Christmas on Primrose Hill (22 page)

‘You’ve got a suspicious mind. We’re just friends.’

‘So nothing’s ever happened between you?’

She laughed. ‘Why? Are you jealous?’

‘Has it?’

‘Not really, no.’

He arched an eyebrow, effortlessly turning her as they approached the end of the rink. She realized she’d forgotten they were moving. ‘That isn’t a “no”.’

‘It was ages ago.’

‘When?’

‘I was fifteen, something like that. It was nothing. Just a kiss.’

Someone else skated past them close by, too close for her liking, and she saw Jamie’s eyes dart after the man, then the rest of the rink. He looked back at her. ‘Then maybe you should let him know that. Put him out of his misery.’

She laughed, but it wasn’t happily. ‘I don’t
need
to. He doesn’t think of me like that. We’re just friends. He’s like family.’

He sliced to a stop suddenly, but her skates didn’t work like his; she couldn’t work them at all and she slid straight into him, his chest a wall that she wanted to press into.

‘Oh!’ she gasped, not sure how to step back and away. She could only extricate herself from him if he stepped back, but he wasn’t moving, and his arms had closed behind her, penning her in.

She looked up at him.

‘So then, it’s not like this?’ His voice was quiet, a new tone of intensity in it that she hadn’t heard before. This wasn’t a tease or a joke; his light flirtatiousness of just a moment before had suddenly gone.

She swallowed, feeling the heat turn up. Because what was
this
? Was it the same for him as it was for her?

She shook her head in reply, not sure if her voice had fled too.

His eyes lifted from hers, the corners of his mouth turning up by a degree as he tucked a stray tendril of hair back from her face. ‘Good.’

Thank God he was holding her up. She’d never be able to stand on her own, even if she wasn’t on the ice. She could feel the press of his chest against hers, the weight of his eyes on her mouth, she knew what was coming next and her eyes closed in readiness. It was as inevitable as her next breath, the moment they’d been barrelling towards since he’d burst in on her yesterday. He had tracked her down, found her, chased her, brought her here and there was no turning off this road for either of them. Not yet.

Not . . .

She frowned as he stepped back. Opened her eyes.

Not now?

‘We should go.’

She blinked, feeling the world reassert its might, colour and noise intruding as he led her back to the gate. Her blades sank into the safety of the deep rubber mats and she watched as he walked to the bench and untied his laces, shame spreading like a bloom across her cheeks. What had happened? Had she . . . misread the signs? How could she have got it so wrong?

She looked around and caught the stares of every person on the ice, all of them watching. They all knew; they’d all seen. Tears bit as she saw their smirks, the heady exhilaration that had come from relinquishing control on the ice receding like a storm tide, gravity suddenly a crushing force on her chest as she plummeted back to earth with a thud.

Chapter Thirteen

‘Jules, you know that time I told you I was terrified of heights?’ Nettie called over her shoulder, although she didn’t need to shout too hard: the wind was doing a great job of carrying her voice.

‘Yeah!’

‘Do you remember it?’

‘Yeah! Remember it well, actually! You were frozen on the spot when we were doing that team-bonding course in the treetops.’

‘Exactly.’

‘What about it?’

‘Well, which bit of it did you think I was making up?’

Jules’s laugh carried over Nettie’s shoulder and out into space. Which wasn’t that far, given they were now almost at the top of the O2 and officially fifty-two metres above London’s pavements.

Nettie kept her eyes on the guide in front. They were all harnessed to the frame that ran alongside the walkway going over the top of the arena, and for the moment they were all dressed in matching blue suits. For the moment.

‘This is
nothing
compared to what you did on Tuesday,’ Jules called, just as the thirty-degree gradient flattened out and they arrived on the viewing platform.

‘Maybe let’s not revisit that particular memory just now, OK?’ Nettie asked, taking in the view and trying to feel the beauty, not the terror.

It was just after dawn and the sky was still warming up, tints of colour bleeding through the pale atmosphere and staining it peach. Below them, London looked blackened and bony, showing her there was nowhere to hide – there were no feathery treetops to shelter the birds, no flowerbeds to soften and brighten the streets. Instead, bare leaf canopies fanned against the horizon like hard corals; puddles were iced over on the flat roofs of tower blocks, the Thames sluggish and sandy on its run out to sea, the hesitant sun admiring its reflection in Canary Wharf’s tinted glass windows.

