Mistletoe on 34th Street Read online

  I looked at my flat. It wasn’t even my flat; getting out of rented accommodation seemed like such a faraway dream.

  Luckily Kim trod on my toe at that point while cha-cha-cha-ing backwards. ‘What are you standing still for? It’s Christmas, you’re going to New York next week, Strictly’s on!’ She saw my face and stopped. ‘Are you OK?’

  I stood back and observed the tree. It did look nice. ‘I’m not sure I should have spent money on this tree.’

  ‘Don’t start that again.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Nope. You’re in a good job; you’re well behaved, like, all the time with your money. You can treat yourself once in a while; it’s hardly going to make an inch of difference.’

  ‘I’m not well behaved all the time. I like living wild. I ate a muffin for breakfast the other day, and it wasn’t even the breakfast kind.’

  ‘What kind was it?’

  ‘Blueberry. They were reduced in Sainsbury’s.’

  ‘That’s still the breakfast kind.’

  I shrugged. ‘Fine. Maybe I’ll just move in with you and Steve. I’ll be the spinster in your basement, the bitter old Miss Havisham in your granny flat. The fly in your ointment.’

  ‘That’s the Christmas spirit I was after,’ Kim said, and twerked against me (I think she was trying to jive) until I snapped out of my bad mood and started twerk-jiving with her.

  11 December

  2 weeks to Christmas

  I swung back and forth on my desk chair staring into the darkness outside, the phone glued to my ear. It was only five p.m., but the bleak midwinter had me straining my eyes to see anything other than the blur of office lights in the building opposite.

  It was the day of our office Christmas party, and my last day in work before I left for New York on Monday. There was Christmas music playing through the receiver in one ear, and Christmas music playing from someone’s computer in the other ear. All around me my co-workers were opening sneaky bottles of wine, unplugging printers to make room for their straighteners and tottering to and from the loos to put make-up on. The entire scene was like something from a Boots advert, and I couldn’t help but smile. Especially at the mismatch between those who had gone for all-out sparkle and those who’d opted for grotesque Christmas jumpers instead.

  Dee wandered over, her lipstick a little smudged. She motioned elaborately to see if I wanted a glass of wine but I shook my head. I still had a million things to organise and alcohol would wash them all straight out of my head.

  ‘We’re all leaving soon,’ she stage-whispered. ‘Shall we wait for you?’

  ‘You guys go for it. I’m on hold with the conference venue in New York; I might be a while.’

  ‘Is there anything we can do?’

  ‘No, no, you go and have fun. Have a drink for me.’

  Ian appeared through the door, and Dee said, ‘OK, see you there,’ and scarpered.

  I watched her walk past Ian, their eyes meeting. They smiled tenderly at each other and he nodded his head in low-key approval of her sparkling outfit.

  Still on hold, I went back to my to-do list. Now that I was in charge, this year my list was much longer than it had been in previous years. I still had to print out everybody’s tickets, insurance details, conference information and other paperwork, in duplicate. I had to confirm the rooms and the flights, for everyone. I had to collect up all the promotional material that was currently in piles around me. I was waiting on the venue to confirm they’d received the material Kim, Ian and the rest of the marketing department had sent over. And there was more, so much more.

  Suddenly Kim materialised in front of me, a vision in sequinned black shorts, black tights, and the ugliest Christmas jumper I’d ever seen. She snatched up my to-do list. ‘You’re still on hold?’

  ‘Yep.’ I nodded. ‘New York is busy today.’

  ‘Hang up and come to the party with meeeeeeeee.’

  ‘I can’t. I want to but I can’t. I have a million things to finish.’

  ‘You look tired,’ she said, emptying the remnants of a box of Quality Street on to my desk.

  ‘Thanks. I am a bit. There’s just … lots to think about.’

  ‘But you’re going to New York on Monday, yaaaaaay!’ she said, attempting to inject me with a Kim-boost.

