Page 33 of Last Christmas in London

I did drop my fork then.

‘A thousand,’ I repeated, expecting her to laugh and take it back like it was some sort of exaggeration. ‘Are… are you sure?’

She arched an eyebrow. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? It’s for charity.’

‘Wow, Pim, that’s… wow.’ I felt a lump rising in my throat. This was the first time Pim had done anything like this for me, and it was for something as silly as running in a costume around Covent Garden. I’d had influenza in Greece and she hadn’t so much as sent an order of room service to my door, but she did send me the menu for her flight back to Canada and asked me to order the duck. ‘Thanks, Pim.’

She smiled with tight lips before looking back at her plate.

‘Make sure to use my name as well. None of this anonymous donor malarkey.’

Ah! ‘You know that the donations aren’t shared publicly, the amount is but not who gave what.’

She paused mid-bite, her eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t need people to know, Evie. Donating is enough. Besides, think of it as your Christmas bonus.’

There’s the Pim I knew.

‘Thank you,’ I said warmly. She didn’t have to donate after all, and she could have taken it back since there was no credit. And sure, I wasn’t getting a genuine Christmas bonus for my last Christmas with her, but to give £1,000 for me to run a race in costume with a pudding was still a nice thing to do.

With a shake of her shoulders, Pim straightened up, her familiar imperiousness returning. ‘Anyway, this Dover sole is atrocious,’ she declared, pushing her plate away with a loud clatter. ‘I don’t know why I keep ordering it here. What did I get for dessert again?’

‘The banana and salted caramel tart.’

‘Hmm… do you think they’d swap that for another plate of oysters? They really were delicious. And an aphrodisiac too.’ Her eyes sparkled wickedly. ‘I wonder where that chef has got to.’

Chapter 11

Resting my phone against the steps of St Martin-in-the-Fields, I did the standard influencer twirl on the spot in time to ‘Step into Christmas’. I had recorded a clip earlier that morning in my hotel room while in my regular clothes and, with a little light editing, I could piece the two together to reveal my outfit for the Great Christmas Pudding Race in my next TikTok video.

As planned, Josh had found a green Elf costume for me and I had spent the better part of my Friday evening, after dinner with Pim, hot-gluing extra tinsel and jingle bells to it.

I wore red block-heeled boots – a decision I would probably come to regret when running through inflatables with a Christmas pudding – and a hat with an extra-large bell on the end. I couldn’t say I felt sexy, but I definitely felt Christmassy.

‘You’re going to be late,’ Andy, the concierge at the Travelodge said, walking past me twirling by the steps with his favourite Starbucks iced coffee, a brave choice for December. I looked at my watch.

‘Damn!’ I said, gathering my things quickly. ‘Thanks, Andy!’ He raised his hand in a swift thumbs-up before heading back inside the Travelodge.

It was 10.30 in the morning, and despite being fairly quiet, I still got plenty of funny looks as I walked up Monmouth Street into Covent Garden. Still, it was nice to walk through the piazza in the morning before the throngs of tourists descended. They were gathering but it was nowhere near as busy as it would be by lunch time or once night fell, but it was still packed enough that groups of shoppers parted ways to look and let me pass, and buskers had pulled crowds around them.

Without meaning to, I looked around for Simon at his previous busking spot and there he was.

He was singing into a microphone, a backing tune of ‘What Christmas Means to Me’ by Stevie Wonder. Before I realised it, my feet had altered my direction and I found myself headed towards him. He was like gravity, pulling me in.

For a while, he didn’t seem to notice me. I’d have thought I was pretty hard to miss in my Elf costume, jingling with every step among the sea of puffer jackets and Christmas jumpers. But he was lost in his element, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he belted out the lyrics, his energy infectious. I couldn’t help but smile, watching him charm the crowd.

‘Thank you!’ he called as he hit the last note, the crowd erupting into applause. Coins clinked into his upturned hat and he gave a little bow, his face alight with genuine joy. I manoeuvred my way to the front, the bells on my skirt chiming softly, and called out, ‘Who are you raising money for today?’

He turned, his eyes widening as they landed on me, taking in my sparkly boots, the jingly skirt, and the ridiculous green hat perched on my head. For a second he just stared, his mouth twitching as if he were trying to hold back a laugh. Then his eyes met mine, dancing with that familiar mischief.

‘Crisis,’ he answered into the microphone, his voice warm. ‘Which, judging by that outfit, you might be in.’ The crowd laughed, and his grin grew wider, his gaze never leaving mine. He held up a finger to me, mouthing ‘One minute’ before handing the microphone to another busker and making his way over to me.

As he moved closer, his eyes did another slow sweep of my costume, lingering just a second too long before locking with my eyes again. ‘Nice outfit,’ he said, his voice lower, softer.

‘I’m Jovie from Elf,’ I replied, giving my skirt a playful twirl and jutting my leg out to show off my sparkly boots. ‘I’m about to run the Great Christmas Pudding Race.’

‘Yeah, I heard that was happening today.’ His gaze dropped to my boots again, his mouth curving into an amused smile. ‘You’re actually running in those?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ I said, feigning offence. ‘I’m more coordinated than I look.’