Page 79 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“Never mind that! Rachel, you bought a Christmas tree. An actual Christmas tree. Are you having some kind of breakdown?”
“I’m not having a breakdown. I just…wanted to do Christmas properly this year.”
“Rachel, you once told me that Christmas decorations before December 20th were ‘an assault on common sense.’ You hid in my loo at the Christmas party two years ago because there were too many fairy lights.”
“That was different—”
“And now you’ve bought a tree? A massive tree that probably cost more than my wedding flowers?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, smiling despite myself. “It’s not that massive,” I protest—though looking at it now, it does rather dominate my living room. “And the decorating challenge rubbed off. I did them for the competition—and for you—not because I’ve converted to Santa. We didn’t even win, and it was…fun.”
There’s a pause. “Oh my god, I never thought I’d hear you use the word ‘fun’ about Christmas decorations. This is so weird. Christian, come here. You have to hear this—I’ve finally won her over to my side. Rachel’s gone full Christmas!”
“Haley, don’t put me on speaker—”
“Relax, I won’t.” There’s a muffled exchange. “Christian says hi and that he’s proud of you forembracing the festive spirit.”
Bloody Christian. I bet the bastard’s actually sniggering. I’d love to remind him he only came over from the dark side himself a year ago, but I hold back.
“Tell Christian I said hi, and that you both should get back to your honeymoon.”
“Fine, but I want to come over and see this for myself when I get back. Do you have decorations? I could help you buy some?”
“Sorry, love,” I say, squashing her hopeful enthusiasm. “I went to Harrods this morning. Bags full.”
“Well, just remember if you need any more, I’ve got heaps.”
After we hang up, I stare at the tree again.
I suppose I’ve been a bit of a bah humbug girl when it comes to Christmas. Part of that’s my Scottish heritage—Hogmanay’s always the most important festival in our calendar—but it’s also because Christmas in our family always felt like just going through the motions. Even last year, dragging Pierre up to Scotland felt like another box to tick rather than sharing something meaningful. Most years, I don’t even bother making the trip. Send some gifts and call Mum on the day.
This year feels different. Sure, Haley’s Christmas challenges opened my eyes to the fun side of the season, but it was Teddy who really won me over. Seeing him at that hospital party on Tuesday, watching how he lit up those kids’ faces—that’s what finally made Christmas feel like something worth celebrating. I couldn’t get home fast enough to order this tree. Now it’s up, I set to work on the first challenge: draping it in lights.
By the time I finish, it’s almost four and starting to get dark. When I flick the switch and the tiny fairy lights burst into life, warmsatisfaction oozes through me. I did this all on my own, and it’s exactly how I pictured it.
I’m stuffing the empty lights’ box into a hall cupboard when the sound of ‘Little Drummer Boy’ drifts from my phone. Slamming the cupboard door, I race to answer it.
“Hey,” I say, “Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you so soon after our paparazzi adventure.”
“Are you kidding? That just reminded me how much I like spending time with you.” Teddy’s voice has that warm, honey-like quality that makes my chest flutter. “So I was thinking, how about we tick off another thing on the list—skating at Somerset House? Tonight? Fair warning though, I’m absolutely useless on ice.”
“Teddy, that’s probably the most public place in London right now. After today…”
“I know, but I’ve been thinking about it. They’ve already got their shots of us, right? Maybe if we just act normal instead of hiding, it becomes less of a story. Besides,” his voice drops lower, “I really want to see you tonight.”
“But how have you even got tickets? On a Saturday night, this close to Christmas…”
“Being famous isn’t all bad, you know. I’ll see you at six, yeah?”
By evening, I’ve swapped fairy lights for floodlights. For half an hour Teddy’s clung to the ice with a dogged sort of pride, determinedto master it just because I’m here. At last, he lets me pause by the barrier.
“I thought I had the best Christmas tree in London till I saw this.” I lean against the railing and gaze up into the night sky. The towering tree, dotted with a thousand tiny lights and gleaming red baubles the size of footballs, is dazzling against the blackness. Behind it, spotlights pick out the elegant Georgian stone walls of Somerset House; in front of us, swathes of magenta light wash over the ice rink in waves.
“It might be bigger, but after what you bought today, yours is definitely going to be the best.” Teddy’s breath mists in the cold air. He’s still breathing heavily from the effort of keeping upright, but he’s done well for a self-confessed novice.
“You know, you’re not so bad at skating as you think. I expected you to take me down a few times, and it’s only been once.”
“Yeah, wonder if the paps caught that one,” he laughs. “Teddy and Rachel on their arses. Very elegant.”
