I’d had a funny night’s sleep, which was frustrating because my jet lag was making me reeeeeeeally want to snooze my head off, but my brain was all, hell no, we have to think about Scheana and what this all means. So I was lying awake early, and wondering if I should just give her a call and ask her what was going on.
I shouldn’t ring her. If she’d wanted to tell me she would have; this was none of my business.
But . . . why would she tell Lara and not me? Was there no baby? Was that just the excuse she gave Lara? I felt embarrassed about my meeting, and now I was worried her lasting impression of me was one of someone who wasn’t kept in the loop by her senior management, and someone who accidently went on about slipping around on wood during a business meeting.
I blushed again at the memory. And after thirty more seconds of arguing with myself I thought, Bugger it, and called her before I could change my mind.
‘Hey, Liv, how’s it going?’ Scheana’s voice rang clear down the line.
‘Good, really well. We miss you.’
‘Awwww.’
‘How’s the leg?’
‘Good, yeah, ouchy . . . ’
‘So I had dinner with Lara last night,’ I said.
‘I love Lara! How was she? How did it go?’
‘I think it went really well, though there was one thing she said which threw me a little bit, and I didn’t know what she was talking about so I felt like a bit of a wally.’
‘Don’t be hard on yourself; I’m sure you did absolutely brilliantly.’
‘Well, she wondered how you were doing . . . and the baby.’ I paused, holding my breath. I hadn’t wanted to put Scheana on the spot, and I immediately wished I’d never opened my big gob.
After a gap of what seemed like for ever, Scheana laughed, lightly. ‘Busted. So Lara let the cat out of the bag?’
‘She assumed I’d know. But, you know, I didn’t.’
‘I’m not at three months yet, so I didn’t want to talk about it with anyone.’
‘But you told Lara. We had this huge misunderstanding where she thought . . . Never mind, I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.’
‘Sorry to have put you in that position. I’ve known Lara a really long time, so I told her the truth. You I’ve known a long time as well, but if anything had gone wrong, and I’d lost the baby . . . I have to see you every day. I see Lara maybe twice a year. I was just protecting myself.’
That made sense. I wished she’d told me, but I got it. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to say the words aloud if you lose your baby. I lightened my tone of voice. ‘So is your leg even broken?’
‘No. But my doctor advised me – medical stuff – that I shouldn’t fly during my first trimester. So I feigned being a big old weakling at the Fearless Freeze to get out of it.’
I couldn’t help but let a laugh escape. ‘Did you even need to be on that stretcher at all?’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘I basically hung out at the start until you’d all gone round the corner, rubbed myself in mud and then went and made friends with the guys in the medical tent. It’s amazing what people’ll do for you when you say you can introduce their daughter to an astronaut.’
‘Who do you know who’s an astronaut?’
‘My daughter. She may only be five but it’s all she talks about; I know full well she’ll get there.’
Scheana was such a goddess; I wished I was her daughter. ‘OK, last day. I’ve got to go – you take care and I’ll see you after the Christmas hols.’
‘And I’ll tell everyone about my baby then, all right? Can you not mention it to anyone else?’
‘Of course not. I might tell them your broken leg has gone gangrenous though.’
‘Fair enough. Keep up the good work, lady – I’m going to make sure everyone sees what a shining star you are when you get back. See ya, Liv.’
‘See ya, Sche.’
All right. I felt better now that Scheana had put my mind at rest. She did trust me. Everything was fine, and now I just needed to go down to the conference one last time, have a final day of plugging Girls of the World, and then work would be overrrrrrrrrrrr – for two weeks. I was excited as a child on Christmas morning – or at least that’s how excited I assumed I was.
I decided to dress in all-out spangles for the gala evening. I looked like a holly-jolly Christmas tree, and I was proud of it. This had been such an unexpectedly great few days that all I wanted to do was to continue sparkling. Did I tell you that Laverne Cox made a surprise closing speech today? She was fantastic – utterly inspirational, and though I was mildly miffed that Amal hadn’t showed, with George to carry her things, Laverne brought down the house. And tomorrow we got to go home! From tomorrow I would spend two whole happy weeks wearing pyjamas so this evening I was going to brave the cold and get my glitter on, once and for all.
