Christmas on Primrose Hill (49 page)

But when she looked back at Jamie, she saw their previous moment’s levity had gone, and she forgot her colleagues in a flash again. Everything paled beside him.

‘When I left here last night, I didn’t think I’d see you again. I know you can’t leave your dad alone. I know why my lifestyle couldn’t be a worse fit with yours.’

He fell silent and this time it was her turn to frown.

‘But . . . ?’ she prompted.

He dropped his voice and a look she’d never seen before came into his eyes. ‘But none of that takes into account the fact that if I go anywhere from here, from you, then you’d be
my
missing person.’

The world spun a little faster. ‘I don’t want to be anywhere you aren’t,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s as simple and straightforward as that.’

‘But . . .’ She didn’t know what to say.

‘I know, I know. Nothing’s changed. Your mum’s still missing.’ He nodded, squeezing her arms. ‘But
you’re
found, Nets. I found you and I don’t want to lose you. I won’t.’ His fingertips brushed the coarse wool of the huge overcoat and he frowned. ‘Even though you appear to be shrinking.’

She laughed, resting her forehead against his chest. ‘Oh, Jamie,’ she said quietly. ‘Of all the girls you could be with . . . I am
not
the easy option.’

‘I’d be disappointed if you were.’

She stared back at him. ‘Are you sure? I mean, you could have anyone.’

He frowned as though her words made no sense. ‘But why would I want
anyone
? I want you – you in all your crazy, mad, ridiculous, and yes, sad glory. The whole package. What does it say about my life that a girl in a bunny suit could feel more real to me than any other person I know? And anyway, it’s not like I’ve got it all figured out, you know.’ A smile crept into his eyes, enlivening them, and tugging a smile at the corners of his mouth. ‘I don’t have anywhere to spend Christmas, for a start.’

She grinned, surprised. ‘Well, if you’d like to spend Christmas in Primrose Hill, I’m pretty sure we’ll have enough turkey to go round. Dad usually completely over-orders and gets an eight-kilo bird for the two of us. He’s still not up to speed with the metric system.’

Jamie chuckled lightly. ‘Great. It’s about time your father and I met.’

‘You make it sound like I’ve been keeping you apart. We’ve only known each other for two weeks,’ she laughed.

‘Exactly. Enough dithering.’ His hands squeezed her arms and she shifted position on his feet.

‘Is he scary?’

‘Very.’

‘Scarier than Dan?’

She grinned. ‘Much.’

He missed a beat. ‘Who’s his team?’

She laughed, remembering how easily Dan had been ‘won over’. ‘It’s going to be tougher than that, I’m afraid. Where do you stand on electronic shifting?’

‘Come again?’

She shook her head, feeling light-headed with happiness. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll love you.’

He didn’t say anything but the implicit question – did she? – hung between them, and she felt herself blush in the moonlight.

‘Although if you’re going to gatecrash our Christmas, you should know that he’ll insist that you wear the paper hat from your cracker,’ she said quickly.

He blinked. ‘Really?’

‘Mm-hmm. Think you can handle it?’

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Well, do I get a say in the colour?’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘And this is a deal-breaker, is it?’

‘It is.’ She nodded firmly, doing her best to suppress her smile.

He bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Then consider it done.’

Chapter Thirty

She knew it had been snowing again from the light in the room. Everything was diffuse and soft as though seen through a white rainbow, a thick, pillowy silence blanketing the usual sounds of London life. But she wasn’t remotely interested in what was outside; she may have wanted a white Christmas when she was a child, but all she wanted now was him. She shifted position to get a better look at him, to check he was still here and real, even though his arm was as heavy around her as a log.

He looked back at her with one eye. ‘Stop grinning,’ he grinned, his voice deeper with sleep.

‘I’m not grinning,’ she grinned, resting her head on her hand and gazing down at him. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. She kissed his eyelids, his lashes, the tip of his nose, his temples.

‘I’m glad you got the rider,’ he murmured. ‘That is exactly how I like to be woken up.’

‘Hey!’ She nudged him in the ribs and he curled up with a sleepy grin, somehow sliding her arm out from under her and flipping her round, scooping her into a ball with him. She nestled deeper, marvelling at how perfectly they fit one another, as though they’d been moulded as two halves of a single whole. She smiled sleepily, reliving in her head all the wonderful details of the previous evening. ‘Oh,’ she gasped, remembering something particularly juicy. ‘Did you see Daisy dirty-dancing with Jimmy last night?’ The party had had a second act later in the evening, when the neighbours had politely – and reluctantly – made their excuses at ten, leaving Jules and Em, Daisy and Caro, and the boys from the pub. Jules had made a booty-call to Gus and when he’d turned up with Jimmy in tow, they had jammed on their acoustic guitars, revelling in the yellow house until the small hours.

