Page 11 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

We clambered back up the stairs.

‘“Cat emergencies”, hmm?’

Anneka shrugged. ‘She’s hot; no harm in keeping a fun conversation going and seeing where it leads. More to the point, you’ve been here for how many months and you’ve not even met your neighbours yet? Come on, Flo, you need to start putting yourself out there again!’

‘I was with Will for twelve years, Anneka. I’m not exactly itching to jump into another relationship.’

‘Who said anything about a relationship? I mean, Jesus, he’s the only person you’ve ever been with, right? Time to have some fun, I reckon!’

We were back in my flat before I had the chance to defend myself – Anneka had never been able to get her head around the fact that not everyone enjoyed superficial sexual encounters. As Anneka threw herself back down onto the sofa, I gasped: Mum had somehow managed to turn the place into what resembled a tornado-struck branch of Primark in the small window of time we’d been downstairs.

‘What the—’

But, as ever, Mum interrupted before my question had the chance to exist out loud. ‘Is your period due in the next week, Flo-flow?’

Anneka snorted at the pun, which, I had to admit, was a better-than-average one.

‘No.’

Mum tossed a pack of sanitary towels in the vague direction of my bedroom, sending Jason scuttling back under his crinkly shelter. I’d never been more envious of a non-human.

‘Great, well, that’s one less thing to pack!’

I swallowed, and joined Mum on the floor while Anneka tapped away on her phone. It was time to accept that my plan to do sweet, safe nothing was in tatters – for the time being, at least. Instead, I would have to activate my transparent suit of armour, and push through the next few days as best as I could without coming across as ungrateful.

‘Where are the rest of your clothes?’ Anneka asked, opening the narrow wardrobe next to the desk, only to discover Mum had already emptied it.

I looked around me on the floor. ‘Yeah, this is pretty much everything.’ I wore dungarees and a simple T-shirt every single day – with an added jumper or thermal layer if it was cold. I’d never found dressing myself enjoyable in the slightest, unlike Anneka, who practically never wore the same outfit twice.

As I numbly transferred the heap of clothes to the suitcase Mum must have found under my bed, I tried to conjure up even a droplet of excitement about where we might be headed.

They are trying to do a nice thing for you, Flora.

The two of them had obviously been planning this for a while given that they’d blagged my passport details from me back in October. But, as much as I tried, mustering any enthusiasm about what might lie ahead was impossible. Instead, the only thing I felt was total and utter emptiness.

Chapter 4

Just a couple of hours ago, I’d smugly listened to the ever-quietening thuds of Tabbi’s suitcase thumping down the staircase while preparing to be horizontal for the foreseeable future. Yet here I now was, very much vertical, replicating that same luggage rhythm with my own awkward heaves. Once more, the universe had cruelly reminded me that it was very much in charge, not me. The bastard.

The microscopic boot of Mum’s ketchup-red Nissan Micra was already full, so I shoved my luggage onto the back seat while Mum held the driver’s seat forwards, and then I clambered in behind it.

Anneka strapped herself into the passenger seat and wedged her smartphone into the air vent mount for navigation purposes. I leaned forward to read the destination.

‘Heathrow?!’ I said, unable to keep the panic out of my voice. I’d assumed we were heading to Bristol Airport, about an hour away.

They turned and grinned in Grinch-like synchronicity, saying nothing while the Michael Bublé track It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas began playing through the car’s tinny front-seat-only speakers.

It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Unscheduled Overstimulation, more like.

I tapped out a quick message to Laurie while I had the chance, giving her a summary of the unhinged events that were unfolding and telling her I was unlikely to make it to hers for Christmas Day after all. I put on my noise-cancelling headphones – which I’d only just remembered to grab as I was shoved out the door – squeezed my eyes shut and vowed to bank some rest before having to deal with the chaos of the UK’s busiest airport on top of the chaos of my family.

After parking in the long-stay car park – the word ‘long’ taunting me – we piled our luggage onto a trolley and headed into the terminal.

‘Right, can you please tell me where we’re going now?’ I said, as I pushed the trolley to a rolling start. ‘I’m going to find out at the check-in desk, anyway.’

‘Uh-uh. We’ve already checked in online,’ Anneka said. ‘We just need to head through security and then chill out in the departure lounge until our gate number’s announced.’

‘What about baggage drop?’