Page 16 of It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas
She began writing frantically in her notepad. She finished with a flourish and a dramatic full stop.
‘Honestly, Mally, this is brilliant. Here’s what I have in mind: I book you a cute little cottage out in the sticks in the run-up to Christmas…’
I had no idea where this was going. But I detected danger.
‘…I can expense the accommodation and you can take these bingo sheets and try and tick off as many tropes as you can manage in real life. And, best of all, you can write me an amazing feature all about your awkward English attempt to recreate the plot of a cheesy Christmas movie!’
Why did this always happen? All I wanted from tonight was to be consoled and plied with food and alcohol to try and distract me from my pathetic man-related misery. Yet right now I was feeling less at ease than I had been ever since Billy – and Livvie’s email account – had ghosted me.
‘This is the worst idea I’ve heard in quite some time. How strongisthis sloe gin?’
I busied myself with the pretence of reading the label, my quickening heartbeat pounding in my ears.
‘I’m serious, Mally. This could be a really fun feature. You could befriend some of the locals and find out what ridiculous regional traditions they insist on holding on to at this time of year. You might even stumble across one of those “winter wonderland” immersive experiences that always end up being hilariously underwhelming.’
I tried to swallow the lump of anxiety in my throat while I put the bottle back on the table among our bingo sheets and shot glasses. Elle had won the trophy, having ticked off almost all her tropes.
‘Yeah, it’s a great idea for a feature,’ I said, keen to let her down gently. ‘And I’d love to read it. But – and please don’t hate me – I just don’t think I’m the best person towriteit. You know what I was like back when I tried journalism during our student newspaper days: I couldn’t even pick up the phone, let alone conduct an interview.’
And Elle should remember this. While she’d always relished being the student paper’s centre-of-attention music editor, I’d ended up as a desk-bound subeditor so I didn’t have to risk making an idiot of myself in front of important people. All people, in fact. Plus, the thought of talking to well-meaning strangers only to send them up in a wry feature taking the piss out of the place they called home sounded, well, more than just a little bit cruel.
‘And this is all why it’ll make such a brilliant piece!’ Elle said. ‘Think about how you’re feeling right now: you’re cynical and full of doubts. You’re resenting me for even suggesting such a ludicrous idea. Know who you remind me of? Hotshot advertising executive Sydney at the start ofHope at Christmasbefore she went back to Hopewell and discovered that box of ornaments at her dead grandma’s home she’d just inherited!’
Yeah, but Sydney was a beautiful, confident, independent mum who had everything going for her. That description couldn’t be any further away from my own existence.
‘I’m impressed you remembered her name,’ I said.
‘What can I say, I enjoyed her character arc. I mean, whowouldn’tturn down that once-in-a-lifetime Manhattan job for the sake of a puppy-eyed English teacher, who shealsodiscovered was a secret world-renowned novelist? Seriously, though, you’re the perfect person to write this, Mally. Youknowyou are. You’re even planning to spend Christmas alone.’
‘I’d rather be home alone than in some random town, Elle.’
She waved a hand dismissively and continued talking. Her mind was made up, wasn’t it? ‘You already have an encyclopaedic knowledge of Christmas movies, and… well…’
‘“Well” what?’
Elle put down her pen, turned to face me and placed her hands on my shoulders. ‘How to say this without coming across as a total bitch…’
‘That’s never stopped you before, pal.’
‘Fair. So… you’re stuck in a massive rut and it’s stressing me the fuck out.’
I braced myself for the onslaught to continue, as it always did.
‘You’ve been atThe Helixfor, like, nearly ten years now?’
I nodded.
‘And in that time, you’ve not gone for a single promotion or asked for any kind of pay rise?’
‘I’m happy with my salary, and the annual incremental increases are pretty…’
Elle removed her hands from my shoulders, scrunched up her face and knocked her balled-up fists against her head a few times.
‘Mally! Just, stop! Okay, I’m going to be honest with you here, and this information cannot – leave – this – room: Kyle called a crisis editorial meeting earlier this week.’
‘Oh. Right. Shit.’
‘Yeah. Our readership figures are dropping. Fast. The US team thinks we’ve reached peak irony and our audience is bored. They want fresh perspectives. Authenticity over eyerolls. Stories with heart that we can syndicate to other media outlets for extra revenue. And Kyle has told me that I’m one of the people who has to find all of that. Reading between the lines, I get the impression he’s desperate to turn things around and justify his position as editor-in-chief.’