‘Nope.’ He kissed her neck.

‘I wouldn’t have thought he was her type at all.’ She twisted slightly. ‘And I thought Caro and Stevie were getting on well too.’ She smiled with euphemistic stress on ‘well’.

‘Not as well as Dan and Em,’ he murmured into her hair.

Nettie gasped. ‘What?’

‘They were all over each other in the kitchen.’

‘Dan and Em were?’ she echoed.

‘Yes.’ He pulled back to look at her. ‘Why? Is that a problem?’

‘No,’ she scoffed, smacking his arm lightly. ‘I just . . . I just never thought about it before, that’s all.’ She fell quiet for a moment, imagining them together – both so tall and lean, she had to admit they would look striking as a couple. And Dan’s easy-going attitude was the perfect antidote to Em’s ambition. If she could get him to focus on what he really wanted to do with his career, rather than just drifting through, and trying to wind up his mother . . . ‘You know, now that you mention it, I can totally see it.’

‘Really? All I can see is you,’ he said, making her smile, and she reached her arm up behind her, raking his hair with her hand.

She closed her eyes as his hand stroked her thigh. ‘And to think I could have been slumming it in Necker,’ he said into her hair. ‘Thank God for the gentlemen reporters of the press.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, trying to twist to face him, but he pinned her wrist down on the mattress, holding her there.

‘Well, if they hadn’t uncovered your identity, I never would have known why you really ran out on me.’

She considered this for a moment. ‘I guess when you put it like that,’ she sighed, stretching her neck to allow him closer in still, his hands beginning to wander. ‘Hey, I don’t suppose you happen to know why they all miraculously disappeared from the front of the house yesterday, do you?’

‘Might do,’ he mumbled, and she sensed she was losing him to his right hand.

‘Tell me,’ she said, wriggling her hips free so that he was forced to pay attention. He rested his chin on her right shoulder as she looked back at him.

His eyes worked their magic again, making her go limp in his arms. ‘I held a press conference, promising to answer every question they asked me on the condition that they left you alone.’

‘You did what?’ she gasped, trying to turn to face him, but he still had her pinned down. ‘But you never give interviews.’ She tried twisting, but he was too strong.

‘I know, but it’s all a game. I do something for them; they do something for me.’ His voice tickled her ear. ‘I know how it works, but . . . you’re new to this. I thought you had enough to deal with.’

She turned and this time he didn’t try to stop her. She faced in to him, her ankle hooking his, one hand on his cheek as they stared at each other on the pillow.

‘Happy Christmas,’ she whispered.

‘Happy Christmas,’ he whispered back, kissing her on the mouth.

‘I didn’t get you a present,’ she murmured, grazing her fingernails down his chest. What was she supposed to get him? The man who literally had everything.

He tipped her chin up with his hand, his leg pushing between hers. ‘Oh yes, you did.’

They tiptoed downstairs two hours later, their silence to no avail. Her father was already up and dressed, a cold pot of tea on the coffee table as he grappled on all fours with a vast, bushy green Christmas tree in the corner of the sitting room that was standing at a seventy-degree angle.

‘Dad!’ Nettie exclaimed, rushing over and trying to correct it before it fell completely to the floor, taking the contents of the mantelpiece with it. ‘What are you
doing
?’

Jamie took it from her, more easily able to hold the tree upright with his longer arms.

‘What does it look like?’ her father asked breathlessly, pine needles densely knitted in his hair and beard. ‘We can’t have another Christmas with that dratted sapling on the table. It’s too bloody depressing.’ He got up off his knees with a groan, shaking himself out like a Labrador and looking down sadly at all the needles on the floorboards. ‘Shame I couldn’t get a non-drop, though.’

‘But
where
did you get it? It’s Christmas morning.’ Nettie laughed, incredulous. ‘Nowhere’s open.’ She spied a dusty box that hadn’t been out of the loft in many years – their old Christmas decorations.

He winked. ‘The old fella selling them at the garage had just left behind what he hadn’t sold. No one else is going to buy one now.’ He nodded. ‘I mean, admittedly it’s a bit wonky.’

A bit? Nettie and Jamie laughed. One side of it appeared to have been shaved off.

