Page 98 of Last Christmas in London

‘It was.’ I froze at the realisation I had said that out loud. I could take it back or cover it up. But why should I? ‘Erm… I’m going to stick by that comment.’

‘Really, no takebacks?’

‘You sound way too proud of yourself right now.’

I could almost picture him strutting home after his saintly volunteering a sexy Grinch.

‘I might just retain that moniker for the rest of my life. I’m going to put it on my tombstone. Evie Frost said I made a sexy Grinch.’

My only response was to laugh and blush.

Denise, Bob, Megan, and Josh’s feet were gathered outside the bathroom door. They thought they were being subtle, listening in to my conversation, but it was so obvious. I threw a lazy-gift bath bomb at the door and heard them shriek in surprise, then back away.

I paused for a moment. ‘Anyway, that wasn’t why I wanted to speak to you on Christmas Eve: I had a question to ask you.’

‘Sounds ominous.’

‘It’s not, I just wanted to check what your plans were for after Christmas?’ A sudden wave of nausea hit me, partly from the hangover and Bob’s trifle and partly from the sudden realisation that I may have sounded as if I’d just asked him out.

‘I’m busking and volunteering…’

I interrupted. ‘Oh yes, your sainthood application.’

‘But,’ he continued. ‘I’m free this evening. If you’re not… doing anything.’

‘Tonight?’ I repeated, thinking about Denise and Bob, and how I’d only spent a day with them. Not to mention how would I get back to London, unless Bob was to drop me off like a first date at thirteen? ‘I – I…’ I stumbled over my words when suddenly a piece of paper flew at me from under the door.

SAY YOU’RE FREE, it read in all caps, in Josh’s handwriting.

The note was quickly followed by another.

I’M DRIVING, in Megan’s handwriting.

And then there was another.

DENISE IS PACKING YOU A TO-GO BOX, in Bob’s handwriting, with P.S. REMIND HIM I OWN A SHOTGUN… OKAY I DON’T, BUT IT’S MY FATHERLY DUTY TO SAY I DO.

‘Uhh…’ My mouth hung open, but then I found myself grinning. ‘I’m free. What time, and where, should I meet you?’

‘I cannot believe we’re doing this!’ Josh was shrieking from the back seat while Megan floored it on the M20.

‘It’s seventy miles per hour,’ I pointed out, as I glanced over at the speedometer and realised she was clearly exceeding it. ‘I don’t want to die before I get there.’

‘It’s Boxing Day.’ She gestured to the completely clear roads with her chin. ‘Just fix your make-up.’

‘I’m not meeting him until five this evening.’

Josh was handing me eyeshadow after eyeshadow – his own, of course – and listing everything we’d need to do once we got back to Megan’s.

‘She can’t go dressed like a piece of tinsel. Megan, do you have anything that will fit her?’

‘Loads,’ Megan scoffed. ‘Don’t fuss.’

‘It’s 365 days until Christmas. I need a new project,’ Josh insisted, clapping his hands together.

I dared not think what he would do once we got back to Megan’s with a full wardrobe of Zara basics and MAC make-up.

‘What about Alex?’ I asked.