Christmas on Primrose Hill

by Karen Swan

  The question was, would anyone recognize her from it? Nettie thought her large, almond-shaped eyes looked too distinctive in the photo. Anyone who knew her was bound to make the connection, she feared, but Jules kept telling her she was being paranoid, a sure sign she was becoming a star.

  ‘OK, they’re ready,’ Jules said from behind her, and Nettie closed the door on the crowd.

  She pulled on the bunny head and struck a pose. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Like a mutant.’ Jules held her hand up for a high five. ‘Go get ’em.’

  The journalists clapped as Jeremy introduced her and she ran out to stand with him under the balloon arch.

  ‘Now, as most of you are aware, White Tiger has long fostered a close relationship with our local communities and charities, but Blue Bunny here really is the jewel in our crown. It is down to her fearless – some might say foolhardy – stunts campaign that she has not only raised £384,000 in a single week, but that doctors and hospitals are already reporting a staggering 690 per cent increase in patients attending male health clinics. How many lives will be saved through early diagnosis and treatment because of this curious bunny?’

  Nettie watched the journalists taking this point on board and felt a surge of pride that she was responsible for it. It seemed unreal that her antics and high jinks could have such a palpable effect.

  ‘But we’re not going to rest on our laurels. We know there’s still further to run with this ball, and I am delighted to announce to you all today that someone with a unique talent, someone who is already an established and cherished member of the White Tiger community has volunteered to sign up to complete this run with us – he’s a man who’s an icon to many, a man who knows that health comes before wealth. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you . . . Jamie Westlake.’

  Nettie froze as the flashbulbs started going off.

  No one could see that she had frozen, of course. The suit was too large around her frame to register small movements – or lack thereof – but she alone stood still as Jamie Westlake walked out onto the stage and came to stand with her and Jeremy under the balloons.

  He was wearing black jeans and a green-and-black plaid shirt, and was looking even better than he had last night in the dinner suit.

  Last night. There was no way this could be coincidence.

  She stared in disbelief. What was going on? Was there any sense of normality left in her life? Even though he’d guessed that the girl with the supposed ballgown was also the girl in the bunny suit, how could he have known about this? It was confidential, agreed only this morning. How could he possibly have known White Tiger was looking for a celebrity to spearhead the campaign? White Tiger linked up with athletes, not singers. Didn’t they? No, this didn’t make sense.

  Through the mesh of the eyeholes, she could see Jules, Caro and Daisy all jumping on the spot in delight. Daisy, in particular, looked thrilled that her missed opportunity had come around again.

  Nettie looked over at Jamie, her heart beating double time to be in the same room as him once more. He was standing just six feet away, on the other side of Jeremy, holding his hands out and trying to get the journalists to stop asking their different questions all at once.

  Jeremy handed the microphone to him.

  ‘Hi, everyone.’ His voice was relaxed and slightly gravelly – more gravelly than she had noticed last night and she wondered just how hard he had partied after the screening. ‘I just want to say I’m really pleased to be involved with this campaign. I think what they’re doing here, with this mad, crazy Bunny Girl is really cool.’ A titter of amusement rippled through the audience as he turned slightly towards her. ‘She’s been putting herself on the line to raise awareness of a cruel disease that is only as successful as it is because people are too bloody embarrassed to speak up. Well, I’m not embarrassed about it. It’s an important message that we need to get out there about men’s health and I’ll do whatever I can to help break down taboos with this campaign. I’m really proud to be involved with it, so with your help, let’s spread the word and make a difference.’

  He handed the microphone back to Jeremy.

  ‘Thank you, Jamie. Does anyone have any questions?’

  The voices rushed at him in unison again.

  ‘Yes.’ Jeremy pointed to a journalist in the third row.

  ‘Is Jamie going to be doing the pranks and stunts with the bunny?’

  ‘Well, Jamie is really the figurehead for the—’

  ‘I might, yeah,’ Jamie replied. ‘If I can keep up. She’s pretty extreme.’ He glanced over at her as everyone laughed and Nettie realized she should probably react in some way other than just standing there dumbstruck. She began jogging on the spot, parrying her paws like a boxer.