I exited my hotel room and sashayed my sequinned self down the corridor, knocking at Dee, Abigail and Jasmine’s rooms on the way. As I waited for them I tried to call Anne again. I’d been trying all week, and I’d had one missed call back from her – so I knew she was alive – but other than that we were simply disconnected.
Abigail emerged first, looking pretty and more grown up than usual in a white shift dress. ‘Hi,’ she said shyly.
I hung up after another no-answer. ‘You look nice,’ I said to Abigail. ‘Excited?’
‘About going home?’ She nodded, enthusiastically.
‘About tonight . . . ’
‘Oh, yes, definitely, sorry – it’s just that my boyfriend is going to meet me at the airport and we’re going to start Christmas festivities straight away. He says he’s going to surprise me with something really fun.’
‘What do you think it is?’ That was nice that he was meeting her at the airport. I would be taking the tube home – separately from my colleagues – so in a way I, too, was starting my Christmas festivities from the minute we landed.
‘I don’t know . . . ’ But she instinctively looked at her hands. Abigail was such a fairy-tale princess. I wanted to describe her skin as porcelain and her lips as rosebuds, but that is not the way a boss – however temporary – should describe her team members.
Let me just clarify something: there’s nothing wrong with a girl wanting to be a princess. There’s nothing wrong with a boy wanting to be a princess. What you want is up to you, it’s your life. It doesn’t matter to me, and if anyone else gives a flying f*** that’s their problem. It certainly doesn’t make you less of a feminist, less of a man, a bit gay, a loser, a dork, a geek, vain, slutty or a whore. So, princesses all over the world, go forth, be and do whatever you want.
I climbed off my soap box and collected the rest of my team. Jasmine actually smiled, briefly, so presumably she’d cracked into the minibar in her room. Dee had the hugest smile on her face, and Ian, who would only meet my eye very quickly, looked very dapper in his suit.
‘I can’t believe we leave New York tomorrow,’ twittered Dee as we stepped from the hotel into the frosty breeze and waited for a yellow cab to come by. ‘It’s just such a fabulous place; I’d happily stay on an extra three weeks.’
‘Me too, I heart New York,’ I agreed. But I also love my PJs and my bed and my flat and my peace and quiet and my sleep.
Dee huddled in close to me, linking her arm in mine. ‘Thank you,’ she said so quietly the words nearly flittered away down the street like snowflakes. ‘For yesterday. For what you did for my birthday. It was just lovely.’
I smiled and nodded at her. ‘Merry Christmas-slash-birthday, Dee. OK, this is us!’ I said, breaking away from her and holding open the door of the taxi that had pulled over to the kerb. ‘Get ready for the best night of your whole life this week.’
We walked into that ballroom like we were the Real Goddam Housewives of New York themselves, all blinged-up and ready to celebrate another great conference. By now, so many faces had become familiar, and a small part of me would be sad to say goodbye to them tomorrow.
I was confident that the conference had been a success. I had reams of business cards and paperwork and follow-up actions and people to stay in touch with, and ideas for how to take Girls of the World forward. My plan for the plane ride home tomorrow was to get it all down in one place and make a plan. I love making plans.
We gave ourselves over to mingling, laughing, quaffing Prosecco and chowing down on appetisers. I waved at Lara across the room, who was looking resplendent in both outfit and attitude. She excused herself from the people she was talking to and made her way over to me.
‘Olivia, I have been feeling just awful about letting slip yesterday and putting you in that position,’ she said, kissing me on the cheek.
‘Don’t apologise, I cleared it all up with Scheana – turns out her leg is fine, and her secret is still very much a secret.’
‘I also wanted to say thank you for the report you sent over last night – the numbers looked great. I was really impressed with the company, with you. I’ll be in touch with Scheana, but I wanted to let you know that I’m definitely going to see what Green PR can do for Girls of the World.’