She should still have been in bed, trying to catch up on some of the sleep she hadn’t caught last night, but there had been no option about the timing of this adventure. The tours were booked out for months in advance and it was only yesterday’s starry publicity that had seen the management agree to a before-hours private tour that would tie them in to the Sixth Dare of Christmas. Only Mike was a no-show, proclaiming his Saturday mornings with his family as sacrosanct, which Jules translated as meaning he’d already paid his green fees.

‘Well done, everyone,’ the guide said, as they all tried to catch their breath. ‘Now, I know we ran through the drill on the ground, but I can’t stress enough how vital it is that you keep the harness attached to you at all times. If you were to unclip and slip, well . . . you’d come off a lot worse than James Bond did.’

‘Got it,’ Jules nodded firmly, like she was the one who was about to disrobe.

They turned at the sound of the puffing, just as two more members of staff – the poor juniors lumbered with carrying the suit up here – arrived. At least she could get the rabbit suit on over the climbing suit.

‘There’s quite a strong wind today,’ the guide said, as another strong gust circled them. ‘So keep low.’

‘That’s easier said than done when you’ve got the waist circumference of a ferry. If I get down, I’m not sure I’ll get back up again,’ Nettie quipped.

‘That’s why you’ve got me, babe,’ Jules said, unzipping the plastic hanging bag and pulling out the suit. ‘Shall we?’

Nettie sighed. ‘So, owling.’

‘You just crouch down on your haunches like this and hang your arms down like wings. You’re meant to look like an owl roosting,’ Caro said. And then seeing Nettie’s expression, she added, ‘It really is very funny when you see it. People have done this in the maddest places.’

‘I’m surprised you didn’t want to photograph me on the top of Nelson’s Column,’ Nettie said, stepping into the suit, her feet sliding into the paws like they were outsized slippers.

‘Actually, that was a location we discussed,’ Daisy said, looking long and lean in her suit.

‘Oh my God! I was
joking
!’ Nettie gasped, momentarily taking her hands off the handrail and almost giving the guide a heart attack. ‘It’s fine, it’s fine,’ she muttered. ‘I’m still attached.’

‘But then Jamie came up with this yesterday afternoon. It is far more original, you’ve got to admit.’ She simpered slightly. ‘He’s got some great ideas.’

Nettie swallowed at the sound of his name, still feeling sick, still confused by what had happened between them last night. After the humiliation of their non-kiss – a moment that she had so clearly anticipated – she had insisted on catching a cab back home. She hadn’t been able to meet his eyes, rushing off before he could start up with the excuses.

‘You mean
Jamie
came up with this?’

‘Yeah, he’s playing here tonight and he said he’d done this tour the other day. That’s the thing – he’s been everywhere, seen everything. He can think of these things. He’s just been exposed to so much more life than us. Living on the road does that to you.’

‘Huh, never would’ve guessed,’ Jules said with a roll of her eyes, but her gaze coming straight back to Nettie. It was obvious she wanted every last detail of what had happened between them last night, but what was Nettie supposed to say? That she’d puckered up and he’d backed off? Her cheeks stung just from the memory of it. How was she supposed to face him again?

‘And since when did a singer start dictating our campaign policy?’ she asked tartly.

Everyone looked at her in surprise.

‘Well, he’s the charity ambassador now,’ Caro said as if it was obvious.

‘But he has no experience of running something like this. He’s just a celebrity, a famous face. What we’re doing is serious. We’re dealing with big budgets from a multinational company, making a difference on the front line of cancer.’

Still there was silence.

And then, like skittles hit by a ball, they all fell about laughing.

‘That’s brilliant! You sounded just like Mike!’ Daisy cried.

‘You sounded so
serious
and you’re standing there in that stupid costume!’ Caro screeched.

‘Good one, Nets!’ Jules giggled.

Nettie balled her hands – or rather, paws – trying to keep her temper. It was fine for them. They were just the support team; they weren’t having to sacrifice their dignity or pride, day after day. They just had to book the trips and hold the cameras. They didn’t have to face him like she did.

She reached out for the bunny head and pulled it on over her own roughly. There was no point in arguing – it was just better to be done with it – and without another word, she assumed the position and made like an owl.

