‘You’re in New York! Where?’ I stopped Jon and me in our tracks.
‘Grand Central Station, or outside Grand Central Station, more accurately. If you tell me you’ve just got on a flight I’m going to curl up in this snow and just die.’
I stood up taller, as if Anne might be able to see me better. ‘No, I’m here, staying in an apartment in the Upper East Side.’
‘Oh, OK, Bethenny Frankel, let me just sling on my Louboutins and pick up my teacup dog and I’ll head right over.’
‘You came to New York?’ I grinned up at Jon, who brushed my hair from my face with affection. My big sister came to New York, for me.
‘I’m not going to let my little sister spend Christmas alone, am I?’
‘I’m not quite alone … ’
‘Are all your workmates still there? They don’t count, they’re not family.’
‘Actually, most of them just got flights out, now it’s just me and Jon.’
‘Jon Jon? The one Mum’s always saying is obviously your Mr Right?’
‘Mum’s never met him!’
‘Maybe not but we can read you like a book.’
I grabbed Jon’s hand and we started speed-walking in the direction of the skyscrapers. ‘Wait right there, we’re just in Central Park, I’ll see you really soon.’
‘Do you mind?’ I asked Jon, without stopping. ‘Do you mind that she’s here? You and I are only just alone, but I haven’t seen her for so long. And she’s my family.’
‘Of course I don’t mind!’ said Jon. ‘You know I love a big, traditional family Christmas; this is as good a start as any!’
New York is a place you never have enough time in. I knew that now, and I wouldn’t dwell on the fact that I hadn’t made it home to my TV, or even that I hadn’t had the big family Christmas this year.
The Christmases of my childhood were still Christmases, even though they weren’t traditional, but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when we’d stopped thinking it was important to be together. I was determined to make that change. Next Christmas, my family were not going to know what hit them. Hint: it would likely be a party popper in their FACES.
I was grateful to my family and how they raised me, to my sisters for being the strong women they were. I was grateful to this beautiful city, and this lovely, familiar, but new man, for helping me see that there is magic in the air at this time of year, drifting in the sky with the snowflakes.
Most of all I was grateful to myself, because I felt open, and alive, and unchained to my past for the first time in years. Thank Christmas for that.
22 January
4 weeks after Christmas
Send help: we’re still in New York.
Kidding! I’m happy to report that everybody else arrived home safely on Christmas morning, and apparently had a blissfully traffic-free zoom around the M25 as they headed to their respective destinations. Even Ross and Abigail made it back on the day, just, with her staying by his side and travelling home via a few other countries en route. By the time Jon and I returned in the early hours of 27 December, the snow had all but melted, leaving slush by the roads and a thin white powdering on England’s highest peaks.
My New York Christmas was merry, bright, and more fun than I’d ever comprehended it could be. Jon, Anne and I spent the big day getting fully into the spirit. After our festive ‘lunch’ I even had a go on one of the Salvation Army’s bells. And I didn’t miss my sofa for a second!
Well, that’s not quite true. Boxing Day was spent doing Christmas my way: we flopped on the sofa and stared at the TV in companionable silence. But by the late afternoon I was itching to get back out there, and Jon and I spent a fab evening in matching blue hoodies watching the Knicks game at Madison Square Gardens.
We’d said goodbye to Anne the morning of Boxing Day at Grand Central Station. She was missing her sunshine and shorts, and wanted to enjoy it while she could before coming back to England for her two-week visit at the end of January. And now here we were, the evening she was due to fly in. Jon and I were in a shabby-chic gastro-pub in West London to celebrate Abigail and Ross’s engagement drinks, and in a little while we’d be moseying to Heathrow to pick up my big sister.
As for my little sister, she’d reluctantly put Thailand on the back burner following an unexpected Christmas with the parents. But she’d told us, in no uncertain terms, that as soon as Anne left she was off, and we shouldn’t expect to see her again until next Christmas. When maybe she could be persuaded to come home again …
I was listening to Abigail give a speech about her husband-to-be when Jon returned to my side with a fresh glass of champeroo for me. Could he be any more perfect?