I could have tongued Lara right there. I could have peed myself with excitement. I could have passed out with relief. But I managed to keep it together just long enough to say a gracious thank you. When Lara left I took myself off for a moment to let the magnitude of what had just happened sink in.
I’d done it. All my hard work had paid off, and I’d done it. Not only had I got us through the conference but Girls of the World was now one giant step closer to becoming an international company, and I’d helped make that happen. Well done, me, I thought. Well done, all of us.
Smiling to myself, I found myself thinking of Kim. I missed her! Last year at this very gala we’d sneaked a bottle of Jack Daniel’s away and into the bathroom where we stayed, giggling, for over an hour, making huge, wild plans on what we would do when we moved out to New York together and got bit-parts in Gossip Girl (yes, I know that show ended in 2012). I missed my Kim. So I ordered a Jack Daniel’s and got out my phone.
‘Aloha!’ she answered, in full spirits. ‘Or whatever they say here. How are you, you big fat Noo Yoiker? I’m so sorry, you’re not fat.’
‘Haha, I’m very well thanks! Tired, happy, missing yoooou.’
‘I miss you too! Why don’t you fly out here instead of home tomorrow? Do you know England is snowy AF right now?’
‘No way.’ I cast my mind back to the weather report we’d all watched at Heathrow on the way out. ‘That snowstorm really hit? I just thought the British media were flying into their usual panic.’
‘It happened, sista; total white-out. So where are you right now?’
I looked around me. ‘I am at the after-party, the grand gala. You know that meeting I had to go to, with Lara from Green PR?’
‘The big important scary one?’
‘That’s the one. Long story short, it went OK yesterday, other than a misunderstanding about group orgies. Anyway, Lara just told me they’re going to help represent Girls of the World!’
Kim started shrieking and there were a lot of OMGs and fantastics before she calmed down.
‘And you want to know something else?’ I continued. ‘I’m wearing sequins and everything – people totally think I’m into Christmas.’
‘That’s my girl!’ Kim squealed. ‘Where’s Jon? Is he looking mighty fine in his tux?’
‘He’s . . . ’ I peered through the crowd; I felt like I hadn’t seen him all night. Then I spotted him, deep in conversation. He did look good. The jet black of the fabric made his hair and eyebrows look darker than usual, and the snow-white of his shirt made the skin on his neck and his hands look more tanned. And it fitted him really well. I cleared my throat, snapping myself out of it. ‘He’s talking to Dani.’
‘Dani? Who the hell is Dani?’
‘Oh, she’s really cool; she works with him at HeForShe. Wow – she looks stunning.’ The two of them looked good together.
‘What’s she wearing?’
‘A sort-of silvery long dress, very Charlize Theron.’
‘And what did you say you were wearing?’
‘A sequin dress.’
‘Wow – a whole dress of sequins?’
‘I know, but I look OK.’ I tugged on it self-consciously. I felt OK.
‘I bet you look phenomenal. Better than Dani.’
I laughed. ‘It’s not a competition.’
‘Get off your high horse, you bloody feminist,’ Kim cackled down the line. ‘It’s always a competition, especially with people with names like Dani – that’s a very cool name.’
‘And she’s really nice as well. Like, not fake nice or sugary nice, like, I kind of wanna be your best friend nice.’
‘Hey!’
‘Only if you died or something.’
Kim hmphed into the phone. ‘Am I that replaceable?’
‘That depends on what present you bring me back from Antigua. Anyway, why are we even talking about Dani and me being in competition?’
‘You started it. I just asked where Jon was and you basically said, “He’s talking to another girl waaaahhhh”.’
‘I did not.’ I turned away from Jon and Dani and walked back to our table. ‘So what did you do today in paradise, Vanessa Paradis?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know, Jack Sparrow. We went snorkelling and Steve got a nosebleed, so then we went jet-skiing and he got another nosebleed. Poor lamb. But now he’s right as rain and dancing with a woman in huge feathers at the Creole theme night around the pool.’