  Nettie could see the girls in the team were still jumping up and down together in a line too, looking ready to scream.

  ‘And who is the Blue Bunny Girl?’ a journalist at the front asked.

  ‘I can’t answer that, I’m afraid,’ Jeremy parried. ‘That’s part of the fun of the campaign.’

  ‘Is it just one person?’

  ‘Indeed it is. Uh, yes, you in the green top.’

  The questions kept coming, but Nettie didn’t concentrate. She wanted to get off this stage and out of this stupid costume. It was hot and heavy and ridiculous and undignified, and there was no good reason why it had to continue to be her who wore it.

  ‘. . . if you’d just like to stand here together for the photos.’

  She tuned in again. ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘The photos. If you can just stand next to Jamie.’

  Nettie walked the few steps forward to where Jamie was waiting for her.

  ‘Hello again,’ he said under his breath as the flashbulbs began to pop. She was vaguely aware that his arm was resting round her shoulder, but of course she couldn’t feel it.

  ‘Hi,’ she said after a moment.

  ‘Surprised?’ He was managing to speak without moving his lips, his face turned to the cameras as the flashbulbs popped. He had a way of moving that was elevated, exotic even – like a panther amid gazelles. Everyone seemed skittish and flighty compared to his stealthy self-assuredness.

  ‘Me? No. Why should I be?’

  He turned to face her and she could see he was trying to look past the black mesh to see her. She had that advantage, at least, and as the photographers’ lights kept flashing, she allowed herself a brief indulgence, her eyes roaming his face with a freedom that would never be possible in his gaze. Was it just her imagination or did he sparkle somehow? He didn’t look like anyone she’d ever seen before, as though his very skin was flecked with gold.

  Jamie turned to Jeremy after a few moments. ‘Right, I think they’ve probably got what they need, don’t you?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Jeremy agreed, turning towards the audience again. ‘Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. That’s all for today.’

  A murmur of disappointment crackled in the crowd, but Jamie had already turned away.

  ‘After you,’ Jamie said, indicating for Nettie to leave the back of the stage first.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said quietly, as Jeremy stepped between them both and walked them towards the small side room she had changed in.

  ‘Uh, you can’t come in here, I’m afraid,’ Nettie said quickly, as Jamie moved to step into the room behind her.

  Jamie looked surprised, Jeremy even more so. ‘Nonsense, Nettie,’ he laughed. ‘Jamie’s allowed to know your identity. He’s the public face of the campaign! Come in, come in.’

  ‘Nettie?’ Jamie murmured, a small smile on his face as he stared down at her, and she had the sense of being chased, as though him having her name was just the first step in a game.

  She slunk into the room to find Mike, Jules, Caro and Daisy lined up like a wedding line (Daisy appeared to have lost a layer of clothing in the time Nettie had been out on stage), idiotic grins on the girls’ faces.

  ‘Jamie, come and meet the team –
they deal with all our CSR work. You’re going to be seeing a lot of each other in the next week,’ Jeremy said, handing them each a glass of champagne. ‘This is Mike Fortishaw, the team leader.’

  Nettie watched as Mike sucked his stomach in for the handshake, gripping harder than was probably necessary.

  ‘Julia Grant’s in charge of strategy.’

  Jamie looked amused. ‘Hmm, I believe we’ve met before, Julia,’ he said, shaking her hand, a wry smile playing on his lips.

  ‘Call me “Jules”,’ she gushed.

  ‘All right. Jules.’

  ‘And Caroline Broadley, she’s our technical specialist, analysing meta-data and other things I don’t really understand.’

  ‘Hi, Caro,’ Caro said, looking bored but chewing her gum at a speed that Nettie knew meant she was anxious.

  ‘Caro,’ Jamie repeated.

  ‘And finally Daisy Crompton. Daisy is our projects liaison officer. It was her idea to bring in a celebrity ambassador.’

  ‘Well, I’m very glad you had such a fine idea.’

  ‘Daisy’s never short of them. Or contacts. Who she doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing.’

  ‘I’m amazed we haven’t met before, then, Daisy. Or is it “Daise”?’