‘Listen to her,’ I whispered. ‘She’s so much more confident now when she’s back in her comfort zone.’
‘I think she’s more confident after you pushed her out of it, in New York,’ he replied, taking a long drink of his Coke. Jon was designated driver tonight, so Anne and I could catch up in the back of the car on the way home. He grinned that big grin, which is only for me, and looking at him I can’t believe I never realised how much I loved this guy. Look at that face! I could just squash it and kiss it and stroke his hair and then squash his face again. ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘I was thinking she’s going to make quite a public speaker one day,’ I lied, turning back to Abigail.
Jon slipped a big, warm hand into mine just as Kim appeared, still looking bronzed and relaxed from her adventure in the Caribbean.
‘Those two are too cute, I’m going to have to vom my head off,’ she said.
I looked around the room. Dee and Ian, fully out of the closet as a married couple, were making up for lost time and subjecting the rest of us to as many PDAs as possible, barely stopping for the speeches. Jasmine was there, smiling. Actually, she’s been making a big effort lately. We both had. She’s been trying hard to stop acting like a petulant little sister, and I’m trying hard to not treat her like one.
Scheana was, at the risk of sounding clichéd, glowing. She looked a million dollars with her tiny baby bump, and after the success of Lara Green PR, and New York in general, she’d had a quiet word in my ear one day at the office. She was going to need someone to be her maternity cover, and she could think of nobody better suited than ME. ME.
Jon plucked a glass of champagne off a passing tray and passed it to Kim. She accepted it, and then excused herself, saying, ‘Just going to the loo.’
‘Do you want me to hold your glass?’ I broke away from Jon and followed her.
‘No no, that’s OK.’ She kept walking, not looking back at me.
‘Kim?’ Never one to shy from following someone else into a bathroom, I stayed at Kim’s heels right up until the cubicle door, when she double checked nobody else was in the room and then faced me.
‘Look. Don’t ask questions, but I’m just going to chuck most of this champagne away and top it up with water.’
‘Why—’ I gasped. ‘Are you with child?’
Kim rolled her eyes and looked around again, lest anybody had sneaked in through the window. ‘Yes. Probably. I mean, yes, but only by a few weeks so I don’t want anyone to know yet, and you know what it’s like when you have a soft drink at a work event and suddenly you shoot to the top of some secret who’s-preggers office poll.’
I burst out crying, which was a bit over the top but the two champers I’d quaffed already was giving me all the feels. ‘We’re having a baby,’ I choked, patting Kim’s still-flat stomach.
She laughed, and on came her waterworks, and as we hugged, crying, in that slightly grotty pub bathroom, a sea of memories of us doing just this at different stages of our lives swam by. That time we were both too pissed and kissed each other to impress some boys and then felt like horrible anti-feminists. That time Kim got engaged to Steve and she was crying with happiness, and I was pretending that was why I was crying too. That time I split up with Kevin and she took me on an all-night bender. And all those o
ther times where you’re on a night out and can’t help but have a quick wee and a cry with your best buddy for no reason.
I pulled back, sniffling. ‘Did this happen in Antigua?’
‘I think so.’
‘See, if you’d come to New York you’d still be able to drink champagne.’
She wiped her eyes, a light, happy smile coming through the tears, and picked up her champagne flute again, moving towards the sink. ‘I know. And now, infuriatingly, I have to spend the next seven to eight months drinking bloody orange juice at every major celebration.’
‘Well, don’t waste it.’ I took the glass from her and knocked the fizz back. ‘What? I’m getting in the fake-Christmas spirit!’
‘What time do you leave for the airport?’
I checked my watch. ‘Oh, very soon actually. I can’t believe my whole family is going to be together again, it feels like it’s been so long. They have no idea what’s going to hit them, my flat is decorated head-to-toe. It looks like the Christmas department in Macy’s.’
‘Good for you! A month later than the rest of the world, but you got there in the end.’
‘Next Christmas I’m not missing out. I’m going to make sure we’re all together, all of us. Everyone. My family, Jon’s family, your family.’ I patted her belly again. ‘I’m so happy for you and Steve, and me, having a baby … ’
‘I’m so happy for you,’ Kim said.
‘Why?’