‘Here, Nets, I’ll hold it upright if you tighten the screws at the base,’ Jamie said, correcting the tree to its proper ninety-degree angle and taking the weight.

‘Tch, I wanted to have this all ready for you for when you woke up,’ her father said disappointedly as she set to work.

‘Dad, it’s fantastic!’ she exclaimed from under the tree. ‘I love it. A proper tree.’

She crawled out again and looked up at him, beaming.

‘Well, it’s about time, wouldn’t you say?’ her father said. ‘We’ve been holding on to the past too tightly.’

Nettie stood up and put her arms around him, listening to the steadfast plod of his heart beneath her ear. Her father pulled back first and turned to Jamie.

‘And last night wasn’t the time to say it, too many people about . . .’ he said solemnly.

Nettie smiled as she remembered everyone’s faces when they’d walked hand-in-hand into the house, a hush falling over the gathering within seconds. Jamie had dealt with it with his usual low-key languor, doing his best impression of someone ‘normal’, as Em had immediately corralled Nettie in the kitchen, scolding her for keeping her alter ego a secret, before timidly asking in the next breath whether she’d visit the children’s wards in costume on Christmas Day. Nettie thought she’d never felt so proud.

‘ . . . But what you did – you’ve shown us that we need to start trying to move forwards.’ He held out his hand and Jamie shook it. ‘We are in your debt.’

‘No, you’re not. Nettie’s given me far more than I’ve given her, Mr Watson.’

‘Please – Gerry.’

Jamie nodded with a smile. ‘Gerry. My life was becoming pretty jaded. I thought I’d pretty much seen it all until your daughter burst into my life.’

‘Actually, strictly speaking, you burst into mine,’ Nettie corrected as she began picking pine needles out from her hair. ‘There I was, perfectly happy—’

‘Dressing as a giant bunny and careering down ice tracks?’ Jamie grinned.

‘I suppose that’s one way to get attention, Button,’ her father sighed. ‘Although I’ve always thought you had such a lovely smile that—’

‘Dad!’ Nettie groaned, placing her hand on his arm. ‘Shall I brew a fresh pot of tea?’

Her father beamed. ‘Superb, Button. You go put the kettle on, and Jamie and I will get the lights on this prickly monster. Tell me, do you ever cycle, Jamie?’

She wandered happily into the kitchen. There were still empty bottles and half-full glasses and bowls of crisps and olives from last night’s party.

She quickly loaded the dishwasher to capacity and put it on. She was pulling the milk from the fridge when there was a knock at the front door.

‘Oh, can you get that, love? It’ll be Dan!’ her father called. ‘He’s dropping off a spare fairy for the tree.’

She pattered down the hallway, wondering whether to tease him about Em, glancing in on her way past at the sight of Jamie and her father standing on tiptoes and unwinding the cord of lights, passing it between themselves like a weaving shuttle, each trying not to be jabbed through their shirts by the sharp needles.

She bit her lip as she opened the door. ‘Hi, Da—’

‘Love, what is it?’ her father called from the sitting room a few moments later, hearing the distinct lack of conversation or of doors closing.

‘You did your hair,’ Nettie whispered, almost wanting to laugh as she heard the words out loud; of all the things she had fantasized about what she would say to her mother when – if – she ever saw her again, ‘You did your hair’ wasn’t it.

‘Yes. It needed doing.’

She could see her mother resisting the urge to pat the newly styled crop, which had an elfin charm, the fresh hazelnut tints almost gleaming in the snowlight. Her clothes were different too – better than the other day, although still not how she’d remembered her mother dressing: straight-leg jeans, a pair of trainers, a black polo neck beneath a trendy but cheap olive parka.

Nettie felt her chest inflate as shame filled her. ‘I’m so s—’

‘Sssh.’ Her mother held a finger to her lips, but Nettie could see from the way it trembled slightly that her mother was also struggling to hold back her emotions. ‘You have
nothing
to be sorry for, you hear me?’ she said sternly. Maternally.

Nettie nodded, feeling her breath like a rolling sea inside her. She couldn’t keep it all in, this; it was uncontainable. She didn’t know what to do, how to let it out. She wanted to run to her mother and throw her arms around her, to lock the door behind her and throw away the key; she was so close now – on the step, within touching distance – but Gwen’s sober warnings resounded in her head: how difficult return was, how overwhelming for the missing person to accomplish, rarely done in one go, or at the first attempt. She could just as easily turn away and disappear again. This could be as good as it got; this might be as close as she got.