  ‘And then I get to come home and sleep, yaaaaaay!’ I answered and immediately felt ungrateful. One of the many things I loved about my job was the travel, so it was unfair of me to act like it was such a nuisance. I shook myself out of it. ‘It’s fine, I’m fine. You go and enjoy the party for me. Make sure someone snogs somebody on the dance floor, OK?’

  ‘You don’t think you’ll even make it later?’

  ‘I promise I’ll try. And if I don’t I’ll catch you at some point over the weekend.’

  She gave me a look that said she knew full well she wouldn’t be seeing me tonight, and then started dancing backwards towards the door. ‘All work and no play makes Olivia a right old pissflap,’ she warned, before disappearing into the night.

  Pissflap I may be, but this pissflap had things to do.

  Damn it, I was still on hold and now I needed to piss.

  Nearly two hours later I wearily entered my flat, my eyes squeezed shut and a giant yawn on my face. My arms were full to the brim with stuff I needed to take to New York. I dumped everything, along with my handbag, shoes, coat and bra, in a heap in the hallway.

  I just need a ten-minute rest, I thought, and then I’ll go back into town for the party. Just ten minutes …

  I noticed that there was a light on in my living room; I could see it under the door. I didn’t leave a light on this morning, I know I didn’t. But … did I? Maybe I did. I’d been so preoccupied lately.

  I opened the door super-slowly, and saw a person crouched in the corner of my living room. I sucked in a silent lungful of angry air. The grubby little Artful Dodger! Their hands were fiddling about with all my stuff and pocketing all my worldly goods, I bet!

  Affronted, and before I could think better of it, I reached out, thwacked the first thing my hand touched with all my might, and sent an object catapulting across the room towards my intruder. It turned out to be a Christmas bauble, which did nothing more harmful than bounce off their back. In comparison my white Christmas tree toppled and crashed by my feet, branches falling everywhere and the rest of the baubles springing to safety and rolling across the floor.

  The intruder looked up and pulled off their baseball cap. Underneath was a late-teenage girl with a pouty mouth, dark, thick eyebrows (the kind I think you’d call ‘on fleek’) and eyes identical to mine. My little sister Lucy blinked at me.

  ‘What. The actual. F—’

  ‘What the actual indeed, and don’t you swear at me!’ I pointed a Christmas tree branch at her.

  ‘I swear all the time.’

  ‘What are you doing back, and in my house? What’s happening?’ The branch was still outstretched. Was I overtired or was she really here? I felt tears tickle the backs of my eyes – I wasn’t used to having an emotional reaction to seeing my family members, but she was back and safe and …

  Lucy reached me and, taking the branch from my hand and throwing it on the floor, wrapped her arms around my neck. I laughed and hugged her back, broken out of my confused state. ‘When did you get back from Peru?’

  ‘This morning,’ she yawned, stepping back. ‘I tried to call your office but your phone was engaged all day and the receptionist was getting pissed at me.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call my mobile?’

  ‘I lost my phone somewhere around Machu Picchu.’

  ‘Lucy … ’

  ‘Relax, whatever. I’m here now and we’re together again.’ She came in for another ‘shut-up’ hug. ‘I’m so glad you’re finally home; can you make me some food?’

  Needless to say I had no real intentions of heading back in for the Christmas party, and Lucy turning up provided the perfect excuse. The truth was that once I’d stepped
in through the door the thought of going back out to see work people, the same people I’d be spending four whole days and nights with next week, instantly lost any appeal. Instead, I whipped up a quick spag bol while Lucy told me about her latest three-month backpacking adventure around South America.

  ‘I brought you something back.’ She reached into her bag and pulled out some bright, stripy Peruvian cotton trousers.

  I put down my wooden spoon and reached for the trousers, holding them up in the air. They would fit Barbie better than they would fit me. ‘Lucky these look the perfect size for you and your Cara Delevingne body; maybe you should keep them. Also, they smell of weed.’

  ‘Well I don’t know how that happened, but I guess I’ll hang on to them then.’ She took them back with a smile and watched me return to cooking.

  ‘What?’ I asked, feeling her eyes scrutinising my back.

  ‘Why don’t you travel more?’

