Page 70 of Last Christmas in London

I smiled, but it caught at the edges. ‘Sure.’

Josh nudged my foot with his. ‘Don’t get all weepy on me now.’

‘I’m not,’ I lied. ‘You are.’

‘You’re gonna leave, and Megan’s gonna throw drinks at me, and I’m going to have no one to split movie marathons with. It’s tragic, really.’

‘It is,’ I said, letting the quiet settle around us again. ‘But I’ll miss you.’

‘Yeah,’ he said quietly. ‘Me too.’

And, just like that, the joke faded – but the truth stayed.

I didn’t want to dampen the mood, though. ‘If you can make it up with Megan by Christmas Day, so I can spend Christmas with Denise and Bob without the risk of someone launching a roast potato at your head, that would be even better actually.’

‘She wouldn’t throw a roast potato; she’d throw the scalding hot fat.’

‘Dark.’

‘It’s Megan. She’s ruthless.’

‘But she’s our Megan.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Okay, you’re laying it on thick now.’

‘Sorry.’

We settled into a comfortable silence and I enjoyed the feeling of having the weight lifted off my chest. That was one friend back in my contacts. I’ll sort Megan next, but first I wanted to savour the relief.

‘I haven’t asked.’ I yawned, feeling my own tiredness now the moment was beginning to pass. ‘What are you doing for Christmas?’

Josh didn’t move at first. He slurped his drink noisily, suddenly becoming very interested in getting his toe to rest neatly into a crevice of his coffee table.

‘I dunno,’ he mumbled eventually. ‘It’s kind of depressing really, to be the self-proclaimed King of Christmas – or Queen – and not have anywhere to go on the actual day.’

He gave a mock regal wave and swatted it away.

‘I’ve certainly made up for all those missed years of festivities growing up as a Jehovah’s Witness. At least in my career. My personal life.’ He waved his hand in the air and made a ‘meh’ sound as if giving it a five out of ten on some judging score.

‘What about Zach? No trip to Paris to practise your French?’

Josh let out a short, humourless laugh. ‘Ah, that! Well, that is over and done with. There’s nothing quite like walking in on the man you’re seeing having sex with his husband to really drive home that you’re the problem.’

I winced. ‘Shit!’

‘No, it’s fine. I mean, how dare they not pause mid-thrust to consider my feelings, right?’

I tried not to laugh. It wasn’t funny… but it kind of was. That’s one way to learn your lesson, I supposed. But I wasn’t telling Josh that.

‘There’s really no way to be the wronged party in a situation like that. I had no right to be angry, no real claim to be hurt. Just a front-row seat to my own terrible life choices.’

I reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. ‘That sounds brutal.’

He shook out his shoulders, as if releasing the ‘ick’ from the situation. ‘Yeah, well. Being the mistress in a romcom really makes you question everything. A lot. And it turns out the answer is: I was an idiot.’

‘You’re not,’ I began, but he cut me off with a shake of his head.

‘Oh, I am the idiot. His husband was hot! I completely picked the wrong man.’