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“She does. But she also reminded me she was supposed to buy my goddaughter’s birthday present today. I said I’d do it.”
The way he looks almost in pain reminds me of his reaction to the Scrooge Experience. I almost feel sorry for him.
“Maybe you can take a trip to Hamleys?” I suggest. “That’s the big toy shop here, right?”
“Have you ever tried getting inside Hamleys at this time of year?” He grimaces at the thought.
“No,” I say, deadpan. “But unlike you, I think it sounds like fun. It’s nice to be surrounded by people at this time of year. Some of my favorite Christmas memories involve crowds.”
His eyes are narrow, like he’s still trying to figure me out. “Okay,” he says, like it pains him to agree. “But if I’m going there, you’re going with me.”
“Is that a request or an order?” I tip my head to the side.
A half-smile pulls at his lips. “A request,” he murmurs. “Please, will you go with me to the hellhole that’s Hamleys and help me pick out a gift for the child who has everything?”
“When you put it like that…” I laugh softly. But the fact is, I think I’d enjoy it. I was planning to head over to Oxford Street at some point during my stay. Today feels as good a day as any. “Okay,” I agree. “But only because you asked nicely.”
“Thank you. I’ll meet you in the lobby at ten.”
I stand and place my linen napkin on the table. “Okay, but I have to warn you, I love shopping.” I give him a knowing grin. Because I’m about to give him a masterclass in how to enjoy capitalism at its finest.
THEO
“Christ,” I mutter, as yet another tiny child barrels into me. I understated it when I called Hamleys a hellhole. It’s worse than that. If it had existed in Dante’s day he would have added an extra circle of misery to The Inferno just for this.
“Oh sweetie, are you okay?” Georgia asks as the little boy starts to cry. “Did the nasty man’s leg hurt you?”
The boy sniffs and then, remembering he’s in a toy shop and he’s wasting time on sobs, he runs off to join his older brothers who are arguing over LEGO sets.
“My leg is fine, thanks for checking,” I call out, and Georgia laughs. She’s in her element in here. I swear we’ve looked in every corner of all seven floors. Right now I’m carrying three different options for Daisy. When I suggested we come back once we’ve made a decision instead of carrying them all, Georgia’s face was a picture of horror.
“You have to get to know the gifts. Feel them out. You can’t just make a decision with your head, you have to make it with your heart.” She tips her head to the side. “And anyway, if we leave it now, it could be gone when we come back.”
Honestly, it’s bullshit but she’s fun and apparently she’s forgiven me. And I like being with her. Even though I have a thousand things to do at work before the end of the day, I’m not in any hurry to get back.
“Does your goddaughter like Jellycats?” Georgia asks.
“Like cats made of jelly?” I wrinkle my nose. “Wait, your jelly or our jelly?”
“I mean neither. But now I’m interested. What’s the difference between my jelly and yours?”
“Jelly is the wobbly stuff you give kids for pudding,” I say in answer to her question.
“Dessert,” she corrects. “And you’re talking about Jello.”
“And the stuff you spread on toast is jam,” I continue, unfazed. “While we’re at it, chips are fried potatoes and crisps are the stuff you buy in bags.”
“Are we really doing this?” she asks, her brows lifting. “Because don’t get me started on how you Brits keep adding ‘u’s to words. Or changing zees to esses.”
“Zeds,” I murmur. “And I think you’ll find we invented the language.”
“And then you bastardized it. Left us all alone out there across the ocean spelling words the original way while you just throw vowels in them willy-nilly. Did you know the English used zees in words until the nineteenth century? So in fact, you’re wrong.”
She looks so determined to be right, it makes me smile. “I usually am.”
“Now back to the original question. What’s a Jellycat? It’s a cat, right?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, it’s a brand. They make plushies.”
