Page 65 of Last Christmas in London

‘Most people don’t,’ he said, leaning forward on his elbows. ‘But big change is terrifying. Even good change. And if you make the wrong decision, you can regret it.’

‘Is that how you live your life?’ I asked, blowing on my long-cold hot chocolate out of habit.

He smiled, glancing up and down at me and my cup. I felt like I was being X-rayed.

‘Mostly,’ he began. ‘I feel for you, though. It sounds as if everyone around you is going through something right now, and it’s bleeding into your own life.’

I considered for a moment, not having thought of it that way.

‘It’s odd to think that, when I was living abroad, I felt closer to everyone than I am now.’

Simon reached across the table, his hand resting on my arm briefly before pulling away. ‘They’ll come round.’

‘It’s Christmas,’ I reminded him and myself. ‘Every movie, book, and song tells me that they’ll come around, so it must be true. Right?’

‘The odds are in your favour.’

‘I just wish one of them would answer their phone,’ I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket to check for messages. There were none, not even from Pim.

My stomach clenched at the emptiness of the screen, the reminder that the people I cared about were keeping me at a distance. Simon glanced at the screen.

‘What about your TikTok? You said you haven’t been posting much.’

I shrugged. ‘I enjoyed making TikToks when I had things to share. My glamorous life, so to speak, and it hadn’t felt very glamorous of late. It’s weird to share TikToks that your friends watch when your friends aren’t speaking to you.’

He frowned. ‘You’re worried they’ll be angry if it looks as if you’re having a good time while they’re falling apart?’

I hesitated. Hearing it put like that made me feel small. Ridiculous, even. But it was true. I nodded, tracing my thumb along the edge of my phone.

‘I know I’m only hearing one side,’ Simon continued carefully. ‘But, to me, it sounds as if it’s Josh and Megan that have issues to sort out, and neither of their issues are with you but, for some reason, you’re bearing the brunt of their drama. If I’m being honest, I think they’re being a tad selfish, Evie.’

‘They’re not…’ I started, the automatic response slipping from my lips. But something stopped me. A knife-in-the-gut realisation that I had been making excuses for them, that I was angry. Not just hurt but properly pissed off that my so-called best friends had taken their stress out on me. ‘I’m the fixer,’ I told Simon, my voice quieter now. ‘I’ve always been the people-pleasing, happy-to-help fixer in life.’

‘Why?’

The question landed heavily between us.

I narrowed my eyes. ‘Are you my therapist now?’

Simon held up his hands in surrender. ‘I don’t mean to dig. I just know what it’s like to be the person that takes on other people’s problems.’ He paused for a moment and played with his collar. ‘It’s a way of avoiding your own.’

That hit harder than I cared to admit.

‘Look, I’m not trying to shame you or anything, I’ve only known you for a few weeks – Christ, I don’t even have your number – but I just…’ He stopped and cleared his throat quickly. ‘I just care about you, in a way I’ve never really cared about someone before, certainly not so quickly.’ He paused again, not making eye contact but appearing to tremble.

My breath caught in my throat.

No one ever said things like that to me. I never gave them the opportunity.

I’d spent years being useful and caring for others, even from a distance. Being cared about – openly, without expectation – felt unfamiliar, almost destabilising.

Simon looked away as his voice became gentle. ‘I know what it’s like,’ he said hesitantly. ‘When my mum died, I thought if I stayed busy enough, distracted enough, I wouldn’t have to feel it. Wouldn’t have to stand still long enough for the grief to catch up with me. But it does, Evie. It always does.’

I looked away, my throat tightening.

‘I think you’re doing the same thing,’ he said, more quietly still. ‘Running. Running so fast you don’t even know what you’re running from any more.’

I swallowed hard, wishing he would just stop.