  ‘I know, right?’ Daisy breathed, holding on to his hand and covering it with hers.

  A man came into the room via the other door, which led into the lobby. ‘Hey.’ He had light brown hair, greying slightly at the temples, and small brown eyes that moved quickly in staccato bursts, seemingly missing nothing, a details man.

  ‘Dave,’ Jamie smiled, outstretching an arm to bring him into the group. ‘This is my manager, Dave Marshall.’

  Dave shook everyone’s hands quickly. ‘A pleasure . . . Pleased to meet you . . . Hi . . .’ he said with brisk smiles and handshakes, stopping at Nettie. ‘Ah, the legend herself. An honour, miss.’ Nettie laughed nervously as he took her paw and kissed it. Jamie watched with close interest.

  ‘So, that went very well out there,’ Dave said, addressing the group as Jeremy handed him a glass too.

  Nettie watched Jamie watching her. She had the safety of a costume to hide behind; he didn’t seem to need it.

  ‘Yeah,’ Daisy breathed. ‘But how come they got you, Jamie? I thought they were going for a sportsman.’

  Nettie could have smacked her for flirting with the man, and kissed her for voicing the very question that was driving her to distraction.

  Jamie turned his attention to Daisy, and Nettie immediately began scrutinizing his profile instead. It was every bit as magnificent as his face. ‘We recorded our first album at the White Tiger studios in London; they were one of the first sponsors to get on board with our first tour. So when Dave heard they were looking for a face for the campaign, he gave me a call. He knew I’d been following it.’ He shrugged.

  ‘You’re amazing,’ Daisy said breathlessly. ‘Giving up your time like this.’

  ‘Not really,’ he smiled. ‘What you’re doing’s really clever. And I particularly enjoyed yesterday’s gag.’

  ‘Yesterday? Oh, you mean the photo-bombing at the Bond film?’ Jeremy asked. ‘Yes, that did go down well.’

  ‘Not with Daniel.’ Jamie laughed. ‘I was there. Although actually, I was rather disappointed not to have been caught by the Blue Bunny myself.’ He turned back to face her. ‘Do you sleep in that thing too?’

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘Yes, come on, Nettie,’ Jeremy said, realizing she was still in full costume. ‘Step out of that terrible costume. You must be sweltering in it.’

  ‘No, not really,’ she demurred, holding up a paw.

  Jeremy paused, baffled by her insistence on staying bunnied up. ‘Well, even so, you can’t stay in there all night. I can’t pass you a drink, for one thing.’

  He laughed, but it was an order rather than a suggestion, and reluctantly Nettie turned and let Jules undo the heavy-duty Velcro across the back of the costume. She stepped out of it, wearing the black leggings and top Jamie had seen her in yesterday. She stood there for a moment, looking ridiculous with the giant bunny head still on over hers and dwarfing her bang-on size-ten frame, before hesitantly taking it off, her long dark hair falling down her back as she blinked in the sudden light. Slowly, she raised her eyes to his.

  ‘Well,’ Jamie said softly, smiling with a quiet look of satisfaction as he set eyes upon her flushed face. ‘Hello again.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘In your own time,’ Dan moaned as she burst in through the door of the Engineer, waving to Tom behind the counter before squeezing through the chairs to where he was sitting at their usual table. ‘You said you were going to be early.’

  ‘I said I hoped I was going to be early,’ she corrected, kissing him quickly on the cheek and sinking gratefully into her seat. Her heart was galloping like she’d run all the way here. ‘I got held up.’

  He took in her red cheeks and bright, quick eyes. ‘Doing?’

  ‘We were at the Savoy.’

  ‘Ooh, very nice, darling, sweetie,’ Dan said, trying to pull off his best fashionista impression, but it wasn’t very impressive coming from a Norf Lundun boy. ‘Cocktails in the American bar, was it?’

  Nettie coughed. That, in fact, had been exactly what Jamie had proposed in the name of ‘bonding’ – to the team, but with his eyes on her – and she had been more than delighted to make her escape, pleading this prior arrangement and leaving him stranded with Jules and Daisy and Caro. ‘It was just work. You? Had a good day?’

