by Zoe Sugg
“Yes, it is.”
“Cooool!” Bella runs over to her bed and dives through the curtains. She reappears clutching a beautiful rag doll. “This is Rosie,” she says, holding the doll up to mine. “Can they be friends?”
“Of course they can.” I pull the sweatshirt over my head.
“Hello, I’m Rosie,” says Bella, putting on a high-pitched doll voice. “What’s your doll’s name?” she says, turning to me.
“Oh. She hasn’t got a name.”
“She hasn’t got a name?” Bella looks at me wide-eyed, like I’ve committed the worst crime known to doll-kind.
“Why don’t you give her one?” I say, trying to redeem myself.
“OK then.” Bella frowns for a moment, then she picks up my doll. “I’m Princess Autumn,” she says in a grand voice. “Autumn’s Noah’s name for you,” she whispers to me. “Only I’m not supposed to tell you. Do you love Noah?” She tilts her head to one side.
“Oh, well, we’ve only just met each other so—”
“I think he loves you,” Bella interrupts. “He was writing a song about you last night. He never writes a song about any other girls. Grandma said he was acting all love-struck. ‘Love-struck’ means being hit in your heart by the emotion of love. That’s what Grandma told me.”
This time, I can’t prevent myself from laughing. And the more I laugh, the harder it gets to stop. I feel giddy with happiness. Noah has a pet name for me. He was writing a song about me! Sadie Lee called him love-struck!
Now Bella’s giggling too—so hard it’s making her ringlets bounce.
“All right, what’s going on in here?”
We both jump at the sound of Noah’s voice—and carry on laughing.
“Don’t tell him,” Bella whispers through her giggles.
“I won’t,” I whisper back.
“Are you guys gonna help me decorate this tree or what?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Bella cries, and she runs from the room.
“Well, you two sure seem to have bonded,” Noah says, looking at me quizzically.
I nod and go over to join him.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says.
“Me too,” I reply, and for a second I think he’s about to kiss me. But then Bella races back across the landing and grabs us both by the hand.
“Come on, slow coaches!”
And as Noah grins at me and shrugs apologetically, I feel hit in my heart by an emotion very close to love.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Christmas tree is as tall as the living room and almost as wide as the bay window it’s stood in. Its needles are thick and glossy and fill the room with a delicious piney scent. Mum and Dad head out for some emergency Christmas shopping, so Noah, Bella, and I set about decorating the tree from a battered old trunk full of the most beautiful glass baubles and ornaments I’ve ever seen.
It turns out that pretty much every decoration has its own story. As we hang them on the tree, Sadie Lee sits beside us in a rocking chair and recounts each tale. “My mamma bought me that Santa the year I turned sweet sixteen. That snowman belonged to your granddaddy—he called it Stanley. The reindeer was given to me at a church party back in Charlston.”
Finally, all of the baubles are on the tree.
“Don’t forget these,” Sadie Lee says, handing Bella a box.
“Candy canes!” Bella exclaims.
The box is full of green, red, and white striped canes. They’re shiny and bright and smell of peppermint. Carefully, we start hooking them over the branches of the tree.
“Yum!” Bella says, popping one in her mouth.
“Hey, Miss Piggy!” Noah says with a grin.
“I couldn’t help it,” Bella says. “It fell into my mouth.”
We all start to laugh and Noah offers me a candy cane. It tastes just like a stick of Brighton rock.
“Is it time for the angel?” Bella asks Sadie Lee.
“It sure is, honey.”
Noah takes a parcel wrapped in red tissue paper out of the trunk. Very carefully, he unwraps it to reveal a beautiful angel with wavy blond hair and a long ivory silk dress. Two wings made from golden gossamer fan out from her back. Noah climbs onto a chair and gently places the angel on top of the tree. Bella starts clapping her hands in excitement.
“Can I turn on the lights, Grandma, please?”
“Of course you can, honey.”
