Page 48 of Last Christmas in London

My stomach twisted.

‘Megan, I’ll call you back. I’m coming to you,’ I said quickly, then hung up before she could respond, the guilt returning, but I knew what I had to do right now and it wasn’t bolting for the Tube.

By the time I reached Pim’s side, hurriedly whispering, ‘We need to go,’ she was mid-sentence. ‘—which clearly explains your desperate need to police other people’s pets, considering you have the personality of a wet sock.’

Michael let out a short, cold laugh, crossing his arms over the brown stain across his white shirt. ‘You do realise that the only reason people tolerate you is because you say things loudly and with an affected accent, right? No one actually cares what you have to say.’

Pim recoiled as if he’d slapped her and, by the way her hand was flexing at her side, I could sense she was planning to slap him.

My gut lurched. ‘Okay, that’s enough,’ I said, stepping between them before Pim could either a) throttle Michael or b) eviscerate him with a single sentence – or another sentence, given I had probably missed a few verbal rallies. Glancing at the phone crowd, I wondered how soon it would be before I saw it all online anyway.

‘That’s enough,’ I said steadily, though Gerald barked for good measure as I handed him to Pim, hoping to use him as an emotional support dog and keep her hands for something other than throttling Michael Holland in the street. ‘I think it best we leave.’

Turning back to Michael, I noted he had taken a step back and was now straightening his coat with a tight-lipped expression. ‘I wish I could say it was a pleasure,’ he muttered, ‘but it never is.’ Brushing past us, he walked into the BBC building without another glance.

Pim let out a sound of pure indignation, squeezing Gerald to her chest. ‘That man—’

‘We have a bigger problem,’ I cut in, my voice urgent. I nodded towards one of the men still standing a few feet away, who quickly lowered his phone and stuffed it into his pocket, turning and walking off with a little too much nonchalance.

Pim frowned. ‘Who was that?’

‘I don’t know,’ I admitted, ‘but he was filming you two.’

Her expression flickered, uncertainty replacing her outrage. ‘Filming us?’

‘Yes. And I think—’ My stomach twisted. ‘I think he wasn’t the only one.’

Pim’s face paled.

Gerald, oblivious to the potential PR disaster unfolding, chose that moment to lick Pim’s made-up face affectionately, his tongue lolling in triumph.

‘Oh, fantastic timing, Gerald,’ Pim muttered, shaking her head. ‘Perfection.’

I rubbed my temples, heart still racing from Megan’s call. Between Pim’s potentially viral argument and my best friend’s world falling apart, I had no idea which crisis to deal with first.

‘Right,’ I exhaled. ‘I think I need to get you back to the hotel.’

‘I think I need a lawyer.’ Pim blinked and lowered Gerald to the ground – the little dick stayed still and well-behaved for her.

And with that, we turned on our heels and marched away, Gerald happily trotting at our side, completely unaware of the shitstorm he’d just unleashed.

Chapter 15

Josh placed a bottle of red wine on the kitchen counter. ‘First bottle here, another coming.’

I’d arrived at Megan’s, after leaving Pim at the hotel, trading one kind of emotional firefighting for another.

Josh and I had already spent hours trying to comfort Megan – takeaway, taxi offers, even Googling how to change the locks. Nothing helped. She didn’t know what she wanted: Alex or no Alex. Us or to be alone.

She wasn’t just upset with Alex; she was furious with herself. And I had no idea how to fix that. Wine was the only thing she hadn’t rejected outright.

Josh, ever the overcompensator, poured Megan a goblet full of Shiraz, then himself one just as generous. There wasn’t any left for me, which was probably for the best. Someone had to stay clear-headed. And I was currently cradling Alfie, who had fallen asleep on me after all the upset.

His warm little self, spread-eagled over my chest, made me feel like I was only half-listening, half-preoccupied with keeping him from stirring. I felt pinned to the seat, but I wasn’t complaining. I had hardly seen Alfie since he was born, and it was nice to think he trusted me enough from those few and far-between meetings and FaceTimes to fall dead asleep on me while his mother sat wailing in the corner about wanting to enter her husband in Squid Game.

Megan took a gulp, sniffling noisily.

Josh cleared his throat. ‘First of all, you’re a queen. Alex is an idiot. Full stop.’