mine to over my shoulder as his shoulders tensed.
A man cleared his throat noisily.
‘Dad!’
I spun on the spot. Michael Holland, who had appeared from around the corner, his collar turned up against the cold, had frozen at the sight of us – especially Simon, who was still locked in my grasp.
I failed to release him, partly due to the unpredictability of what he was going to do in this situation.
This was his father. ‘We have got to stop meeting like this,’ I said, my mouth releasing the words before I had time to even think them.
I shut my eyes. ‘I mean, hello, Mr Holland.’
Michael only had eyes for Simon but raised an eyebrow after I spoke, clearly realising who I was.
‘Well, at least you don’t have a dog with you, who’s going to push me into traffic this time?’ He smiled, not unkindly.
‘For the record, I am sorry about that,’ I said, still waiting for Simon to speak.
Michael blinked. Then, after a beat, he nodded. ‘Apology accepted.’
There was an awkward beat of silence before Michael’s piercing gaze returned to Simon and, immediately, the air changed.
Simon’s expression remained neutral, but there was a tightness in his jaw.
‘Dad,’ he said again. I glanced at him, and saw a mix of frustration, yearning, and uncertainty behind his eyes.
He hesitated and then, as if he had steeled himself for the moment, continued, ‘Evie, this is my father, Michael Holland.’
I knew. Of course, I knew. But hearing Simon say it, claim it even, felt different.
‘It’s nice to meet you properly,’ I said to Michael, holding out my hand professionally but it was strange the moment I offered it. Michael even laughed; it was the first time I think I had seen him smile, without it being a sneer. It was the same smile as Simon’s.
‘I saw your Cornwall documentary,’ I carried on, hating the quiet that had entered the interaction. ‘It was brilliant. Passionate. You made the smuggler trade still feel alive.’
‘Well, it is, in its dark ways,’ Michael said fluidly, his brows lifting slightly, as if I had surprised him. ‘But thank you! I enjoyed making it.’
It was a simple exchange, but the way he held himself relaxed, just slightly. He released my hand and took a step back. Simon’s face was unreadable, but I knew him well enough now to see the tension beneath the surface.
Michael shifted his weight, glancing away for a second, as if debating whether to say something or just let the stillness stretch between them.
‘So… how long are you in London for?’ Simon’s voice was steady, but I could hear the effort it took to sound casual.
Michael hesitated but cleared his throat and gestured to the building. ‘A few days. I had some meetings.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t expect to run into you here. On New Year’s Eve.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Simon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair and reclaiming my hand in his; I felt his hand tremble slightly and placed my other hand on top of his to steady him. ‘I’ve been around.’
Another silence.
‘I’m here for Evie. She’s had a job offer.’
Michael nodded slowly. ‘Congratulations,’ he said to me, though he only had eyes for his son.
‘Thank you!’
‘You look well.’ Michael’s words were awkward, halting, as if they weren’t something he was used to saying.
Simon fidgeted again, his lips pressing together before he spoke. ‘Thanks!’ A beat passed. Then, softer, ‘You too.’
It was small – barely anything – but it was something. A tentative olive branch in a sea of years where neither had reached out.
‘How was your Christmas?’ I asked and they seemed to turn and look at me as if to say Why would you ask that? ‘I understand it’s a difficult time for you. For you both,’ I added. Simon squeezed my hand.
Michael looked at the ground for a moment but corrected himself pretty swiftly. ‘It can be, but it was fine. Quiet, but fine.’
‘Did you work?’ Simon asked quickly and Michael didn’t respond but, rather than letting the air between them widen, Simon continued, ‘Maybe next year we can spend Christmas together.’
Michael’s face remained neutral for a long moment. But then, so subtly that I almost missed it, his shoulders loosened and he smiled with his eyes. ‘I’d like that.’
I seemed to be overcome by a very Pim-ish trait and stepped in. ‘Maybe a lunch a bit sooner than Christmas next year, you plebs.’
Okay, one final act of helping others before myself.
‘Honestly. I’ll organise it, I’m great at organising lunches. Ooh, maybe we can get a reservation at Nobu. There’s nothing like watching someone eat sushi to develop a bond quickly – or fix it, or whatever it is you two are doing besides brooding.’
I could see Simon desperately trying to hold in a laugh, and even Michael let out a breath of something that might have been amusement.
‘Lunch could be arranged,’ Michael said, though Nobu was out – I knew that as soon as I said it – a meal at The Ivy would do these two perfectly fine.
Simon clapped his hands together. ‘This has been a rather exciting day. And Evie and I have a date to watch the fireworks.’
‘A date,’ Michael repeated. ‘Are you Simon’s, erm… girlfriend?’
The two of them paused to let me answer, but I would have hoped that was obvious.
‘Uh, sure. Girlfriend.’ I rolled the word in my mouth and liked the taste.
Michael said nothing else, just nodded and glanced at Simon and me, and then back to Simon. ‘Well, I’ll be in touch about that lunch,’ he said, finally starting to walk away.
‘Dad,’ Simon began, stopping his father briefly. ‘I’m looking forward to catching up properly.’
Michael nodded but said nothing else as he headed up to the TV studios entrance. I watched him go, surprised by how little it rattled me.
A few weeks ago, that silence would have felt loaded with rejection or judgement. Now it felt like opportunity, a door ajar for me and Simon to walk through at will.
Michael Holland would be unlikely to offer an effortless relationship, but with conversation and pause – specifically for Simon to take it at his own pace – I could imagine a future where the three of us met for lunch, and a time where we, or just Simon and his dad, learned how to be in each other’s lives without forcing it.
With or without me. Though I hoped beyond hope that it was with.
I waited for Michael to reach the stairs before wrapping an arm around Simon’s waist and kissing him again.
‘Girlfriend,’ he said, our lips still pressed together.
‘I like how it sounds.’
He smirked, tilting his head to kiss my cheek. ‘So do I.’