‘Because you had a merry Christmas. And I have a feeling that this year’s Kim and Olivia Christmas Twosome Party might have more than one candle on a plate and ‘Let It Go’ on loop. And you might even have something better than that crap Christmas tree.’
‘Hey! My Christmas tree is perfect, and it’s coming out every year.’
Kim laughed. ‘I still can’t quite believe it.’
‘What?’
‘That you now believe in Christmas. It’s a Christmas miracle!’
It may be close to a year away, a year of big changes for all of us, but next Christmas couldn’t come soon enough. I was already itching to go back to New York in December, leading the Girls of the World trip once again, returning to my Central Park, to my Empire State, to my 30 Rock, to my mistletoe on 34th Street.
The End
(Merry Christmas!)
Acknowledgements
Firstly, I’d like to thank the 2010 snowfall that created a whopping great white Christmas over the UK, meaning I was stuck in New York with a rapidly outdating tourist visa. Without those snowflakes, this story idea may never have been born.
I’d like to send a thanks and a mistletoey snog to all the Little Brownies, especially Manpreet With The Good Hair, Clara, Jennie, Marina, Rachel, Ella, Bekki and Liz.
Sleigh-riding over to Hardman & Swainson for a big thank you to Hannah, and a big WELCOME to baby Nell! And a lot of love and mince pies to be handed around to her wonderful, supportive, hilarious crew of authors, Fergie’s Angels, who I’m very lucky to be a part of.
As always, lashings of festive cheer to the book cheerleaders in my life; my friends and family, not limited to but including: Phil, Mum, Dad, Paul, Laura, Beth, Rosie, Mary, David, Robin, Jude, Eleanor, Peter, Kath, Liam, Katie, Ross, Corey, Emma, SJ, Sarah, Al, Ellie, Bethany, Nancy, Karen, Linda, Hannah and EX5.
Thank you to those who gave generously to Husband Phil who ran the 2016 London Marathon in aid of Children With Cancer: Rob & Sarah, Hannah CQ, David & Mary, my mum and dad, Paul & Laura, Robin and the gang, Ross & Katie, Ellie, Emma, Sarah, Mark, Isabella & Freddie, SJ, Linda, SarahLouise and Liz.
Special thank you and mention to Lara Pollard-Jones, who won a character named after her in a raffle to raise money for Parkinson’s UK, and to SarahLouise Tallack who has dedicated her heart and soul to fundraising for this charity. It’s an absolute pleasure to have you both be involved in my book, ladies.
And a big big big, stocking-full of thanks and love to YOU, for reading my book and spending a little bit of your Christmas with me. Happy Holidays and Mistletoe Kisses to all of you xxx
If you loved
Mistletoe on 34th Street
read on for an extract from
Catch Me If You Cannes
Part 1
Once upon a time Jess accidently stole a superyacht from Cannes marina, but we’ll get to that …
Jess was awoken by her best friend punching her in the back of the head.
‘Get off me please, I have a knife and I will kill you to death!’ she shrieked, rolling over and remembering in the nick of time that she was three bunks up. In the opposite bed, Bryony lay face-down, fast asleep, a long arm stretched across the gap between them like a rope bridge with her clenched fist on Jess’s pillow. Jess exhaled in relief and pushed her friend’s hand off her bed.
Bryony lifted her head, her face painted the colour ‘grump’. ‘Jess, I love how bubbly you are at any God-given hour, but could you keep it down a bit? I just got to sleep.’
‘If you’re going to sleep-punch me I’ll fight back, you know.’
‘You’re a lover, not a fighter,’ Bryony yawned.
‘Where’s everyone else?’ Jess rubbed the back of her head and peered over the side of the bunk at the empty beds below.
‘The Scot with the earrings declared at two a.m. that he couldn’t sleep, and that they should all go to the bar instead. I haven’t seen them since. Did you say you have a knife?’
‘I thought you were a robber. I was just warning you that I’d kill the hell out of you if you tried anything.’
Bryony raised an eyebrow. ‘You couldn’t kill a robber.’
‘I could, I’m feisty. I do boxercise. And Zumba, if that’s relevant.’