  ‘I travel all the time; I’m going to New York on Monday.’

  ‘Yeah but those are work trips. I’m talking about fun trips.’

  That tiny bubble of bitterness appeared deep inside me. I didn’t want to get into this now. ‘I can’t, I have to save up.’

  ‘Ah yes, for the house in the country. You know, you really don’t seem like someone who would want to have a house in the country.’

  ‘Of course I do.’ I chucked some seasoning into the sauce and steered us back to safer ground. ‘But anyway – my work is fun!’

  ‘Are you seriously telling me you’d rather be going to New York for work than with friends, or on your own?’

  I hesitated.

  ‘You hesitated.’

  ‘OK, this one time I would rather be going on my own, but only because it’s been hard work organising it this year, and I’m kind of exhausted, and Kim’s not going. The pressure is really on me to do a good job, and I want to show that I can. So, I’m excited, but I’m looking forward to it being over. I’m looking forward to coming home. Jon’ll be there though, which’ll be good – he’s my friend who works—’

  ‘Yes, I know who your friend Jon is; you talk about him all the time.’

  ‘I hardly ever see you!’

  ‘He’s the dude in that photo you keep in your bedside drawer, isn’t he? For when you’re lonely at night?’ Lucy sniggered and dodged out of the way of a piece of spaghetti I lobbed at her.

  ‘That photo is only in there because people kept making comments when I had it out on the table. It was a fun day, I like the memory.’ The photo was taken by Kim the first year I knew Jon. We were on bikes in Amsterdam and she captured the exact moment after we’d been smiling at the camera: a lorry had trundled past us on the narrow cobbley streets and came within a whisker of the front of Jon’s wheel. His face is contorted in surprise and panic, and even though my bike was behind his and completely out of the way, I had screamed and promptly fallen off. The camera had caught me mid-fall.

  I served up dinner and we walked back to the living room, where Lucy took the best sofa spot.

  ‘So what’s with the Christmas tree? You’re into Christmas now?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m just … experimenting.’

  ‘That’s what all the girls say,’ Lucy cooed, kicking a few baubles out of her way and into the corner of the room.

  I looked around at the mess, wanting to move the conversation on, and a thought reoccurred to me. ‘How did you get into my flat?’

  ‘You don’t need to know.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Great pasta. I haven’t had pasta for yonks. Thanks, sis.’

  My sister is a sneaky mofo. ‘And what were you doing huddled in the corner when I first came in? I thought you were a burglar.’

  ‘A burglar? Stealing what, your paperbacks? I was using your laptop but I couldn’t be bothered to get up off the floor. I’m tired. What do you think about Thailand for Christmas?’

  ‘For who?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘Just you?’

  ‘It might be just me initially but I’ll meet people in the hostels.’

  ‘This Christmas?’ She was leaving again? I felt that overtired, weepy feeling creeping back in, which is so unlike me – so unlike any of my family.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you just got back,’ I whined. ‘Christmas is like, two weeks away. When would you leave?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’ll stay around in this country for a few days, I need to do some laundry. Maybe middle of next week?’

  ‘How long would you be gone for?’

  Lucy pondered this for a moment. This was clearly another whim; she rarely actually sits down and plans anything. ‘Just four weeks or so, I’d be back for the family get-together. So? Thailand?’

  I sighed, thinking. ‘Is it safe?’

  ‘Is anywhere in the world safe any more? What’s the point in worrying about it? But yes, I’m not dumb, I would stay safe. It’s sunny, and that’s the main thing.’

  My family and sunshine. It was like they were allergic to December in the UK.

  ‘Why don’t you go to Miami and visit Anne?’ I said. My other, older, sister Anne was living in the States as an hotelier and it felt like ages since any of us had seen her. ‘Miami has lots of sunshine. And the women wear those teeny-weeny bikinis … ’

  Lucy nodded. ‘I do like that. But why would I visit Anne? She’s coming home in January. Why would I waste a flight on going over there?’

  ‘Maybe you’d want to spend Christmas with her?’