‘You’ve made us breakfast?’ Daisy cooed, touching Jamie’s arm. ‘You really have thought of everything.’

Nettie and Jules swapped looks. Their teammate somehow managed to make it sound like the two of them were alone in a hotel room, rather than the vast black, domed arena of the O2. Nettie eyed the impressive spread of croissants and pastries, fruit and yoghurts with no appetite.

‘Well, I can’t say I made it myself,’ Jamie said, catching sight of Caro sticking her gum in a yellow paper napkin and surreptitiously grabbing a handful of grapes.

They had been welcomed back to earth by a black-and-plaid-clad assistant who’d been waiting for them, giving them passes to enter the arena and join the main man himself.

All around them, roadies were hauling massive black boxes onto and under the stage on wheeled tracks, miles of cables criss-crossing the stage like it was the National Grid. A vast screen was being manoeuvred into position on the far right of the stage.

Nettie hung back in the shadows. The arena seemed big enough when it was filled with 20,000 people, but less than 100? It felt as dark and large as the moon.

‘So did you get the shot?’ Jamie asked, folding the newspaper he was reading and directing the question entirely to her as she and the team emerged onto the stage, where he was sitting on a chair. He stood up, jamming his hands into his jeans pockets, his smile relaxed and betraying no sign of the awkwardness she carried from last night.

‘Yes.’

‘Is it up yet?’

‘You’ll have to ask Caro,’ she shrugged, keeping her eyes away from him. ‘She deals with that side of things.’

‘I’m gonna wait a couple of hours,’ Caro said, her cheeks as full as a hamster’s. ‘Most of our followers will still be in bed, and we need to get the donations rolling in first.’

Jamie took a few steps towards Nettie. ‘Well, can I see the picture? Promise I won’t share it.’

‘Daisy’s got it,’ she said quickly, pointing to her teammate behind him while changing direction herself, pretending to be interested in the rigging high, high above them.

He watched her for a moment before turning and walking over to Daisy, who took her time in scrolling through all seven photos that she’d taken on the top.

‘So, do you get, like, nervous before coming out on a stage like this?’ Jules asked, looking between Nettie and Jamie with a suspicious expression.

Jamie straightened up, but his eyes were following Nettie again as she trailed a hand over a Marshall amp that was almost as big as her. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Don’t you ever worry you’ll forget the words?’

‘All the time.’ He looked back at Jules. ‘But once you’re out there, the adrenalin takes hold and you’re just . . . in the moment. It becomes instinct.’

Behind his right shoulder, Daisy looked like she was going to faint. ‘And you’re a man who follows his instincts, right?’ she practically mewed.

‘Yeah.’

‘So when are the rest of the band arriving?’ Caro asked, still eating grapes at a rapid pace.

‘After lunch. We don’t usually have such an early call.’

‘So you’re just here because . . . ?’ Daisy asked, with hope in her eyes.

‘The campaign. I just thought that I may as well get here early and see how you were all getting on.’

‘So sweet,’ Daisy whispered.

‘That’s really considerate of you, Jamie,’ Jules said, her eyes still sliding between Nettie and Jamie, while Nettie stayed silent.

A stocky man in an AC/DC T-shirt came over. ‘They’re ready to do that tour now, if you want, Jay.’

Jamie looked up. ‘Great. Would you like to see backstage? Ron’s got it set up for you.’

‘Would we?’ Daisy echoed, clapping her hands and jumping to her feet.

‘Cool,’ Caro muttered, making her way over to Ron too.

‘Does this mean we’ll get to see your rider?’ Jules asked with a flirty tone.

‘What’s that?’ Daisy asked, worried she was missing out.

‘Their list of demands – you know, white peaches in their Bellinis, virgin handmaidens to peel and hand-feed them their grapes,’ she laughed, giving a cheeky wink.

‘Actually, it’s usually just a tube of Pringles and a bottle of Jack.’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, tell it to the judge,’ Jules said over her shoulder, still laughing.

Nettie moved to follow after her, but Jamie caught her by the wrist.

‘Hey, just a sec,’ he said, his gold-flecked eyes focusing on her and her alone in the huge black hall. All around them, people were bustling about, hauling and heaving, calling and cursing, but none seemed to notice the two of them.