  He rolled his bright blue eyes, which had a slightly hangdog look to them today. ‘Run off my feet. Apparently there’s not a single other person in the country but me who can lag a pipe.’

  She grinned. ‘Well, don’t complain – just think of the money. You’ll be able to spoil your mum this year.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He looked at her hopefully. ‘Had any ideas?’

  ‘Tch, you are a nightmare. Have you really not got a single thought about what she’d like?’

  He pulled a face. ‘I did think about one of those foot bucket things.’

  ‘Do you mean a foot spa?’

  ‘Yeah, them!’

  She sighed. ‘You gave her one three years ago.’

  ‘Really?’

  Nettie nodded, draining her flat beer and standing up again. ‘Come on. Let’s have a wander and see if there’s anything out there.’

  ‘There never is,’ he complained, pulling on his beloved grey Superdry puffa, which she’d bought him last Christmas and which he’d worn to death. ‘It’s just gingerbread biscuits and them smelly heart pillow things.’

  ‘Lavender sachets.’

  ‘Exactly. We’d be much better off just going straight to Argos.’

  ‘Over. My. Dead. Body,’ she said, holding the door open for him. ‘See you later, Tom!’ she called, waving as she stepped back out into the chilly street.

  It was one of her favourite nights of the year – the local Christmas Market had been set up, ready for the switching on of the Christmas-tree lights tonight – and yes, there was a bias towards gingerbreads and lavender sachets, but there were also gorgeous Scandi Christmas decorations made from twigs and bells and brown gingham ribbons, hand-blown tree baubles in the colours of boiled sweets, gourmet sausages being freshly cooked on a metal drum, hand-knitted childrenswear such as strawberry-shaped baby bonnets and 1970s-style dungarees, wooden-toy stalls, French cheeses and eight-foot Christmas trees that fit perfectly in the area’s high-ceilinged homes.

  It didn’t matter about the carefully considered – and budgeted – Christmas list that she’d spent weeks in advance drawing up, trawling through the catalogues as they dropped through the letterbox from October onwards: invariably, year after year, she staggered home from this market with an eclectic, budget-blown hoard of goodies – some of them presents, some of them just treats, like the stollen that wouldn’t keep till Christmas Day.

  Regent’s Park Road was already crowded, the
stalls ablaze beneath the brightly illuminated icicles that were strung up above the red-and-white striped awnings. Men ambled slowly down the middle of the street, small children on their shoulders waving sparklers and trying to touch the suspended stars, as their wives tarried by the displays, surreptitiously buying stocking fillers while chatting to neighbours and friends from playgroup.

  She caught up with him by a stall that had bags made entirely from Coke-can ring-pulls. He held one up for her approval.

  ‘Dan, your mum’s fifty-four, not fourteen. No,’ she said, pushing his arm back down and pulling him on.

  They began to wander, their breath hanging like snowy plumes in the air before them. It was too cold for snow, the London sky clear and orange-tinted, as ever. A couple of children dodged past them, laughing, their hoods up and faces painted as tigers as they wove through the crowds, their father hurrying after and saying sorry to everyone as he tried to squeeze past.

  ‘Mad, isn’t it?’ Dan said, standing to the side to let the harried man past. ‘The perpetual worry you always see on their faces.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘Parents. They look terrified all the time, the lot of them – terrified crossing the road, terrified in the pool, terrified in crowds, terrified at the tops of escalators, terrified around saucepans.’ He shook his head. ‘Jesus, why would you put yourself through it?’

  Nettie laughed, hooking her free arm round his, to keep closer in the crush. ‘Well, I guess there must be some upside or no one ever would.’

  ‘Ha, not that I can see – you’re broke, exhausted and scared for twenty-five years.’ He snorted. ‘And given that that pretty much sums up my childhood, it’s hardly an enticing prospect for the next twenty-five . . .’

  Nettie glanced at him and squeezed his arm tighter. ‘You’ll feel differently when you meet the right girl.’

  ‘Nope.’ He turned his face towards a lingerie stall and promptly turned back again.

  ‘Any word from Stacey?’