‘You said “please”.’
‘Huh?’
‘You definitely said, “Get off me please”. Even when you think you’re being attacked your manners are impeccable. Anyway, you don’t have a knife with you. Did you mean your plastic spork?”
‘If you’d been a robber you wouldn’t have known that.’ Jess sat up as best she could when the ceiling was less than two feet above her bunk, pulled on her glasses and cracked open the curtain, letting bright Riviera sunshine flood into their compartment of the sleeper train. ‘Wow!’
‘Urrrrgggghhhh, what time is it?’ Bryony pulled the covers over her head, exposing her feet, which dangled off the end of the bunk anyway.
‘Nearly seven.’ Outside the window, glittery turquoise sea whizzed past. White sails shook like elegant swans waking up, while yachts the size of houses gleamed lazily in the early-morning sun.
A beam of happiness and hope pushed its way across Jess’s face. It was happening, and this was exactly what she needed: two weeks of fun somewhere different, somewhere out of her comfort zone. She reached over and yanked the blanket off Bryony. ‘Look.’
Bryony scrunched her eyes closed. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Bryony, look! We’re in the South of France, the Côte d’Azur.’ She pulled down the window as far as it would go and pushed her face up to the gap, breathing in the Mediterranean air. ‘Bonjour la France!’ she yelped into the breeze.
Chuckling, Bryony pulled her back inside. ‘Okay, Édith Piaf, I’m awake. Let’s go and get you a croissant and me some strong coffee before we arrive.’
Jess couldn’t drag her gaze away from the window as she and Bryony sat in the restaurant car munching their way through a basket of flaketastic croissants. The sea was a never-ending turquoise ribbon, and every thirty seconds Jess would point out yet another beachside eatery she wanted to try.
‘We’re still half an hour from Cannes,’ said Bryony. ‘I’m sure there will be plenty to eat there. Now answer the question; I need to know the protocol should this happen.’
‘It’ll happen, I can feel it. So if Mr DiCaprio makes eyes at me across the marina and says, “My love, come to my yacht,” I will warble, “I’LL NEVER LET GO” and you’ll know I want you to skedaddle.’
‘And you’ll do the same
if Zac Efron invites me for a Cannes-Cannes-Cannes? Only my code word will be “Cougar Town”.’ Bryony stuffed in another croissant.
‘Sounds perfect. But George is off limits – he’s a married man now. I shall be content to be just friends with him, and perhaps be the recipient of a good-natured Clooney prank.’ Jess’s phone buzzed with a text message. ‘It’s Mrs Evans. She says “Havv a NICE tIME swetie” – she’s just learnt texting.’
‘From you?’
‘Yep.’ Mrs Evans was one of her regulars at the café, ninety years young and obsessed with gadgets.
‘How will those villagers cope without you for the next fortnight?’ Bryony smirked.
Excitement fizzed like popping candy in Jess’s chest. ‘They’ll be fine. I can’t wait to be in Cannes. Sunshine, red carpets, rosé wine, celebs everywhere … Thanks again for letting me tag along.’
‘My pleasure. Any time you want to muscle your way on to one of my trips suits me fine – this would be my idea of hell without my short-stack. Besides, when we spoke about it you were a right grump. You were practically me.’
The unlikely friendship of Jess and Bryony had begun the day after Bryony moved to Cornwall and joined Jess’s secondary school in year nine. The personality and height differences back then were even more pronounced than they were now: Jess was the tiniest girl in their year, while Bryony towered above most of the boys, her chunky canvas high heels adding to the effect. Bryony didn’t speak to anyone on her first day, just stared straight ahead among a sea of whispering teenagers. Jess had felt for this serious new girl, so made her a welcome pack of Rimmel Heather Shimmer lipstick, some Impulse O2 body spray, a copy of Bliss magazine and a homemade map of the school that showed which toilets to avoid and the best places to sit in certain classrooms. Bryony, who’d felt trapped in a lonely, awkward body, painfully and angrily aware that – at the time – she was the only black girl in the year, that hers was one of the only black families in the village, instantly felt a fondness for this funny, petite ray of sunshine.
Mistletoe on 34th Street Page 26