Page 100 of Last Christmas in London

Simon’s voice came a little stronger, though I could still hear the underlying sadness. ‘And that’s why I volunteer.’ He smiled, knowing that his saintliness would make me groan. I was full of admiration for him, but I did love to tease his perfection.

‘You really put the rest of us to shame,’ I mumbled, still holding his hand and finding myself inching closer to him on the bench.

‘It’s just something I like to do,’ he argued playfully, leaning over to brush a loose strand of hair that had escaped from under my hat and was blowing across my face, and tucked it safely back underneath. ‘It’s all I know how to do,’ he admitted, almost reluctantly. ‘It helps me feel closer to my mum – she loved music as much as I do – but I don’t really know how to talk about it. About her. About everything that happened after she passed away.’

I felt a strange pull in my chest, like I wanted to say something to make it easier, but I knew there were no easy words. There never were.

He exhaled slowly, as if he was preparing himself for something more. ‘After my mum passed, things between my dad and me, they just… fell apart. He didn’t get it. He was so caught up in work, in… everything. And I was just a teenager, trying to find my way without her. I think he expected me to go to university, as I was supposed to, but I chose music instead.’

There was a bitterness in his tone now, and I could feel how much it hurt him to say it, like opening a wound he’d kept shut for a long time. ‘We’ve barely spoken since. It always turns into an argument. But it feels different now; as if enough time might have passed.’

‘Then why not reach out to him? Ask him to dinner?’

‘I’m volunteering.’ He smirked. And I laughed, wrapping my arm around his. ‘There’s always next year.’

I felt the tug of my heart as I thought ahead to where I could be next year, in Toronto, after my first year at Salient Studios, looking back at my time in London.

Could I do that? I wondered. After the joy of this Christmas – could I still make the move to Canada?

I said nothing and inhaled the cool air.

‘So where are you taking me for dinner?’

‘Ah, about that,’ he said with a cheeky grin that made me instantly suspicious.

‘You couldn’t get a booking?’ I asked, knowing full-well what bookings were like on Boxing Day, having had trouble getting a dinner reservation for Pim, until I found an opening at a reputable Chinese place in Kensington.

‘I did, but it’s a unique one. And we have to be out of there by ten at the latest.’

‘Works for me.’ I thought Megan and Josh would still be waiting up for me back at Megan’s at that point, ready to divulge and dissect my evening’s outing within minuscule detail. It wasn’t so much a rarity that I went on a date, as a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it occurrence. They had missed out on these experiences with me, and now we were all going to make up for lost time.

‘Right then.’ Simon smirked, standing but never releasing my hand, as he helped me from the cold bench.

He directed me down the bank, past the skate park and past the Southbank Centre. Some men and women walked by in similar situations, hand-holds and smiles, admiring the view of the city on the last day of the Christmas season – before the New Year overwhelmed the South Bank with noise and fireworks.

Simon gave no indication of the name or location of the restaurant, even when I asked.

‘We’re not there,’ he said, and I said no more, letting him revel in his surprise. ‘How did you get on with your list in the end? The Christmas to-do list? Did you complete it?’

‘Mostly,’ I said, with pride. ‘Despite the slight ups and downs, I think the only things I’ve got left are the New Year’s Eve fireworks and dinner in an igloo, but we’ll have to skip the latter. I’m not even sure how Josh or Megan would have managed that. They get booked quite early, I heard.’

‘Right,’ Simon said, more seriously than seemed necessary. ‘I’ve heard that too, about the bookings.’ He said no more, but a suspicion rose in my mind.

‘Did you manage to book an igloo?’

‘Well, not exactly,’ Simon said, his cheeks flushed from the cool air and the effort of trying to remain charmingly naïve. He nodded with his chin over to his left and I turned to see where he was gesturing. There, alone, on the South Bank, was an igloo. Surrounded by security gates and bundles of other dismantled and collapsed igloos, one sat alone in the centre.

‘What the hell!’ I shouted excitedly, stopping in the middle of the South Bank to stare.

Inside was a small table and two picnic chairs. I could see some fleece blankets and electric candles, and a single Christmas rose in the centre of the table. ‘How in the hell did you manage that?’

Simon laughed, clearly thrilled with my reaction.

‘A buddy of mine is responsible for packing them all up. He’s held off on packing that one up, but he said…’

‘We need to be out by ten,’ I repeated his words from earlier, squeezing his hand and feeling an electric-like current coursing through me. ‘How did you convince the cook to stay?’

Simon’s smile faltered. ‘Ah, well, that little bit of the puzzle I couldn’t fix.’ He chuckled apologetically. ‘But I have a solution.’ With a gentle tug he pulled me forward.