Page 45 of Last Christmas in London

‘I do actually,’ Simon said to Josh, who immediately began to talk his ear off about a Gingerbread House display he wanted to make in the children’s department of Harrods that wasn’t too scary but not too sweet either.

‘I like this man,’ Megan suddenly whispered, leaning into my shoulder and acting as if she were still deeply concentrating on her non-existent WhatsApp messages.

‘I can tell,’ I said under my breath, before leaning closer to her. ‘Me too!’

The look of joy that passed over her face was gone in an instant, but something inside me seemed to light up upon admitting it. I really liked Simon. Not just because he was really good-looking, with his sort of rough-and-tumble blond locks and sandy facial hair I had a strong urge to run my fingers over, but because he was kind and humorous. He was everything you could want in a really good friend or, in my imagination, a really good boyfriend.

But it was impossible. I was leaving.

I’d spent years telling myself that relationships were almost an inconvenient thing, something I didn’t have time or space for. Now that I finally did have, I was on the verge of uprooting my entire life again.

Starting something now felt reckless: a recipe for heartbreak built from temptation. Wanting Simon was easy. Staying long enough to find out what that might mean was not.

So I did what I always did when my thoughts edged too close to something real: I folded them away and focused on what was right in front of me.

I played with the cocktail umbrella in my negroni as Josh and Simon spoke about a few of the adverts that Simon had scored – Josh had to deny himself from saying ‘jingled’ – and the kind of work Simon could do with him.

‘I see a beautiful partnership developing,’ Megan interjected after ten minutes, clearly bored of their work talk. ‘Are we eating as well? I might order some nachos.’ She stepped down from the booth. ‘Josh, come and help me.’

Subtle, Megan, real subtle.

I glared at her from behind my negroni as she pulled at Josh’s sleeve. Josh, looking very confused, followed her and couldn’t turn back even if he wanted to, as Megan had her arm around his shoulders in a sort of headlock as she dragged him back to the bar.

‘She wants a lot of nachos,’ I said to Simon, my heart leaping as we were suddenly alone again.

He smiled. ‘So when do you start this new job of yours?’ There was something about the immediacy of his asking soon after the others had left that made me wonder if he had been wanting to ask this question for a while.

‘In the New Year.’

‘In Toronto.’ He swilled his beer around gently.

I nodded. ‘Yeah. It’s at this studio that I know really well from working with Pim – she’s the actress I work for – she was on a show of theirs for a while, so I met a lot of people backstage.’

He nodded now, continuously and with a forced smile.

‘What sort of work will you be doing?’

I laughed breathily, unsure how to talk about a job I had such impostor syndrome from. ‘Well, it’s an assistant TV producer role.’ I flushed. ‘Josh and Megan like to drop the assistant as I’ve been an assistant for eight years.’

Simon smiled encouragingly but said nothing.

‘I’ll be supporting the main team of producers initially,’ I said, playing with the umbrella in my drink again. ‘And helping produce ideas for the shows that they have. Mostly they produce game shows with celebrities and the like. The kind of thing you might watch on daytime TV when you’re ill or if you’ve got a hangover.’ I stopped myself degrading the studio with an awkward laugh.

I didn’t know why I was talking down about the job. It was a great job, one I was barely qualified to do and mostly got because of nepotism and recruitment laziness. Salient had wanted someone that knew the team, who would fit in and know how to handle the celebrities. All things they knew I could do from my time with Pim on their many shows.

Everything else I needed to know I would learn on the job and maybe I would work my way up. That was how most people did it, start from the bottom and work their way up. After all, there was no ladder with Pim, only a car door to open and shut. This job would give me the opportunities to grow, to develop new skills and earn more money, and, more importantly, give me roots in a new city. The roots I’ve always wanted.

‘I move in January. It’s going to be great.’

‘Sounds it.’ Simon had some more of his beer before suddenly asking, ‘Weren’t there any jobs in the UK you wanted?’ I hadn’t even applied for any, I hardly looked. Every time I opened a vacancies page my mind would roll through all the scenarios of getting an interview, only to be rejected for some nepo baby fresh out of university. The disappointment seemed far more potent than applying out of the country. ‘Seems a long way to go for a job.’

I fell silent, slightly stunned.

I considered him for a moment, before forcing myself to answer.

‘It’s quite a competitive area. There aren’t many Broadcast Production Assistant jobs in the UK.’

‘Surely Pim would have given you an in?’