Page 41 of Last Christmas in London

‘We won!’ Simon announced, as we heard groans from the fast-approaching Parumpapumpums, who had clearly just realised it was all over.

We had won the Great Christmas Pudding Race.

Chapter 13

‘I’m so sorry I forgot the make-up wipes.’

While Simon was out of his Grinch costume, now sweaty and stuffed to the bottom of the Bag For Life, he was still covered in lingering green face paint as we sat in a crowded pub.

He rubbed his finger across his chin and then laughed. ‘It was worth it.’

We were alone, waiting for Josh to return from ordering our drinks and Megan from phoning Alex outside.

After receiving our Christmas pudding trophies on stage, it felt like such a downer to suddenly all head back to our respective homes and hotels. Instead, Josh made the fantastic suggestion of grabbing a celebratory drink on him, since it was he that almost lost us the race getting caught up in the Parumpapumpums’ mosh pit at the inflatable slide.

‘Why not?’ Simon said, asking for a few minutes to get his things – and endure some light teasing – from his fellow buskers.

‘I’m glad you had fun.’ I nudged Simon in the shoulder. ‘Especially since it was all so last-minute, and not your usual cuppa by the sound of it.’

He shook his head in agreement. ‘It really wasn’t, but it was fun. I don’t mind admitting it.’

‘Will your busker friends ever let you forget it?’

‘Absolutely not,’ he said, playing with one of the paper-thin beer mats on the table. ‘Particularly since I plan on bringing this trophy with me wherever I go from now on.’ He lifted his glass trophy, engraved with the details of the day and encasing a fake Christmas pudding.

‘That is a prestigious trophy,’ I agreed, holding mine up as well. ‘Not many people have one of these.’

‘I will treasure it always, although I feel kind of guilty. I did none of the fundraising.’

‘Trust me,’ I said, using one of the napkins to polish the engraving of my trophy; there was a little bit of silly string still on it. ‘You did plenty with helping us out. Besides, Megan, Josh, and I raised about £2,000 between us. So you’re covered.’

‘Oh, good, otherwise I’ll have to start bringing two caps with me to my sets to gather money for both Crisis and Cancer Research.’

‘Alternative sets maybe?’

He paused for a moment, putting his trophy down again. ‘I really was sorry to hear about your mum,’ he said. I pfted and gestured with my hand to forget it, but he carried on. ‘My mum also had cancer.’

‘Oh, I’m…’ I stopped myself before I fell into my own most hated trap of saying sorry.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t sympathetic or appreciative of people’s care but saying ‘I’m sorry’ always sparked a fear of pity in me. Maybe it was because I was an orphan and I hated the idea of people seeing me just as that, a helpless orphan. Or maybe it was because half the time people said ‘I’m sorry’ because they felt they had to and they felt awkward. When they did that, suddenly I had to care for them and make sure that they were okay after feeling awkward about something horrible that happened to me.

There was no win in it for anybody.

‘It’s fucking awful,’ I said finally, forcing a smile that felt very awkward, given the topic.

Simon nodded. ‘Yeah, it was, but she would have loved this.’

I swallowed. ‘Would,’ I repeated and he nodded.

‘When I was eighteen,’ he clarified, and I felt awful for asking. He wasn’t that much older than I was when my mum passed. Sure, he was technically an ‘adult’ but you’re always a child when you lose a parent, no matter your age.

I went to reach for his hand, an instinct that had never hit me before, but he had moved his hand away from the table so it looked like I was suddenly very interested in the salt and pepper pots. They were shaped like Santas and snowmen, so it wasn’t inconceivable.

‘I was ten,’ I said quietly, feeling the dormant lump of grief beginning to rise in my throat. ‘But you’re right, she – they – would have loved this,’ I said brightly, setting the salt and pepper pots down again when I realised he had noticed.

What surprised me wasn’t the emotion that sprung up in me, but how safe it felt to let it show. Simon hadn’t rushed to fill the silence or tried to fix anything. He’d simply understood, and somehow that made the moment feel lighter instead of heavier.

‘Thanks again. That’s another item of my Christmas bucket list sorted for this year.’