Page 3 of Last Christmas in London

I got good grades, tried not to act up, just listened and watched, never getting in the way. Putting Megan first, it was her family after all, and I got by until I could get out of the way. The job with Pim was perfect for the latter.

Denise meant well. But she didn’t always get me. She’d hand me Megan’s old clothes with a proud smile, not noticing that the flowery skirts and pastel cardigans made me feel like I was dressing in someone else’s skin. Bob once signed me up for a maths tutoring programme without asking, because he thought it might ‘open doors’. They wanted the best for me, but it always felt like their version of ‘best’, and my job was just to go along with it.

The job with Pim, ironically, had been the first step in getting out from under all that – into something that was messy and mine.

‘They’re amazing,’ Josh chimed in, reappearing from my lap, looking dazed. ‘I wish I’d had parents like Denise and Bob. Or even an aunt or uncle. Growing up in a Kingdom Hall full of Witnesses, watching my every move for even the slightest hint of a hip wiggle, wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy.’

Josh said it lightly, but there was a constant edge to it. Being raised as a Jehovah’s Witness came with conditions and Josh broke those conditions from the day he could reach the handle of his mother’s wardrobe or change the channel on the TV in order to copy dances by female pop stars.

His personality was not one that could be bottled or suppressed, even if he tried. He was too authentically himself, and it was his authenticity that drew me to him on a night out at university. He was the friend who could fill rooms with laughter and colour, who turned pain into spectacle and holidays into events, who refused to let anyone dim him again. In my life, he was the person who made everything fun – even if it did occasionally get him into trouble for being too much or too honest.

I smiled, grateful for his lightness, but I couldn’t help thinking, Denise and Bob were amazing. That didn’t mean it had been easy.

‘Oh, honey.’ I gripped his arm tightly.

‘No!’ Megan slammed her glass on the table with the authority of a judge’s gavel. ‘This is not a pity party. We are not going down the road of sadness and sentimentality. We are here to celebrate.’

‘And to plan!’ Josh shot upright like a puppet whose strings had been yanked.

‘Plan?’ I repeated.

‘Yes!’ Josh shouted over the growing roar of the bar. ‘It’s your last Christmas – sorry, Assistmas – in London.’

‘And my first.’ In all my years working for Pim, I’d never spent Christmas in a place colder than twenty degrees Celsius. Pim despised three things above all else: being cold, being crowded, and being cheerful. Christmas in London, naturally, was her worst nightmare.

‘We need to go all out.’ Josh pulled out his phone and his Filofax – yes, a Filofax. ‘I have made a list.’

‘Of course he has.’ Megan smirked at me.

‘Well, actually.’ Josh flipped open the well-worn leather binder. As he did, threads of tinsel and swatches of various shades of red velvet spilled onto the table. ‘It’s your list.’

‘My list?’ I picked up a piece of tinsel, eyebrow raised.

‘Yes, it’s all the things you, me, and Megan have always talked about doing in London but have never actually got around to. I’ve been a great friend, jotting them all down.’ He lifted his list, on which every corner was doodled with little snowflakes and ribbons. He was right, all the items on the list were things we had all planned to do but never got around to. Some from years ago.

‘Wow!’ I played with the tinsel between my fingers. ‘But, Josh,’ I said, lifting a swatch a red cloth from the table. ‘What is all this?’

He plucked back the swatch. ‘We’re still trying to find the perfect shade of red for the Harrods Santa costume. Someone left a review last week calling the current one blood-coloured. It’s a Christmas display, not a Quentin Tarantino set. I won’t have my Santa described as bloody. Not today, not ever.’

‘You’re really invested in this, huh?’

‘Being in charge of the Christmas visuals for Harrods is no joke,’ he said dramatically. He tapped the list again, regaining my attention. ‘This is a big deal, okay? You could say we’ve been planning this for years and this is finally the year. We’re doing this.’

‘Hand it over.’ Megan snatched the Filofax and cleared her throat before adopting the deep, dramatic tone of a movie-trailer voice-over. ‘Evelyn – better known as Evie – Frost,’ she said, pausing for effect. ‘You have thirty days to complete this list.’

‘In between filling out my notice period,’ I reminded the two of them. One of the reasons Pim and I were back in London over Christmas was for me to hire my replacement. Though every time I tried to raise the subject with Pim, she waved it off, changed the topic, or insisted we’d talk about it later, as if ignoring it might make me run out of time and force me to stay.

It wouldn’t.

Thankfully, despite the stress of hiring my replacement, spending a Christmas with friends and family was a big plus.

‘Fine, but don’t ruin the moment!’ Megan dropped her voice. She scanned the list, her face lighting up. ‘I can’t believe you made a list of this!’ She was laughing as Josh took a mock bow.

Clearing her throat, Megan began reciting the list. ‘You have to – or, rather, we have to – drink mulled wine at Covent Garden.’

‘A classic.’ I leaned forward, a memory of texting Josh my desire to enjoy a quick mulled wine in Covent Garden during a stopover in London from Zürich, a stopover that never happened, due to Pim deciding to extend her stay by two weeks.

‘Visit the light installations in Carnaby Street.’