Page 32 of Last Christmas in London

Satisfied that she’d made her point, Pim’s mood lightened. ‘Now, where were we? Ah, yes. You.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘What have you been up to?’

My eyes could have popped. She was serious, she did want to know about my life. ‘Erm, well, I…’ I cleared my throat. ‘I’ve been completing a Christmas bucket list. Or trying to, at least.’

‘Oh, really? What’s on the list?’

‘Erm, well, drink mulled wine in Covent Garden,’ I recited, counting the items on my fingers. ‘Walk down Carnaby Street to see all the lights.’

‘Carnaby Street? Really?’

‘The Christmas lights are famous.’

‘Famously tacky,’ she sighed. ‘What else?’ The waiter returned with our mains. A mushroom linguine for me and Dover sole for Pim. ‘Me and my friends are taking part in the Great Christmas Pudding Race tomorrow to raise money for charity.’ Pim’s knife and fork froze above her fish.

‘The Great Christmas what?’

I finished my first mouthful of linguine, which was, of course, delicious.

‘The Great Christmas Pudding Race. It’s a relay race in Seven Dials, where you dress up and run through an obstacle course… while holding a Christmas pudding,’ I finished lamely.

‘It’s not flaming, is it?’ she asked seriously, and I shook my head imagining Father Christmas in an extremely flammable costume running with a lit Christmas pudding.

‘No, just your standard Christmas pudding. It sounds silly, but it’s fun. And it’s for charity.’

‘Which charity?’ she asked, delicately adding some capers and cucumbers to her forkful of Dover sole.

‘Cancer Research.’

‘Oh,’ she said, her expression flickering for just a moment before her mask of indifference slipped back into place. ‘That must be an important charity for you.’

I looked down at my plate, running my finger around the delicate pattern on the rim. ‘I’m running for friends as well as for the charity. But it is important.’ My voice was softer than I intended but I didn’t want to get into a discussion on my dead mum if I could help it.

Pim knew my mum had died. She knew the timeline, the age I’d been, the touchstone details. What she didn’t know was how it still surfaced unexpectedly, particularly at this time of year.

Over the years, before I even began working with Pim, I’d learned to keep that part of myself carefully folded away. But especially when I was with her. Grief didn’t fit neatly into filming, flight schedules, or dressing rooms, and Pim had always had enough of her own to manage.

I didn’t want to open the door now. So I stayed where it was safe, talking about the run, about the cause, and not about the real reason behind it.

Pim didn’t say anything right away but carried on chewing thoughtfully. ‘How much are you trying to raise?’

‘I haven’t had much chance to fund-raise.’ My neck flushed with embarrassment. I hadn’t even started to fund-raise. ‘You have to be able to raise £100 minimum to run,’ I told her, thinking that I would probably need to pay up that £100 myself, which wouldn’t be a problem.

I did feel bad for not doing more, though. I was sure Josh had probably put up some massive collection pot at Harrods, telling everyone about his epic run for charity. Even Megan would have done something, like adding a ‘donate’ button to her email signature so major CEOs and corporations would see it every time she responded about their appraisal strategies, or whatever it was she did. Even Alex had probably got his football league to donate the cost of a pint.

I hadn’t even so much as mentioned it to anyone. Not even Pim until now.

‘£100 will hardly cure cancer,’ Pim scoffed, her signature bite returning.

I blinked, half expecting her to be joking, but she looked deadly serious. ‘You’re right,’ I said quietly, the back of my neck beginning to burn. ‘But every little helps, I guess.’

‘Can I donate?’ Pim asked softly, not looking at me as she ate more of her meal. This was probably a good thing, as I nearly dropped my fork at the question.

‘If you’d like to,’ I said, eventually, upon recovering myself. ‘I have a form you can fill in.’

‘Oh pft,’ she said, taking a sip of her white wine. ‘Just fill it in for me. Put me down for…’ She thought for a moment and then shrugged. ‘It’s Christmas, let’s say £1,000.’