Page 1 of All I Want for Christmas

Chapter One

Copenhagen, 25 November 2024

‘What exactly are you doing?’ Darcy asked as she watched her flatmate type into her phone. She had a growing suspicion that Freja wasn’t, in fact, searching for the weather forecast as she had claimed.

‘Helping you.’ Freja didn’t look up. ‘It’s been three weeks.’

‘Is that all?’ Darcy groaned, tipping her head back and staring up at the cafe ceiling. It was pitched pine, swagged with some bushy faux conifer branches and fairy lights threaded through.

‘You have to get back out there,’ Freja said, both aware of and oblivious to her foamy hot chocolate moustache. She was incapable of eating or drinking anything without somehow wearing it too.

‘Says who?’ Darcy asked, watching as her flatmate bit her lip in deep concentration.

‘Your mother, for one. You’re twenty-six. She wants grandbabies.’

‘She’s got Cara for that.’

‘Cara’s nineteen and white-water river rafting in Thailand.’

Darcy rolled her eyes. Her little sister’s gap year antics were distinctly more fun than anything she had going on in herown life. All she had on her horizon was a rent payment, a hygienist appointment and the next deadline for her thesis. If Lars hadn’t cheated on her, she’d have gone to Stockholm last weekend, she would have been sitting second row at The Weekend concert a week Friday from now, and she’d have had someone to pull a cracker with on Christmas morning. Instead, he’d kissed a girl he’d known for all of twenty-eight minutes in that bar three weeks ago and two months, five days’ worth of emotional investment had been washed away.

Darcy’s finger tapped the small square table. ‘Well,I’mon a hiatus too. I’m going to need another three weeks off.’

‘Permission denied. You might be perfectly fine with spending Christmas alone, but I am not. And if you won’t come back to my parents’ with me, then we’re going to have to find you some company.’

‘Frey, I have a thesis to write. I’m so behind it’s not even funny. If I had time to celebrate Christmas with you, I’d have time to join my own family on their holiday. Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to be lazing on a Thai beach instead of hitting two thousand words a day here.’

‘Which is why you need some downtime with a baddie when you hit those word counts.’ Freja looked across at her. ‘And besides, you’re not getting any younger.’

‘Or wiser, it appears.’

‘They’re not all like him.’

‘No?’ Darcy arched an eyebrow. ‘I thought he was one of the good guys. That was supposed to be his shtick – dull, but solid, dependable, decent job, good prospects.’

‘Well, perhaps that’s the issue. You’re setting the bar too low.’

‘Oh, because you’re the expert now?’

‘Yes, I am,’ Freja said with a smug smile. ‘I have beensleeping with the same man for a whole month and that means I’ve crossed to the other side. Suddenly I can see everything so clearly.’

Sarcasm tittered at the edges of her voice, but even though Darcy guffawed as she reached for her hot chocolate, she was struggling to adapt to this worryingly ‘in love’ model of her flatmate. Freja had never dated anyone for longer than a week – the child of a bitter divorce, she didn’t believe in things everlasting; she couldn’t even keep their houseplant, Miss Petals, alive, which was alarming for a microbiology PhD student specializing in genomics – and their friendship had been formed through bonding over dating disasters. They had met in the loos of a student bar in the summer, when Darcy – newly arrived in the city and hiding from a bad Tinder date – encountered Freja trying to jimmy the tampon machine with a collar-stiffener found in the bottom of her bag. Darcy had given her the change required and Freja had seen off her date in return, telling him she’d found Darcy in the toilets crying over a positive pregnancy test; the guy hadn’t even waited to finish his drink. They’d been partners in crime ever since – or at least, until the past few weeks, when Freja’s latest torrid affair had stubbornly failed to cool.

Darcy looked through the window and watched as the lunchtime skaters glided – or in some cases, wobbled – past on the Tivoli Gardens ice rink. Even though it was the last week in November the giant tree was already up, all the little cabins fully stocked with the soy candles, lavender sachets and wooden toys that would grace stockings this Christmas. The trees were threaded with lights, the park filled with dog walkers and staggering toddlers with gloves dangling on strings. Voices, young and old, carried above the whirr of thefairground rides and the sluice of skates on the ice. It was easy for the festive spirit to come early in a place that wore snow like a scarf and boasted the happiest citizens on the planet. A couple stopped on the far side of the rink and posed themselves for a well-practised selfie, his arm slung over her shoulder, her head angled in as he reached down for a long, lingering kiss.

‘Ugh, revolting.’ Darcy slumped back in her chair as she watched the shameless display of happiness.

Freja glanced up, following her eyeline. ‘See what I mean? All the good men are being snapped up. Right before your eyes.’

‘Then I’ll move to Paris. Or Barcelona. There’ll be plenty there too.’

‘Too late. I officially declare the mourning period over.’

‘But I like mourning,’ Darcy mumbled sullenly, still watching the happy couple. ‘Black’s my colour.’ Her hands rose to her long, light brown hair; the blonde highlights framing her face – which she’d had put in in the summer – were still just bright enough to give her some lift, but the long layers had grown out and her olive skin had no trace of Ibiza tan left.

‘Here’s what we’re gonna do.’ Freja handed the phone back with a triumphant look. ‘Check your homescreen.’

‘What did you do?’ Darcy frowned suspiciously.

---