‘And where are you?’
‘Resting my feet on a sunlounger. I’ve been dancing with feather lady for the past two hours.’
‘Are you having a good trip?’
‘I am,’ she answered, with what I could hear was a smile. ‘I love you heaps, honeybunch, but this man does make me happy too.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘You have a few hours left in New York. Can I say one thing? It’s just . . . I want you to be happy. If someone reaches out to you, maybe you should open up a little and let them in.’
My heart responded with a lonely thump. I was happy as I was, I didn’t need a man.
‘It’s not about needing a man,’ she continued, reading me like a book. ‘It’s about letting yourself enjoy someone who makes you happy. Not everyone’s a Kevin . . . Liv?’
‘Sorry,’ I said, shaking myself from my thoughts. ‘All right, Bo Derek, you go back to your scene from 10 and I’ll go back to parading my be-sequinned body around New York in search of a man.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘I know you didn’t, and I’ll think about what you said. Or kill Steve so you can go back to being the Thelma to my Louise instead.’
‘Fair enough. Have a good night, cherub.’
‘And you, shnookums.’
We rang off and I turned to survey the room, sipping on my Jack Daniel’s. My eyes rested on Jon, who was now listening to Dani talk. I looked at his face, a face that made me smile, and . . . I just . . . he really did look incredibly dashing in his jet-black tux.
Suddenly, for no good reason, I imagined what it would be like kissing him and I closed my eyes. I imagined his face near mine, his hand on my cheek, his hair flopping onto my forehead. I imagined him growing serious, his chocolate eyes becoming more intense, but his features warmed by that slight, open-mouthed smile as he came in closer.
‘Hi,’ he said softly, and my eyes shot open.
‘Kissing!’ I yelped at him before I could stop myself.
‘Well, all right.’ Jon wrapped an arm around me and swept me into a low dip, hovering above me for a moment, our lips close while I tried to distinguish if this was actually happening or if I’d fallen into some strange jet-lagged dream in the middle of the gala. But within milliseconds he pulled me back up and chuckled, placing me gently back into a standing position and grinning down at me. ‘What the hell were you thinking about, standing there with your eyes closed?’
‘Um . . . ’ I non-answered.
‘I was talking to Dani and I looked over and thought you were about to pass out, then as I . . . ’ He started laughing. ‘As I got closer . . . ’ His laugh got louder. ‘As I got closer I saw you were licking your lips and I was like, “YES, Olivia, you enjoy those appetisers, lady!”’
‘I love food!’ I shrieked, hiding my embarrassment. ‘Um, so anyway, can you believe that’s another New York conference done?’
‘I know; it went too quickly.’
I nodded, and we stood in silence for a moment, with me looking anywhere but at him. ‘Are you looking forward to going home? For Christmas?’
‘Definitely. We should see each other again soon though – before the London conference. I’ve missed you and we’ve barely caught up on this trip.’
‘I know. I’m sorry – I’ve been so busy lately, but yes, we should have a proper catch-up soon.’
‘How about now?’ he asked. ‘The night is still young, the gala’s almost over, I don’t know about you but my jet lag has thrown my sleep patterns completely out of whack. Why don’t we go and see a bit of real New York? Let’s find a crap diner and sit by the window and drink a ridiculous amount of free-refill coffees.’
I looked around me. My work here was done. My team could make their way back to the hotel on their own, and other than getting everyone to the airport tomorrow I was nearly, very nearly, on me-time. ‘Let’s do it. We’re not allowed to go back and get changed though; we have to go in our fancy-pants outfits.’
‘I think we’re dressed perfectly for a diner date,’ he grinned, taking my arm. I flinched, just a little bit, at the word ‘date’. I don’t date. Dating is a precursor to relationships and they’re more trouble than they’re worth. This? This was just a late-night rendezvous, with a friend.