We all wait as Bella scrambles around the back of the tree. “Merry Christmas!” she cries, and the tree comes alive with golden twinkly lights. It’s so beautiful, I can’t even speak.
“Merry Christmas,” Noah whispers in my ear, putting his arm around my waist.
I snuggle into him, glowing with the thought that this is going to be the best Christmas ever.
• • •
It isn’t till the afternoon that it dawns on me that I also don’t have a single Christmas present for anyone. Noah doesn’t seem all that keen on going shopping so I head out to the local parade of stores with Sadie Lee. I buy a pumpkin-scented candle and some fizzy bath goodies for Mum, an American cookbook for Dad, a book about princesses for Bella, and a beautifully carved set of wooden mixing spoons for Sadie Lee—when she’s not looking. I decide to try a music shop for Noah’s gift, but as soon as I get inside it dawns on me that I don’t even know what kind of music he likes. And then it dawns on me how little I still know about him and I have a moment of panic. How can I feel so strongly about someone I’ve only just met? It doesn’t make sense. I look at Sadie Lee sheepishly.
“What kind of music does Noah like?”
She instantly laughs. “That boy likes just about every kind of music. I’m not kidding—he could make a tune from the whistle of a train! But if you had to pin it down, I would go for something old—on vinyl. He loves vinyl.”
I head off to the back of the store, where there are racks and racks of records. As I flick through them, I smile as I breathe in the smell. It’s almost as good as the smell of books. Almost, but not quite. In the end I pick a record by someone called Big Bill Broonzy, just because I love the name. I take the record over to the counter to pay.
“Awesome choice, ma’am,” the guy behind the counter says with a wide grin.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling very proud that I’ve actually gone into a vintage record store in Brooklyn and made an “awesome choice”—even if it is entirely by accident.
The man’s smile grows even broader. “Cute accent. Where are you all from?”
“England.”
“No way!” He grabs my hand and shakes it enthusiastically. “Well, that just made my day.”
I look at his greying dreadlocks and the silver skull on the chain around his neck. He looks so interesting.
“Would you . . . ? Could I . . . ? Would it be OK if I took a picture of you?”
He instantly grins. “Why, yes, of course, ma’am. How do you want me?” He starts puffing out his chest.
“Just as you were, looking at the record would be great,” I say.
The man re-creates the pose and I take the shot. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He hands me a business card from a pile on the counter. “And when you get back to England you can tell people you met Slim Daniels.”
“I will,” I say, glowing with newfound confidence. I’m no longer a stupid schoolgirl who always makes mistakes, I’m the kind of person who makes awesome choices in Brooklyn record stores and takes photos of people with names like Slim Daniels. Nothing—not even when I take a step backward and almost knock over a display stand—can ruin my happiness.
• • •
When Sadie Lee and I get back home, Mum is playing an elaborate game of princesses with Bella in the living room, and Dad and Noah are in the kitchen, preparing some veggies for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner. They’re laughing their heads off as we come in. This is good—very good.
“I thought I’d make us something light for dinner tonight,” Sadie Lee says, putting on her apron
. “Don’t want to overdo it before the feast tomorrow.”
“Good plan,” Dad says. “Just let me know if I can help with anything.”
“That would be lovely,” Sadie Lee says. “I was thinking of making a chicken Caesar salad.”
“That happens to be one of my specialities,” Dad says proudly.
“It is,” I say. “Can’t wait.”
“Oh no,” Sadie Lee says, turning to me. “I’m afraid you won’t be eating with us.”
“That’s right,” Noah says.
“What?” I look from Sadie Lee to Dad to Noah. They’re all grinning at me like they’re in on a private joke. “Why won’t I be eating with you?”
“We don’t want you ruining your appetite before the big day,” Noah says.
“We thought it would be best if you went on a fast for the next twenty-four hours,” Dad says.
“What?!”
Noah starts laughing his head off. “Don’t look so stressed. You won’t be having dinner because we are going to be having Picnic Round Two.”
