Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Christmas Eve 5:30 p.m.

I follow the sound of the carol singers and turn a corner into Ladbroke Grove Road, where it seems the ordinarily private park has been opened for locals. I must admit I’m intrigued. I walk past the park every day on my way to work and have never gotten to see inside. I once peeked my head through the fence and was stopped by an American woman who told me that I needed a key, just like the one she has for Gramercy Park in New York where she lives. When I asked how she had a key for Ladbroke Square Gardens if she lived in America, she said she was on holiday and had specifically chosen an Airbnb with exclusive use of a private park. I did not like her.

I push Adam onto the gravelled path, we wheel around a corner and I gasp. It’s beautiful in here. The fir trees are all covered in tiny pale lights and it looks so magical in this moment that my usual aversion to fairy lights is all but forgotten. Ooh, there are colourful little pop up carts serving drinks and food from local vendors! If I didn’t hate Christmas, I might think this was pretty cool.

There’s a group of about fifteen carollers standing under a gazebo, dressed in various shades of red and white and very seriously singing Good King Wenceslas. One of them is carrying a bucket for donations for Battersea Dogs Home, and though the garden is busy, people seem to mostly be walking past the carollers in favour of the pop up food and drinks carts. One little boy even puts his hand over his ears. I give him a sympathetic glance.

‘They need to sing something a bit more lively,’ I muse as we head over so I can put some money into the bucket.

‘You’re so right. I always think Good King Wenceslas is the dullest of all Christmas songs.’

‘That’s what I was thinking!’

‘We should do something about it,’ Adam says.

‘No, we shouldn’t.’

‘We should! For the sake of the dogs!’ Adam pulls a very noble looking expression and before I can protest any further, he has plonked the Christmas tree, shopping bags and crutches onto the ground beside the wheelchair and suggests that if I don’t want him to fall and break his other leg, I should probably help him up onto his feet. With a reluctant sigh I do, trying to keep my balance as he stumbles into me a little. I press my hands against his chest to steady us both and am surprised by how toned he feels, even beneath his woollen coat.

I shake my head slightly in an attempt to clear it and hand Adam his crutches.

‘Phoebe, you smell like Bondage,’ he says.

‘Ugh. I know.’ I give him a little sniff. ‘So do you.’

‘It’s horrendous, isn’t it? Overworked, over-heated gimp was the exact correct description.’ He looks at me weirdly and grins slightly, and although he is technically not flirting and technically within the boundaries of our agreement, I feel a flush creep up my neck.

Adam turns swiftly towards the carol singers and starts to hobble towards them on his crutches. I expect that he’s going to help rouse the crowd, but he waits patiently for the singers to finish their current song and then he hops awkwardly over to the leader, leaning in to speak to her. I see her recoil slightly from the smell of Bondage. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but her face changes from offended to flirty within the space of a minute. She turns and says something to the other bored and cold-looking carol singers who all seem to liven up at her words.

Adam manoeuvres to the side of the choir and with a nod from the leader yells, ‘A one, a two, a one two three and…!’

The group launches into a rendition of Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town. Adam, leaning precariously on one of his crutches and with the other tucked under his arm, starts clapping in time as he sings. The rest of the choir join in and a few of them start to dance. Together, they sound brilliant! In no time at all, people start to head over and begin to sing and clap along. A couple of women film on their mobile phones and at least six people head over to put money into the donation bucket. I can’t help but smile at the sound of all these people singing around me. People who wouldn’t ordinarily look at each other in these aloof London streets. Their voices ring around me and to my great horror I somehow find myself singing along too. I clamp my mouth shut before I get too carried away. See, this is what Christmas does. It makes you think that everything is lovely and happy and hopeful when really it is all a lie.

When the song is over, the crowd whoops and cheers before the carollers, thrilled with the newfound attention, launch into another upbeat song that keeps the crowd dancing and clapping.

Adam hobbles back over to me, a massive grin on his face, before sitting back into his wheelchair, grabbing some painkillers out of his pocket and necking two of them.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

‘A dancing audience member knocked my leg a bit. Should probably stay in the chair. But it was worth it!’

‘It was like Sister Act!’ I say with a little laugh.

‘Well, I am often referred to as the Dolores Van Cartier of Christmas.’

‘And you made some money for the dogs, which is lovely.’

‘While getting the attention I crave, also lovely,’ Adam deadpans.

As we wander around the rest of the park, Adam insists that we stop at one of the little food carts. I insist that it be the hotdog cart on account of the fact that I do not like festive foods. So we stop for a hotdog and I realise I’ve not eaten since eleven this morning. I gobble it up joyfully. Hotdogs are amazing.

‘You want another one?’ Adam asks. ‘Because I really really do.’

I had planned to go home for my noodles... Hmmm. Maybe I can have noodles tomorrow because a second hotdog sounds…

‘Yes, I will have another.’

When we’ve finished I rub my stomach in satisfaction.

‘Come closer,’ Adam says softly. ‘I have something to tell you.’

‘Why do I have to come closer? Just tell me.’ I roll my eyes.

‘No you have to come closer, it’s private and I don’t want anyone else to hear.’

Tutting, I bend down, my face close to his.

Adam doesn’t say anything, but dabs a napkin gently to my nose. ‘You had a bit of ketchup there.’

I straighten up, pawing at my nose. Ugh. Why didn’t he just tell me I had ketchup on my nose so I could move it myself.

‘That was flirty,’ I hiss.

‘It was not. You want me to let you go around looking like some sloppy Rudolph?’

‘No, but… you could have let me wipe my nose myself like a normal person.’

Adam holds his hands up in an innocent gesture. ‘I was just trying to help.’

‘Sure.’

As we leave the park, I get a spark of a long dormant feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can’t quite figure what the feeling is. I’m not sure I even want to figure out what the feeling is.

‘I’m taking you home now.’ I say firmly.

‘Fine.’

‘Good.’

‘Great.’

‘Awesome.’

‘Excellent.’

‘Stop it.’

‘You stop it.’

‘Let’s both stop it.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay.’

‘Fine.’

‘Adam!’