Miles follows my eyes upwards and then looks back at me blankly.
‘One of these nutcrackers just came to life!’ I continue. ‘He gave Bea such a fright. I can’t actually work out which ones are real people and which are statues. It’s a bit freaky. We’re making this advent calendar right now. Look. I can’t believe how adorable it is.’
At this table, there’s a selection of wooden chests of drawers in the shapes of gingerbread houses and festive trucks. They’ve been pre-sprayed, and I’m now busy decorating a pale blue gingerbread-style house with stickers and jewels. Bea’s job is to put a dinky foil-wrapped chocolate in each little drawer. I’m fairly sure she’s taken more than twenty-four chocolates so far.
Miles humours me with a glance around the room. ‘It’s exceptional. Siobhan’s done an amazing job. As usual.’
‘Who’s Siobhan?’
‘Siobhan Quinn. She’s a very well-known event organiser. She does this party for us every year, but she’s excelled herself this year.’
‘Wow.’ My voice is dreamy. ‘I would kill for that job.’
He looks at me in surprise. ‘Would you really? I’ll introduce you, in that case.’
He’s as good as his word. He tracks Siobhan down and introduces us.
‘Are you Irish?’ is the first thing out of my mouth. Siobhan is extremely glamorous, with an immaculate scarlet mouth and a glossy black bob. She’s in a long scarlet gown I would literally sell a kidney for.
She smiles, and she’s suddenly less severe, less intimidating. She’s gorgeous.
‘Yes, but I’ve lived here since I was a baby. Hence the accent.’
She is extremely posh.
‘Miles says you’d like to get into this field, is that right?’
‘I. Um.’ I look wildly at Miles, who nods impatiently at me. He’s bothered to introduce us, after all. The least I can do is find my tongue. ‘I’ve thought about it. A lot. But what you’ve done here is another level. I can’t even imagine how much work it’s taken to make this happen. And working with kids must make it even harder. It’s so, so beautiful. I’m an adult—well, in theory, anyway—and I’m blown away. I’ve never seen anything so transporting.’
‘You’re very kind.’ Siobhan pats me on the arm. ‘I usually avoid doing kids’ events, but this one’s a lot of fun, and Miles is such a sweetie I can never say no to him.’ She reaches over and squeezes Miles’ jaw like he’s a little kid, and he wriggles away as if she’s an annoying aunt. Even though she can’t be much older than him. I can’t imagine having the nerve to squish Miles’ face.
Siobhan’s still talking. ‘Think of this whole thing as a swan. It might look like it’s running smoothly, but behind the scenes, it’s a mess. I have two girls in the back there with digital sewing machines, running up aprons because there’ve been so many last-minute additions to the guest list.’ She mock-glares at Miles. ‘But if hard work doesn’t scare you, and I’m sure it doesn’t, if you’re working for Miles, then I’m happy to have a coffee sometime. Maybe after Christmas, when things quieten down. I can give you some tips about getting into the industry.’
Good Lord. This woman is divine. And even Miles seems to eat out of the palm of her hand.
‘That would be amazing.’ I’m gushing now. ‘Thank you.Thank you.I’m free from New Year’s Day, when these two jet off to the Caribbean. This is just a temp job.’
Siobhan turns to Miles for confirmation, and I can’t help but notice that the nod he gives in confirmation is grim.
He’s a weird one.
CHAPTER 6
Miles: Wednesday 8 December
What a fucking nightmare this place is. Winter Wonderland is the epitome of everything that’s gone wrong with this country, and the utter antithesis of how I’d choose to spend a dark, cold evening. My choice would be to hole up in our—now my—Cotswolds pad by a roaring fire with a few fingers of whisky and the Bourne trilogy.
Alone.
I’d settle for the same thing at The Montague, to be honest.
Instead, I’m in Hyde Park, cursing the day I agreed to this. That day was yesterday, in fact. It turns out Saoirse’s persuasive. She has a similar persuasion technique to Bea—boring her victim into submission—but Saoirse uses relentless positivity as opposed to relentless whining. The only decent call I’ve made all day was slipping back to the hotel to put on waterproof boots and my warmest jacket. It’s been a beautiful, crisp day, and it is now fucking freezing.
I scour the crowd for my girls. The girls.Thegirls.Jesus.
Saoirse and I made a deal with Bea last night, that ifSaoirse took her to this chaotic cesspit of commerciality turned dystopia early in the afternoon, I’d join them for an hour, and Bea could have her dream: to be there while it was dark. It’s four o’clock now, and I can’t even tell if it’s properly dark because the eery glow of a planet’s worth of junk light illuminates the sky in a neon haze. I can see it far too clearly from the terrace of my penthouse, half a mile away.
I could swear it didn’t use to be this diabolical. I have hazy memories of going with Allegra donkey’s years ago, when you could stroll in and buyvin chaudand tartiflette from some chic little kiosks in the park. It was festive and charming then. But, at some point, someone’s turned it into a money-maker, and now a perfectly good section of beautiful Hyde Park is a churned-up swamp, flashing lights and light-up toys polluting the planet as much as my view, and the air thick with a stomach-churning mixture of fried onions, hot dogs made of the most questionable ‘meat’, and sugar.