I walked into the diner and took a seat in a booth in the corner while Jon took some cash out of an ATM across the road. I gazed out of the window, finally feeling on wind-down, and finally beginning to appreciate where I was and what season it was; outside, the streets were ink-black, sprinkled with the bright lights of office and shop windows. Snow fell gently, lazily, as if out of habit rather than it really needing to.
The door opened with a tinkle of bells and in walked Jon, all thick-wool coat and snow-dusted hair. He strode to the table and removed his coat, peppering me with snowflakes.
‘I’m so happy we’re doing this,’ he said. ‘Catching up, properly. Did you hear the news reports, by the way? I was just checking the BBC app when I was in the queue.’ His cheeks were flushed from walking fast through the cold New York streets and under the table his knees knocked against mine and immediately my legs, clad in nothing but thin shiny tights, began to warm with his body heat.
‘What news reports?’
‘The snow in the UK has got worse, and they think it’s going to go on all night. The biggest snowfall in six years, they’re saying.’
‘Kim mentioned the snow on the phone, but surely it can’t be that bad across the whole country? Are you sure this isn’t just in the north?’
Jon ran a hand through his hair, shaking out the last of the snow and leaving wet tousled strands in his wake. ‘Nope; all over. I spoke to Mum and Dad earlier in Cornwall – they say it’s even beginning to settle on the beach, which is rare.’
‘I’ve never seen a beach in the snow – how cool is that?’
‘One day you can spend Christmas with me and I’ll show you.’ He smiled.
I laughed. ‘You don’t want to spend Christmas with me; Kim says I’m so un-festive that I wouldn’t even notice if Santa plopped down my chimney.’
‘That can’t be true. I know you’re not the first in line to sing carols or hang candy canes, but do you actually not like Christmas?’
‘No, I like it – I like having time off work, I like the good TV, I like seeing family at some point over the break, I’m just not your typical Christmas traditionalist.’ At that point a waitress arrived, and looked at us until we put in an order. ‘Can we have two coffees, please?’ I said. ‘And some of these buttermilk waffles? With bacon? And maybe . . . have you had any New York cheesecake since you’ve been here?’
Jon shook his head.
‘And a slice of cheesecake please. What else shall we get?’
‘Do you have any pretzel dogs?’ asked Jon, and the waitress shrug-nodded so we took that as an affirmative.
‘What’s a pretzel dog?’ I asked him.
‘I don’t really know, I’ve just always wanted to try one.’
‘Cool. Two of those, please.’
We people-watched, made comfortable small talk and sipped our coffees, eagerly awaiting our weird and wonderful feast, which when it arrived took up the whole table.
‘Wow. Do you think I can put this on expenses?’ I smiled, stretching out my sequinned dress in anticipation.
‘This one is on me.’
‘No it’s not. It’s on me.’
‘No it’s not. It’s on me.’
Hmm. We’d sort this out at the end.
‘So,’ said Jon. ‘What’s going on with you? Last time I saw you, you were saving for a house, drawing up some kind of plan . . . ?’
‘Yes, the plan is very much in place. It’s hard – there were setbacks to my plan a few years ago but I’m getting it back on track, slowly but surely.’
‘Setbacks?’
‘A douche-flop of an ex-boyfriend, but let’s not get into that. The plan is going ahead!’
‘All right, so what’s the plan?’ Jon cut the immense waffle into two and poured most of a jug of maple syrup on his side.
‘It starts with a two-week staycation in my pyjamas, beginning in just over twenty-four hours.’
‘That’s a good start.’
‘Then I’m going to go back to work in the New Year, all refreshed, and take all my ideas to the directors on how to expand Girls of the World globally. Then I’m going to get a raise, then within the next couple of years I’ll be a director myself, another raise, I’ll become best friends with Tina Fey or Amy Poehler or Lena Dunham or someone, and hopefully, I’ll be able to buy a house in the countryside, with five dogs and a library, by the time I’m mid to late thirties, which I know is late to be getting on the property ladder but I think it’s doable.’ I took a breath and a gulp of my coffee, watching him over my mug for his reaction.
