Page 93 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
And a top model. Possibly one of Teddy’s exes. Yet I don’t flinch when she leans in for the obligatory brush of cheeks. My confidence holds; my stomach stays calm; my heart beats steady. Teddy’s done that in a matter of weeks—made me feel like the one, the only one who matters. His past, like mine, isn’t worth a second thought. What counts is us, here, now—and the future where I’m trusting him to keep choosing me.
Tessa gifts us a bright, knowing smile. “Lovely to meet you, Rachel. I mustn’t abandon my crowd for too long.” With a flick of glossy hair and the faintest waft of expensive fragrance, she pivots away and slips back to her waiting entourage, leaving nothing behind but the soft shimmer of her perfume.
The organ music gathers and grows as we approach the great doors, adorned with enormous Christmas wreaths.
“Can’t believe how your firm’s milking this,” Teddy says as we join the queue. “They’re lucky you haven’t billed them for the free press.”
Oscar and—hypocrite that she is—Miranda have both been asked for comment on Teddy and me; each is crediting a little pre-Christmas surge in client enquiries to their high-profile employee. Me.
“Call it my insurance policy. Think how bad they’ll look if tomorrow’s vote goes against me. They can’t pass over the tabloids’ darling for some bloke in pinstripes—not with new clients queuing at their door.”
It’s not something I could ever have imagined—people wanting me to handle their contracts simply because I’m dating a rock star. As my Yorkshire granny always said, “There’s nowt so queer as folk.”
Teddy squeezes my hand. “One more carol service, then decision day.”
“Whatever happens—” I kiss his cheek. The silver-haired woman with the pink rinse beside us tsks her disapproval. “The most important decision’s already made—the decision to choose you.”
He flushes under my gaze, and ignoring our neighbour’s glare, plants a kiss on my lips. Another flash bursts.
“Money shot,” he laughs.
As we shuffle to our seats, I crane my neck. Candlelight gilds the soaring dome, shards of gold bouncing off mosaics. The festive altar gleams. Huge arrangements of evergreen and white flowers crowd every alcove.
The service starts with the cathedral choir, voices rising and falling in ancient religious melodies. As they move into more traditional carols, the choirmaster invites the congregation to join in. Song sheets snap open rowby row, a papery whoosh that lifts towards the vault like startled doves.
When the choir begins ‘Little Drummer Boy’, Teddy’s gloved fingers slip free and—middle, ring, index—he taps a perfect triple-stroke on the pew, the same saucepan-lid rhythm he once played in his mother’s kitchen. Parishioners glance over; he doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care.
We catch eyes midpa-rum-pum-pum-pum.
“Play your best for him,” I mouth.
“For you,” he mouths back.
As the finalrum-pum-pum-pumspirals into the dome, it dissolves into a hush so complete I can hear my own heart keeping time with his.
In the beat of quiet, restless children pipe up. “Can we go now?” and “I need the loo, Mummy.”
The music director has evidently anticipated this. There’s a conspiratorial twinkle from the choirmaster. Then—boom—the organ flips to calypso, and the choir goes full gospel. Breaking into an exuberant Boney M-style ‘Mary’s Boy Child’, soon even the stiff-backed Duke and Duchess in the roped-off VIP area pat-clap along. It vibrates through every pew.
Afterwards, the space still hums when they lower the lights for ‘Do You Hear What I Hear.’ The final high note hangs in the nave like spun glass. My vision blurs; I clasp Teddy’s sleeve so I don’t float away with it.
When we wander down the steps, my gloved fingers laced in his, I’ve never felt so at peace. He squeezes my hand, thumb steady on my knuckles—no grand gesture, just his quiet constant presence, and the knowledge he’s prepared to show up forme in all the small but important ways. Teddy is not the sort of man I wanted. But turns out the man Ineededwas hiding in black jeans all along.
The night air is crisp, the sky clear; a few faint stars compete with the city lights. There’s one or two paps still lurking, but they’re preoccupied with a couple of minor royals trying to exit gracefully without running. Long live the monarchy.
“No Gavin?”
Teddy steers me away from the line of cars idling by the kerb. “No, I told him to take the rest of the night off. Spend some time with his family instead of waiting at my beck and call. We’ll catch a cab.”
“Might be pushing it when it’s so busy. We can walk a bit.”
On St Paul’s Churchyard, the sweet coal-smoke of a chestnut stall curls through the cold. A patient queue coils back towards Millennium Bridge from a lone ice-cream van.
“Get a drink at Madison, maybe? Celebrate another box ticked?Take me to a Christmas carol service.”
I nudge him with my elbow. “That leaves only one, drummer boy:Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.Been dodging it, have you?”
A faint grin, then a small shake of his head. “No. I saved the easiest for last.”
