Page 125 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

‘He’s here, in Bath?!’

‘Yes!’ they both said, jumping up and down, clutching each other.

I looked at the time – it was eleven minutes to midnight. ‘But, how…? When…? Fuck, I have so many questions!’

‘I’m sure you do, but there’s no time!’ Anneka said, chucking me my coat and kicking my Converse in the vague direction of my feet.

I pulled it all on, briefly inspecting my appearance in the mirror above the mantelpiece – Anneka’s insistence on an impromptu make-up session earlier now made a lot more sense. I looked vaguely decent, thank God.

Is this actually happening?

I turned wordlessly to Mum and Anneka, and they both answered my silent question with encouraging nods. I bundled them both into my arms.

‘Thank you thank you thank you. But I’m going to need a full debrief when I get back on how you made this happen,’ I said into their necks.

‘Hell, no, we won’t be here,’ Mum said, scrunching up her nose. ‘Once we’ve done your washing-up, Anneka’s heading downstairs to Marcie’s and I’m heading back to Scarnbrook – the last thing the pair of you will need is us greeting you when you get back.’ She was still clutching her branch.

‘But how are you going to get home? You’ve been drinking cider all night.’

Mum and Anneka looked at each other conspiratorially before replying in union. ‘It was Appletiser!’

The three of us shrieked with delight while I wrapped a scarf around my neck and they bundled me out of the door.

‘Onwards, not backwards, Flo! Go get him!’ Mum called at the top of her lungs from the top of the staircase as I stepped out into the cold air.

That’s exactly what I intended to do.

I didn’t need to check the map to know where Ethan would be – the three words had pinpointed a glorious spot just outside Bath Abbey, a leisurely ten-minute downhill – and, thankfully, well-lit – stroll from here in regular circumstances. But these circumstances were highly irregular and I didn’t have ten minutes – I had, shit!, seven.

I upped my pace, breaking into a light jog every so often, at one point nearly slipping on a patch of ice.

Slow down, Flora – it won’t matter if you’re a few minutes late, but it will matter if you break your leg.

But I didn’t want to be late. What I wanted, more than anything, was to get there for midnight. To see him – to kiss him – under the chiming bells of Bath Abbey as they rang in the new year. Cheesy? Yes. But also romantic as hell. And, as it turned out, I was a sucker for romance.

As I reached the foot of the hill, I checked the time, wheezing. It was four minutes to midnight. Fuck, I wasn’t going to make it.

And then fate visited yet again, this time in the form of a taxi, its rooftop light beautifully illuminated in orange.

Hold on for that happy ending.

Jem’s parting words that night in Brooklyn echoed in my mind as I stuck my hand out for the cab and it pulled to a stop.

‘Can you get me to Bath Abbey as quickly as possible, please?’

‘That’s barely a fare, love,’ the driver said, rolling his eyes.

‘Please, I’ll pay anything.’

‘What is this, a pursuit?’

‘Yes! A romantic one!’

‘Ah, what the hell, climb in – this one’s on me.’

It was less than a two-minute drive, and I was out the door before the car had even stopped, screaming ‘Thank you, thank you!’ to the driver as I sprinted the final hundred metres or so.

11:59.