Jon grinned at me. ‘That’s a big plan, good for you. A house in the country, hey? Would you commute?’
‘I guess so . . . if I’m a director I suppose I could do what I want.’
‘What makes you want to move out of London?’
I hesitated. ‘Because that’s what I’ve always planned to do. It’s in the plan. Because I’ll need at least three bedrooms if I have kids, and I can’t afford that in London.’
‘So the plan includes buying a house away from somewhere you know and love, for a fictional family?’
That stung. ‘They’re not fictional, they’re just . . . missing.’
‘Hey, I’m sorry,’ Jon said, realising his mistake. He reached across the table and covered the length of my forearm with his own, cupping my elbow and leaning closer. ‘I didn’t mean to be mean. I think I was just misunderstanding, because you hadn’t mentioned finding that family in your plan.’
I was quiet, watching my coffee swirl in its mug.
‘Are you . . . ready . . . for a family?’
‘Oh no, I’m not looking for someone yet,’ I said quickly.
‘OK.’
‘It’s just, you know.’
‘Totally.’
‘Relationships – blurgh.’
‘Yuck.’
‘They’re just so . . . ’ I looked out of the window at the window display opposite, the lights appearing bulbous against the wet windows. What was the word? ‘Tricksy.’
‘Are they?’ Jon sipped his coffee and watched me. When had he moved his arm away?
At that point the door tinkled open again and a couple came in, similar age to us, shopping bags first, laughing their heads off and banging their purchases against themselves, the counter, everything they came into contact with. I watched them, all happiness and excitement, as they danced their way towards a table.
Jon followed my eye line and smiled at the couple. ‘So you don’t want to go Christmas shopping and wear matching mittens with someone?’
‘I don’t know . . . ’ I crinkled my nose. ‘Maybe one day but at the moment I don’t have anyone to wear matching mittens with, which is fine, by the way.’
‘What about me?’
‘Would you like to get some matching mittens, Jon?’
‘Maybe I would. Would you?’
My heart slowed and I was suddenly afraid of making a wrong step. Was he flirting? And if he was, did he mean it? ‘I think you should share mittens with someone a bit less Scrooge-like,’ I said carefully. ‘So what will you and your family be doing over Christmas?’ I smiled, trying to lighten the mood and push bitter thoughts of Kevin to the back of my mind.
‘Home!’ He smiled that big smile. ‘My parent’s house is going to be mad this year – my two sisters, and my brother, and my other brother and his husband will be there. All of their kids, who range from one and a half to eight, have apparently already devised a play for us, which goes on longer than Lord of the Rings and is largely plagiarised from Frozen. My aunt is joining us because my uncle passed away earlier in the year—’
‘I’m so sorry!’ I interrupted.
‘Thanks. Then there’ll be me, slurping on the port and watching the madness unfold.’
‘Do you like spending Christmas with all those people?’
‘Of course!’
‘Don’t you just want some alone-time?’
Jon laughed, looking puzzled at my silly question. ‘Not at Christmas. It’s not allowed at Christmas. Why, what are you doing? Are you having people over to yours or is your staycation based at your parents’ house?’
‘No, my parents are away – Tenerife this year. They always take a winter sun holiday over Christmas.’
‘Wait, but isn’t one of your sisters in Miami? And Kim’s in the Caribbean. Who are you spending Christmas with? Your little sister?’
‘She’s going to Thailand. I’ll be spending Christmas with myself.’
Jon picked up a spoon and then dropped it for dramatic effect. ‘You’re spending Christmas alone? Who do you think you are, the man on the moon?’
Who’s this man on the moon people keep talking about? Neil Armstrong? ‘I won’t be alone, I’ll have the future prime minister with me – me.’
‘Why aren’t you going to Tenerife with your folks?’
I shrugged. ‘I didn’t feel like it. It’s fine – Anne, my Florida sister, is coming over in January so we’re having a family Christmas then. Well . . . ’
‘Well?’