  Lucy chuckled and stuffed in some more spag bol.

  ‘Or you could go to Lanzarote with Mum and Dad? Or is it Tenerife? Where are they going this year … ?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s going to happen,’ scoffed my sister.

  ‘How do you even have any money left?’ I wished in that moment I didn’t always bring things back to money.

  ‘I work in the hostels when I’m out there – cleaning, doing whatever. It’s only really the flights I need to cough up much for, but I usually save up a small amount between each trip. I think I can just about afford these Thailand flights. Yes. I’ll book it tonight.’ She nodded. I had to give my sister props – she was decisive.

  ‘Don’t you think it would be good to save up just a little bit for the future?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Right then.’

  She saw my face and knew to tread a bit carefully. ‘I’m alive now, aren’t I? Why should I only think about Future Lucy? Present Lucy just a-wanna have fun. Future Lucy can kiss my ass.’

  It was time for me to snap out of this mood and feel happy for her. My money troubles weren’t her money troubles and vice versa, and the thing I’ve always loved the most about Lucy is her wanderlust. ‘Thailand does sound nice. I bet they have amazing cultural shows, and those beaches where it’s just you and the turquoise sea and the white sand. You could do yoga. A yoga retreat!’

  ‘Oh my god, why are you the most boring person in the world? Yoga? Cultural shows? I’m nineteen, not fifty-nine.’

  ‘One: being in your fifties is not old. Do you think Nigella Lawson or Michelle Obama are too old? And two: I’m not boring, you’re boring. Why don’t you stretch yourself while you’re there?’

  ‘No, no, no, I’m not doing a yoga retreat.’

  ‘Not that kind of stretching. I mean, creatively. Enrich your life. You should write poetry! Or write those inspirational quotes that go on beautiful pictures that everybody loves.’ Maybe I should go to Thailand? One day.

  ‘You are literally the last person in the world to still love those.’

  ‘No I’m not. Or you could do volunteer work!’

  ‘Or I could just hang out and enjoy the place I’m in. Travelling is enriching in itself – you told me that. I am literally being a Girl of the World.’

  She had me there. ‘Well, OK. But when you’re back I want to hear all about it. And just promise me you won’t do anything you don’t want to do out there.’

  ‘As if I woul
d!’ My sister started fist-pumping and chanting, ‘Screw the system, screw the man!’ so I rolled my eyes at her and went back to gobbling my pasta.

  12 December

  1 week, 6 days to Christmas

  ‘I know you’ve told me a hundred times, but which island are you and Dad going to be on this year?’ I shouted towards the living room from my bedroom, as I entangled myself in a bright red polo-neck jumper before finally tossing it aside. I was packing for New York, or throwing my entire wardrobe onto the floor, whichever way you wanted to look at it.

  ‘Tenerife, with the Gladstones and the Coyhamptons in Maggie’s beach hut,’ my mum said, coming into the room and stepping over a pair of discarded knee-high boots with holes in the soles. She and Dad were visiting from Bradford on Avon for the day. She handed me a mince pie and I raised my eyebrows. ‘I didn’t bake them, but since this is our only pre-Christmas get-together I thought I’d better pick something up from M&S.’

  Lucy was sitting on my floor picking through my discarded clothes for anything she might want to pinch to take to Thailand, then discarding the poor things for a second time. A loud snore came from the other room, which meant Dad was merrily fast asleep, clearly enjoying watching the old Western he’d found on TV.

  My dad, Roland, a pharmacist, is one of those very serious men with a neat beard and a straight moustache that made hipster facial hair want to try harder at school. Despite spending every winter in the sun he most certainly will be wearing a shirt, thank you very much, but if you’re very lucky it might be short-sleeved and then you could have a tantalising glance at his crinkled elbows. He thinks his own jokes are hilarious, but he just doesn’t quite get anyone else’s, but it’s forgivable when he does unexpectedly brilliant things like chop his own hair into a wonky disaster in camaraderie with me when I did the same and couldn’t stop crying. (This was in my mid-twenties.)