Page 25 of Last Christmas in London

‘But not the best Christmas movie?’ I asked, still trying to decipher how we had got onto the careful delineation of Christmas movie sub-categories this early in the evening. We hadn’t even opened the prosecco yet.

‘That is and will always be The Holiday,’ he declared, flinging his hands up as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Jack Black is my ideal husband.’

‘A surprise to us all,’ I agreed. ‘What about Love Actually?’

He groaned. ‘It hasn’t aged well, and I’m not just talking about the political incorrectness. The storylines are… bizarre. Did we really need Martin Freeman discussing traffic while faking sex acts? Or Keira Knightley getting married at eighteen?’

‘It’s still on the list.’ I held up the DVD case.

‘Well, duh! We can’t not watch it. It’s a Christmas classic.’

‘Just an ageing one.’

‘There is the gorgeous Liam Neeson storyline.’

‘We need Kate, and we need Leo, and we need them now,’ I quoted effortlessly.

Josh grinned.

‘Okay,’ I began again. ‘But why are we watching DVDs as if it’s 2005? Haven’t you heard of streaming?’

He looked at me as if I’d suggested setting fire to his Christmas tree. ‘You try to find The Grinch on a streaming platform at Christmas. Or Miracle on 34th Street; the classic or the Richard Attenborough one! You’re more likely to find Santa’s workshop before Christmas Day than those masterpieces.’

‘Ooh, The Santa Clause,’ I said, holding up the nineties classic DVD. ‘Another that hasn’t aged well.’

‘It’s doing better than The Santa Clause 3, at least.’ His nose wrinkled in disgust.

‘We don’t speak of The Santa Clause 3.’ I threw Josh the DVD case.

Josh pushed himself up, humming ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ as he did so, and went to his ancient DVD player to set it up.

I glanced around at the explosion of tinsel, paper chains, and snowflakes dangling precariously from the ceiling, courtesy of an illegal amount of Blu-tack. Tinsel draped every window, mirror, and frame, and the Christmas trees – there were multiple – were each decorated in a different colour scheme. His flat looked like Santa’s Grotto had thrown up on it.

‘I see you opted for fake trees over real this year.’

‘I can’t be dealing with hoovering every five minutes,’ Josh protested. ‘I love the smell, but I can get artificial candles and diffusers for that.’

‘And here was me thinking you were all about the authentic Christmas.’

‘Darling, I work in retail – we go for sparkle and shine far more than authenticity,’ he laughed darkly. ‘If I wanted authenticity, this,’ he gestured grandly at the Christmas chaos, ‘would be replaced by nativity scenes, praying, and bloody misery. Now, eat a mince pie.’

Laughing, I grabbed two, ignoring the plates entirely.

Together we sat back down on the sofa, and he began the route through old trailers for early noughties Disney films and the enforced ‘You wouldn’t steal a handbag’ piracy video.

‘So how goes the hunt for your replacement?’ Josh asked, settling in to watch the anti-piracy trailer with his mug of home-brewed mulled wine. He was right, his house did smell just like Christmas, with or without a tree.

‘As well as can be expected.’

‘So not going well at all.’

‘Pretty much,’ I laughed. ‘Every time I try to talk to Pim about it, she shuts me down or changes the subject.’

‘Is it that she’s averse to change or is she simply ignoring the fact that you’re leaving?’

‘Both. Neither. Who knows with Pim? All I know is that I have to find my replacement before I leave, otherwise Pim Hardcastle is going to fall apart.’

‘That’s on her. She’s a grown-ass woman, let her live in the real world for a change.’