‘I mean, we won’t make it very Christmassy in January, but it’ll be a nice get-together.’
‘Do you want to come to mine for Christmas?’
I looked at Jon for a minute, unsure if he was joking.
‘No, I’m serious,’ he continued, reading my mind. ‘Oh it’ll be great!’ He jumped up and swung around to my side of the table, sliding in next to me and angling his body towards me. His scarf flopped on my knee, leaving a small warm patch. ‘You should definitely, one hundred per cent, spend Christmas with me.’
‘Why should I do that?’
‘So many reasons. Firstly, you can pretend you’re my girlfriend, which would make my mum so happy, would give my aunt something to gossip about – and remember she’s a poor grieving widow so she needs this – and it might also shut up my brother’s husband who has never even seen me talk to a girl and is convinced I’m “one of them”.’
I laughed. ‘Those are good reasons, but—’
‘Wait, I have more.’ He edged closer still. ‘You . . . you . . . can still have downtime, I’ll keep out of your way other than when we’re pretending we’re madly in love, or eating Christmas dinner, or sharing a bed, of course.’
‘What?’
‘Fine, the bed’s yours. Um, you don’t have to like any of them, I only like about half of them, and only about a third of the kids, but I promise all of them will like you, and they’ll love having you there.’
‘Jon, this is very sweet of you, but I’m not spending Christmas alone because nobody else likes me, or because I don’t have any other imaginary boyfriends, I just don’t . . . ’
He waited while I found my words.
‘I don’t have any experience in a traditional Christmas, so to me, I’m not missing out on anything. It’s been a tough year, dealing with an awful lot of people and their quirks and dramas and successes and you have no idea how many secrets you end up knowing about people and their genitals when you’re a manager, I found that out within the last month, and I’m really, truly, just looking forward to some time off. By myself.’
Jon thought about this for a while before peering back up at me. ‘The offer doesn’t go away, if you change your mind.’
‘Thank you.’ I flipped his scarf in his face, embarrassed by the lapse in conversation.
‘So you’ve never had a traditional Christmas?’
‘No.’ I shrugged. ‘What’s the big deal?’
‘The big deal is that we’re about to leave New York and there’s a whole city of festivities going on out there that you’re missing, while you sit in here like Scrooge gagging to get back to his chambers.’ He dodged my hand that went to slap his leg.
And then I stopped short. ‘Pissflaps.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Son of a nutcracker, we need to go to Rockefeller!’
‘Now? OK then.’ Jon stood and pulled his coat back on.
‘I promised Kim I’d go and see the tree,’ I babbled as we threw down some dollars and shuffled our way out of the diner and into the cold night air. ‘You don’t have to come, but I have to go.’
‘Of course I’m coming! I’ll be Kim for the evening.’
I swathed my parka around me, the sequins on my dress crunching underneath the waterproof, padded fabric. ‘New York is cold when you’re wearing a dress.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Jon said, wrapping an arm around me.
As we walked briskly up Fifth Avenue towards the Rockefeller Center, I found my thoughts sneaking over to Jon again. I wish he wasn’t so nice, and I wish everyone stopped trying to put us together . . . it made things feel very complicated.
We saw the angels first. Two long rows of pale gold, fairy-light-covered statues holding trumpets to the heavens that no matter your religion or attitude towards Christmas couldn’t help but evoke a feeling of calm and magic. And framed at the end of the walkway, nestled at the bottom of the Rockefeller building and overlooking the famous ice rink . . . ‘There it is!’ I smiled.
The Rockefeller Christmas tree – vast, tall, fat, covered in a million twinkles and topped with a Swarovski star – was everything I remembered it to be. I can’t believe I nearly didn’t come here . . .
