Page 76 of Last Christmas in London

‘Don’t give me good form, give me mental-health awareness and boundaries.’ He lifted the phone from the table and walked me to the kitchen. Denise followed behind, protesting.

‘What he means is that you shouldn’t burn yourself out before you begin,’ she said, translating her irate husband, who only had my best interests at heart, as Bob rested the phone against the microwave and moved over to the kitchen sink to wash some dishes. Denise placed her hands on her hips and grumbled. ‘I was speaking to her in there – anyway.’ She sighed and let his sudden move to the kitchen go. ‘Christmas is a time for loved ones, and to have a break. You need to enjoy it, Evie.’

I did need to enjoy it and, more importantly, I wanted to enjoy it. But it hadn’t been easy the past few weeks.

‘That’s what everyone keeps telling me, and I keep telling myself.’

‘Then you know what you’ve got to do, you just need to stick to your guns and do it,’ Denise insisted as Bob muttered ‘yes’ every few words in the background. ‘You’ve got to remember that the first few months of a new job are always stressful, prepared or otherwise. Throw in a move across the world and it’s doubly stressful. You need this time, Evelyn. You need to have a break.’

Ah, the first-name usage returns.

Denise tutted slightly. ‘You need to learn how to switch off, you know. It’s like you don’t know how to relax unless someone gives you permission.’

‘I’ll have a break.’

‘Promise me,’ Denise replied, crossing her arms. Even Bob’s head reappeared back on-screen, floating halfway up the side of my phone with a tea towel wrapped around his shoulder like a cape.

‘I promise.’

‘Good,’ Denise said, patting Bob’s back like it was a drum, for no other reason than that she could. It was typical Mum-and-Dad behaviour, but they weren’t my mum and dad. They never adopted me, out of respect for my mum, who had loved me fiercely and deserved to keep her place in my life. I’d understood that, even at ten years old. What I hadn’t reckoned, at the time that decision was made, was how it would leave me feeling untethered, as if I belonged everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Growing up in foster care, even in a familial and loving home, I was always aware that eighteen wasn’t so much a birthday as a line in the sand. I was on my own from then on, no matter how much love Denise and Bob may offer. They weren’t my mum and dad and legally they weren’t able to offer much beyond an unfunded roof over my head.

That alone made me feel guilty, as if I offered nothing in return for their kindness. And fear that it would all be taken away. Just like it had been with Mum.

They were my guardians, my caregivers, and occasional life coaches. But in this moment over FaceTime, for the first time I recognised that they were simply two people that loved me.

I sniffled and adjusted my seat, feeling the familiar lump return. ‘Why is it,’ I began, chuckling lightly to reset my emotions, ‘that just as I’m about to start this exciting new job, in this fantastic new country, that I suddenly find myself with opportunities in the city I’m about to leave behind?’

Denise laughed knowingly off-camera. ‘This doesn’t happen to involve the man that doesn’t exist, does it?’ Bob’s head returned at the side of my phone before Denise’s did.

I rolled my lips together. ‘Maybe?’

‘Bob,’ Denise said, still grinning and patting his back. ‘I think you should plan on blowing up that air bed.’

‘Oh, I don’t think we’re there yet,’ I said over Bob’s rising voice about not enough room – there was always enough room.

‘Why not?’ Denise pressed, her grin widening as she closed in on the screen.

‘Because I’m leaving in January,’ I reminded her, as if saying it aloud could hammer the fact into my own brain as much as hers. It had been mere seconds since we had discussed it. Surely she couldn’t think starting a relationship less than two weeks out from leaving for a permanent job on the other side of the world was the best idea? Even for a romantic – however practical – as Denise.

She pfted at me. ‘Darling, it’s Christmas. Have some fun.’

I swallowed, my heart tightening in my chest. Simon had told me – no, scolded me – for never putting myself first. For always choosing the practical option, the safer route, the one that didn’t leave me open to getting hurt. And he wasn’t wrong. I could still hear his voice, direct but earnest, cutting through my usual self-preservation: It seems like you’re maybe making decisions based on what’s easiest, instead of what you actually want.

I didn’t want to leave London and regret it.

I didn’t want to go to Canada and think of him.

I didn’t want to change my life for a man who hadn’t even asked me out.

And yet… he had kissed me. Kissed me so passionately, so perfectly, that I had felt it down to my toes. That had to mean something. Didn’t it?

‘I don’t want to hurt anyone,’ I said finally, my voice quieter.

‘And is it serious enough that you could?’ she asked, her tone changing subtly as Bob’s head reappeared, but this time attached to his body. He wrapped his arm around Denise’s waist.

The two of them on-screen were everything you saw when you thought of a happily married couple of thirty-odd years. Content, comfortable, and joyful. It was the perfect picture, which I had never realised I wanted or could picture for myself. Until now.