“Is it all ready?” Sadie Lee asks him.
Noah nods and takes hold of my hand. “So, if you’d like to come with me, ma’am, I shall accompany you to your picnic blanket.”
I look at them all and laugh. “Oh my God, that was so mean!”
I follow Noah out into the hallway and down a flight of stairs into the basement of the house.
The basement is like our living room back at home, with a really relaxed and laid-back vibe. There are two squishy sofas covered with cushions and throws and a huge flat-screen TV on the wall. Two brightly colored lava lamps are bubbling away on side tables, casting the room in an orangey glow. The basement’s way bigger than our living room, though, stretching back the entire length of the house. At the very far end, I can just make out a pool table. The tartan blanket is laid out in front of the sofas, covered in plates of the most amazing picnic food.
“This looks fantastic!” I say, turning to Noah.
“Well, I figured after yesterday I needed to pull out all the stops,” he says with a grin.
We both sit down on either side of the blanket.
“So, did your friend get back OK?” Noah asks.
I suddenly realize that I haven’t bothered to check my phone since I got here. Elliot should have landed by now. I think of my phone upstairs in my bag and I contemplate going to get it, but I really don’t want to disrupt the picnic for a second time, especially when Noah’s gone to so much trouble.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good.” Noah glances up at the TV before looking back at me. “I was wondering . . .”
“Yes?”
“It’s just that when my parents were alive we had this tradition on Christmas Eve and I’d really like to do it again—with you.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“We’d always watch the movie It’s a Wonderful Life together.”
As It’s a Wonderful Life is one of my favorite movies of all time, this is a total no-brainer. “I’d love to!”
So Noah puts the movie on and we sit on the floor, leaning against the sofa, with the picnic spread out before us.
I’ve always loved black-and-white movies. Just like black-and-white photos they seem so atmospheric, and much more dramatic. Noah shuffles up right next to me until our shoulders are touching. I don’t think it would be possible to feel any more content.
And it stays like this right until the bit toward the end of the movie when James Stewart is on the bridge calling out to his guardian angel that he doesn’t want to die; that he wants to live again and see his wife and kids. Suddenly I feel Noah pull away from me. I turn to look at him. In the flickering light of the TV screen, I see that his cheek is wet—as if he’s shed a tear.
“Noah? Are you OK?”
He quickly wipes his face with the back of his hand. “Yeah, of course. I guess I must have got something in my eye.”
I sit frozen, unsure of what to do or say. Then it hits me: how much this film must mean to Noah.
I crawl around so that I’m facing him. “Is it . . . are you thinking about your parents?”
Noah is motionless for a second, but then he nods, looking down into his lap. “Geez, way to impress a girl, Noah,” he mutters, “start crying all over them.”
I’m not sure what to do. Then his eyes flick up and he gives me a half smile. But almost as soon as our eyes meet, he looks away again, embarrassed. I want to give him a hug but I don’t know if that’s what he would want.
“It’s OK, honestly,” I say, gently placing my hands on his arms.
“I thought I’d be all right,” Noah says, his head still down. “I thought it would be nice, watching it again . . .”
“Is this the first time you’ve watched it, since . . . ?”
He nods. I want to comfort him but I can’t find the right words. What he’s been through is so horrible—so huge—it feels as if all the words in the world wouldn’t be able to make it any better.
Noah sighs. “It was a really dumb idea.”
“No, it wasn’t. I think it was a lovely idea.”
“You do? Why?”
“Because it’s a way of remembering your parents and—and keeping them alive.”
Up on the screen James Stewart is now racing through the snow, yelling “Merry Christmas” to everyone and everything.
“My mom would always start crying like a baby at this bit,” Noah says with a sad little laugh, “and Dad would always kiss her tears away.”
Without thinking, I kneel forward and start kissing Noah’s face. His tears taste salty on my lips.
“It’s OK,” I whisper as I hold him tight. “It’s OK.”