My eyes trailed over the humans of New York, all these people, embracing selfie heaven and thoroughly enjoying the city at Christmas. A huge family of what looked like four generations were bunching against a railing with the ice rink in the background, arguing good-naturedly about who should be more prominent in the family photo. A couple were sharing a static kiss in front of the tree while one of them held out their phone to try and selfie the moment. A woman in her early twenties was absent-mindedly bopping away to the Christmas music blasting up from the ice rink while she played on her phone, a hundred shopping bags hanging from her arms.
I sighed and looked up at the top of the tree, far above me, with 30 Rock towering far above it.
‘You OK? Are you making a wish?’ Jon said.
‘What?’ I laughed.
‘You’re staring up at that star pretty hard. Are you wishing Kim was here?’
‘I wish Kim was everywhere I was, but that’s not what I was wishing. And besides, you make an excellent Kim substitute.’
‘So can you tell me what you were wishing? Or will that break the spell?’
I tried to form my words. ‘If you laugh at me I’ll tell Carl you really want to hear about his favourite buses on the way home.’
‘I won’t laugh.’
‘Fine. I was wishing that I was like these people.’ I gestured towards the large family.
‘What, American?’
‘That’s not what I mean, not like them specifically. Like anyone here. Look how happy they are and how excited they are about being in New York at Christmas. I just . . . I wish I was like them. I feel like I didn’t make the most of it and now we’re going home.’
‘But you’re not into Christmas. And that’s OK. You don’t have to be like everyone else if that’s not you.’
‘I know, and that’s what I’m telling people all the time, but they do all look happy and maybe there’s something in that. I don’t know. In hindsight I just kind of wish I’d been a bit more open-minded, seen what all the fuss was about, and given being merry and bright a go. Then if I was still not bothered, at least I’d know. And it would have made spending Christmas holed up on my own in my PJs even sweeter than I already know it will be.’
Jon pulled me into a one-armed hug and we gazed up at the tree together. ‘So what you’re saying is you want the George Bailey experience.’
‘Who’s George Bailey? The photographer?’
‘No, my festively challenged friend. George Bailey is the star of It’s A Wonderful Life, have you seen it?’
I shook my head.
‘In it, George wants to commit suicide because . . . Well, I won’t go into it because I don’t think that bit is relevant to you. Anyway, this angel called Clarence visits him. You can call him Jon. And he shows George what life in his town would be like if he’d never been born. Which again, is not quite what you’re going through, but he has a couple of days of seeing things from the other side so he can carry on with his life and be happy.’
I nodded slowly. ‘Well that sounds nothing like my problem really, but thanks anyway.’
Jon chuckled and waved towards the angels. ‘What you need is for me to be your Clarence, your Christmas guardian angel. Come to my family home and let me show you how we do things over on the festive side, and then you’ll know what all the fuss is about. And how you celebrate from then on is up to you.’
‘I don’t know. What I need is to have two weeks of sleeping in, letting my hair air-dry, watching the type of TV normal people are ashamed to watch, reading a hundred books and stuffing my face full of breakfast food at all times of the day. I’m just thinking out loud really.’
Jon clapped his hands together. ‘OK, how about this? I’ll show you my version of Christmas, then you show me yours.’
‘My Christmas involves being on my own, no offence.’
‘Tough luck, because my Christmas involves never having a moment of peace.’
‘What if you need to go to the loo?’
‘Going to the loo is the busiest time! The nieces and nephews will just bang and scream at the door, the lock won’t work properly, a mum – any mum – will be yelling from the kitchen about whether you want a glass of wine or if she can put it in the gravy instead. It’s really fun,’ Jon said happily.
‘It does sound fun,’ I half joked. Actually there was something about it that sounded kind of nice. In an awful way. My family were going to be so spread out – again – what with Lucy in Thailand, Anne in Miami, me at home in London and my parents in Tenerife. But that’s what I wanted: solitude.
I looked back up at the tree, pleased I’d made it down here. ‘Maybe one day,’ I said. ‘One day you can show me your Christmas, but this year I think I’d better stick to my plan. Goodbye, New York,’ I whispered into the falling snow and the night air. Sorry I didn’t let you in this year. ‘See you next Christmas.’