Page 36 of Last Christmas in London

‘Oh please! Alex – Megan’s husband – is ill and we don’t have a fourth, and we need a fourth or we lose our spot, and it’s for charity. You love charity!’

His face fell for a split second before he caught himself. ‘Evie…’ His voice was softer now, less guarded. ‘I – I do but…’

‘It’s for a really good charity,’ I interrupted furiously. ‘It’s Cancer Research, who, you know, do really great stuff and cure cancer – or try – and I’d really like them to keep trying so no one else gets cancer like Mum and die…’ Ooft! Straight for the sympathy jugular.

Simon visibly flinched, his body stiffening as his gaze snapped back to me, his eyes wide and glassy. His mouth parted, but no sound came out at first. ‘I…’ His voice was a whisper. ‘I’m so—’

I panicked, throwing my hands over his mouth. ‘Don’t say you’re sorry. Just say you’ll save Christmas and run the race.’

His eyes widened in surprise, but I felt his mouth curve into a smile beneath my palms. I dropped my hands, suddenly aware of how close we were, the space between us charged once again, as if my body had just been plugged into the mains.

He didn’t attempt to say anything, but I hadn’t realised how loud I’d been speaking, or how close to his microphone I had said it.

‘Oh, go on, lad!’ one of the bystanders said. ‘Do it for the girl!’

‘Do it for Christmas!’ another woman said, smiling in a mischievous way that made me feel as if I was in the middle of a Hallmark movie.

‘You should listen to them,’ I said, lowering my hands slowly from his mouth.

‘Yeah, listen to us, mate! Go on, eh!’ another man, in a backwards cap and a large red puffer jacket said, walking past. I don’t think he had a clue what was going on, but it seemed to have the desired effect. I saw Simon’s misgivings disappear.

He looked at me intensely, his gaze flicking over my Elf costume once more, lingering for just a beat longer than necessary. I watched his resolve crumble, his shoulders dropping in defeat. ‘When?’ he asked.

‘Kind of right now,’ I said, pointing over my shoulder awkwardly. ‘We’ve got the costume waiting and everything.’

He groaned, his head dropping back as he looked up at the sky, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. ‘You’re impossible, you know that?’

I grinned, feeling a wave of relief and something else – something warmer – flood my chest. ‘It’s part of my charm.’ I jolted my hip on purpose, to get the bells to ring.

He shook his head, his smile softening as his eyes met mine. ‘Yeah. It really is.’

His voice was low, almost vulnerable, and I felt a shiver race down my spine. I cleared my throat, trying to break the tension. ‘So… is that a yes?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, his shoulders relaxing as he bent down to gather his things. ‘It’s Christmas after all.’

‘Amazing!’ I did a little leap. ‘We just need to hurry up and get you in your costume.’

Simon had bent down to gather some of his belongings, but he stopped midway to his toes at the reminder of the ‘costume’.

‘It’s very tasteful!’ I said immediately, trying to placate him. ‘Josh, one of the other runners, is a professional.’

‘A professional what?’ he asked, returning to his task, but still glancing back at me and my jingly costume, probably trying hard not to imagine what kind of outfit we had in mind for him.

‘A professional Christmas organiser,’ I said, rushing to pick up some of the money and his flat cap to try to help. It felt slightly odd gathering someone else’s money for them, but time was of the essence.

‘That’s a job?’ he said, pulling his microphone off the stand and quickly dismantling it as the next busker entered the cordoned off-stage area to set up his own equipment.

‘It is.’ My phone buzzed again in my bag, and I awkwardly pulled it out as I placed Simon’s cap of money on top of his full arms with the microphone and stand. ‘Hold on.’ I placed the phone against my ear. ‘I’m coming! I’ve got someone to join us.’

‘Well, hurry the fuck up!’ Josh shouted down the phone, although the relief in his voice was apparent. ‘The race starts in ten minutes. They’re doing the warm-up.’

‘We’ll be there. Warm up for me!’ I hung up quickly. ‘We have to get going now, like right now.’

Simon, who usually appeared so calm when performing to crowds of hundreds suddenly exhaled in a panic-stricken way. ‘Okay, okay.’ Looking at his many boxes and wires and up at me again, his eyes flickered over my shoulder. ‘Ethan,’ he called, walking past me to the next busker setting up. ‘Sorry to be a pain, mate, but can you watch my stuff? I need to get off to this charity race.’

‘The Pudding Race?’ Ethan said, stopping organising his circus-trick apparatus to turn and grin. ‘You?’

‘Yes, me. I’m helping a friend.’