Chapter Thirty
“Penny! Penny! He came!”
At the sound of Bella’s voice I sit bolt upright in bed and rub my eyes, trying to see in the pitch-blackness. Suddenly, the thin beam from a flashlight shines in my face, causing me to blink.
“He came!” Bella says again. The torch beam swings away to reveal her little face peering at me from the top of the ladder at the end of my bed.
“Who came?”
“Santa, of course.”
“Oh.” I lie back down and grin up at the ceiling.
“Wake up!” Bella says. “We have to see what he’s brought us.”
“OK. Just coming.”
I reach under my pillow for my phone to see what time it is. Five thirty! I also see that I have a new text message and breathe a sigh of relief. By the time I got to my phone last night, Elliot had texted me three times about his flight home and how much he hated his parents. I’d felt really bad about replying so late. But when I open my texts folder I see that it’s from Ollie.
Happy Christmas, Penny! Hope you’re having a great time in New York. Looking forward to seeing you when you get back. Ollie xx
What? Why is Ollie texting me? And why is he looking forward to seeing me? Then I remember the photo shoot on the beach. He probably just wants me to take some more profile pics for him. Whatever. I put my phone back under my pillow.
“Come on, lazy bones!” Bella calls from the lower bunk and I feel her prodding my mattress.
“OK, OK.”
I clamber down the ladder and peep through the curtain into Bella’s bed. She’s sitting cross-legged, shining her torch on two stockings laid out in front of her. As soon as I see the mysterious lumps and bumps inside the stockings, I get that old familiar excited feeling. I guess you never truly grow out of Father Christmas.
“I didn’t think I was going to get anything this year,” Bella says to me, as I get into the end of her bunk.
“What? Why not?”
“Because I did something really bad at school,” she whispers, “and I thought Santa might have seen but I guess he didn’t.”
“Ah. Well, I’m sure Santa doesn’t mind if you’re bad once in a while. It’s very hard to be good all of the time.”
‘Tell me about it!” Bella says
with a dramatic sigh—making me want to adopt her right there and then.
After emptying our stockings—mine was full of brightly colored candy, sweetly scented bath bombs, and a beautiful glass angel—I manage to persuade Bella that we should go back to bed. And somehow she agrees. But as I lie in the dark, my mind becomes way too busy to sleep. I’m unsettled by the text from Ollie, and worried that Elliot hasn’t texted me back—it’s already midday in the UK, so it’s really weird that he hasn’t sent me a message wishing me a happy Christmas. I hope he isn’t annoyed at me for taking so long to reply to him.
Noah kept apologizing for getting upset about his parents last night. In the end I had to remind him that I’d ended up blubbing all over him within an hour of us meeting so it just meant we were even. But, actually, it feels like so much more than that. When you cry in front of someone, when you show them your most vulnerable side, it shows that you really trust them. It’s so strange because, even though I still don’t really know very much about Noah, on some deeper level it feels like I’ve known him forever. Is this what it means when people talk about meeting their soul mate?
I get the sudden urge to write a blog post. Creeping down from my bunk, I go over to my suitcase and take out my laptop. Bella is curled up on her bed fast asleep, hugging the new teddy that Santa brought her. I gently pull her cover over her, then take my laptop back up to my bunk and log on to my blog.
25 December
Do You Believe in Soul Mates?
Hey, guys!
Happy Christmas!
I hope wherever you are, and whoever you’re with, you’re having a great one.
Loads of you have asked me to write more about Brooklyn Boy and I could really do with your advice, so here goes.
I’ve always thought that the idea of soul mates—the idea that there’s someone out there especially for you—sounds so cool and romantic, but I’ve never imagined it happening to me.
Like, I could imagine that somewhere in the 7 billion people on the planet there may be a boy who’s just right for me, but knowing my luck he’d be living in the middle of the Amazon rain forest or a desert in Ethiopia and our paths would never meet.