Page 30 of I’m Dreaming of a New York Christmas

‘Are there any updates on Jason at all, or are the messages 100 per cent filth?’

‘Oh, mainly filth, but…’ She scrolled for a few seconds before turning her phone to face me: Jason’s orange face filled the screen. I could just about make out the blue IKEA bag in the background, which reassured me that he hadn’t escaped the confines of Tabbi’s flat, at least.

She typed out one final message before placing her phone face down and leaning back into the booth, arms outstretched. ‘Having fun, then, Flo?’

I was well aware that this was the first moment Anneka and I had had to ourselves on this trip. I needed to interrogate her while I had the chance.

‘Yeah, of course. It’s just…’ I peered around the booth to check Mum wasn’t heading our way already. ‘How can you and Mum afford all of this? I saw how much the hotel is costing you when we checked in. And return flights to New York at this time of year can’t be cheap. Should I be worried?’

Anneka threw back her head and cackled once, loudly. ‘As if you’ve ever needed permission to worry!’

‘Fair point.’

Anneka placed a hand on my forearm and squeezed it gently. ‘Seriously, Flo, you don’t need to stress. My business is doing well and Mum’s been saving up for a while. What with… everything that’s happened this year, we figured now was a good time to splash out. While we can, y’know?’

I frowned. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Hmm? Oh, I just meant that, while me and you are both single and you’re not tied to an office job, we’re a bit more flexible than we otherwise might be. The timing just felt right.’

Nothing about this trip felt right to me. But who was I to question how Mum and Anneka spent their own money? I felt my shoulders relax a little, as if they’d been glued to my jaw ever since they’d rung my doorbell goodness knows how many days – or hours – ago.

Mum arrived back at the table at the same time as the bartender, who was carrying a ridiculous number of identical cocktails on a tray.

‘Please tell me that’s not all for us?’ I said, although my soul already knew the answer.

‘You ordered six Manhattans, right? Well, it’s happy hour so that means you get twelve!’

I put my forehead on the table and groaned while Mum and Anneka squealed with excitement.

‘Is everything okay?’ the bartender asked, as he began placing the drinks down. How could he even carry so many drinks at once? I envied his wrist strength.

I lifted my head up a couple of inches, squinting with tiredness as I spoke. ‘It’s just that… I only ordered three. Why would I order twelve? There are only three of us!’

‘You ordered six, ma’am! I repeated it back to you!’

‘I… oh, never mind. Thank you.’

Bloody tourist trap – this ‘misunderstanding’ was probably their entire business model. The bartender placed the twelve glasses on the table, each of which was decorated with a mini USA flag and a mini flag bearing the name of the bar, which meant we were now the proud owners of twenty-four miniature flags.

Mum and Anneka immediately started decorating themselves with them, seemingly not minding the sticky remnants on each of the cocktail sticks. Anneka wiped a couple clean on a napkin, tucking one behind each of my ears gently, knowing I wouldn’t want to handle them myself.

‘Selfie time!’ Anneka said, once they were in place.

I leaned in for the photo, taking a fake slurp of drink, which fast turned into a real slurp. It was extremely strong but deliciously smooth and warming.

‘Looks like we’re here for the long haul!’ Mum said, as she practically downed her first cocktail. ‘Here’s to the Bells of New York City!’

We clinked glasses and took more sips, at which point I noticed that my phone was now switched on. I shimmied into the corner of the booth and read a message from Laurie asking for updates and sent a quick reply. I then opened Instagram to share some Central Park photos I’d taken before my battery had run out, but got distracted by a notification:

CarmichaelCartoons started following you.

I sat upright. He must have looked me up based on my email address. I navigated to my Instagram profile to remind myself what would greet him. Given that I’d cleansed my grid of anything Will-related before I’d moved to Bath, it was mainly images of coffee, sunsets and Jason the cat. All suitably neutral and in keeping with what little he knew about me.

As I re-inspected his grid, a couple of notifications informed me that he had checked out my profile, liking a couple of images of Jason contorting himself into un-cat-like sleeping positions from the last few weeks.

And then I spotted the DM:

Ethan: