Girl Online (27 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

After posting my blog, I’m just starting to drift off to sleep when I’m woken by a text alert. My first thought, as I fumble for my phone, is Elliot. But the text’s from Noah.

Did Santa come . . . ?

Oh yes, Bella and I were up at 5:30 emptying our stockings!

Man! I can’t believe you opened them without me! Meet me in the kitchen

Evidence that Noah is my soul mate

1. I am able to cry in front of him.

2. He is able to cry in front of me.

3. Every time I see him it feels as if another part of us is slotting into place

4. It’s like we’re a “matching pair.” (Kind of like curtains but way more romantic!)

5. When he asks me to meet him in the kitchen first thing in the morning, I don’t panic about what I look like with zero makeup and bed-hair. I just pull on my snow leopard onesie and head straight down there.

In the kitchen, Sadie Lee and Dad are combining cooking forces and it smells amazing. Noah is seated at the round pine table in the corner, wearing a baseball top and sweatpants. As soon as he sees me, he gives me an extra-dimply grin and pulls back the chair next to him.

“Merry Christmas, Penny!” he says as I sit down. “Cute outfit.”

“Thank you. I thought snow leopard would be a good Christmas Day look.” I laugh. “Merry Christmas.”

“Penny!” Dad and Sadie Lee chorus, turning from the huge stove to greet me. “Merry Christmas!”

If today were a Christmas movie, then this morning would be the bit where it cuts to a soft-focus montage of super-happy scenes, while “Jingle Bells” plays in the background. All of us laughing and joking and comparing stocking gifts around the breakfast table. Noah and I building a “snow princess” for Bella in the back garden. Dad joining us for a snowball fight. Mum and I helping Sadie Lee peel about a million Brussels
sprouts. The only thing that stops it from being totally perfect is that I still haven’t heard anything from Elliot. When I tried calling him earlier, it went straight to voicemail and I’ve sent him four texts. It’s now two o’clock in the afternoon New York time, which means it’s evening in London. Why has he gone all day without wishing me a merry Christmas?

As Noah and I set the dining-room table for dinner, I check my phone for the umpteenth time.

“Is everything all right?” Noah says.

“Yes. I’m just a little bit worried because I haven’t heard from Elliot today.” I put my phone back in my pocket and carry on laying napkins at each place setting.

“Maybe he’s just enjoying his Christmas?”

I laugh. “Not with his parents. Elliot always says that his mum and dad think ‘fun’ is a four-letter word.”

Noah places a pair of Santa-shaped salt and pepper pots in the center of the table. “I’m sure he’ll text soon.”

It suddenly dawns on me that ever since I’ve been here I’ve never seen Noah on his mobile phone. “How come you’re never on your phone?” I ask, instantly squirming for being too nosy.

“I’m on a detox over Christmas,” Noah says with a grin.

I look at him questioningly.

“An Internet and cell-phone detox. You should try it some time. It’s liberating.”

I frown. Much as my experience with the Unicorn Pants from Hell video was unpleasant and hurtful, I can’t imagine life without the Internet or my phone.

“Go on, I dare you,” Noah says. “Step away from the cell phone.”

I laugh. “OK, but if I start twitching or having any kind of weird withdrawal symptoms I’m getting it straight back.”

“Sure.” Noah’s face goes all serious for a moment. “Sometimes I really hate the Internet, you know?”

I stop laying out napkins and look at him. “Why?”

He sighs. “It’s not—”

“Are you guys finished?” Mum comes into the room, holding a glass of wine. Her hair is hanging loose around her shoulders and her face is glowing. It’s lovely seeing her looking so relaxed.

“Pretty much,” Noah says.

“Make way, make way, incoming turkey,” Dad calls, walking into the room carrying a humongous roast turkey on a silver platter.

I turn my phone off and sit down at the table.

• • •

The Christmas dinner is so delicious we decide to start a charity collection for every time someone says, “Mmmm!” Kind of like a food version of a swear box. By the time we’ve finished dessert—all four of them—we’ve collected twenty-seven dollars.

“Gift time! Gift time!” Bella shrieks, leaping from the table.

The rest of us all look at each other and raise our eyebrows.

“I actually don’t think I can move,” Noah says, slumped back in his chair. “It feels like I have a food boulder in my stomach.”

“Me too,” Dad says. He looks at Mum. “You might have to give me a piggyback, sweetheart.”

Mum laughs. “No chance!”

In the end, we all somehow manage to stumble and stagger
through to the living room, where Bella is already sorting the gifts under the trees into piles.

“I have a lot more gifts than you,” she says to me solemnly, “but that’s OK because I’m a child and they said on the news the other day that Christmas is for children, didn’t they, Grandma?”

Sadie Lee laughs. “Yes, they did, honey.”

“And if I get anything that I don’t really like, I’ll give it to you, ’kay?” Bella takes my hand and holds it tightly.

“That’s so sweet of you,” I tell her solemnly, “but it’s OK—I really don’t mind.”

Bella grins and bounds back to her pile of gifts.

Noah and I are the last people to exchange gifts. As I watch him unwrap the record, I’m hit by a wave of doubt. What if he hates it? What if it’s totally the wrong thing? What if Slim Daniels was wrong and it’s not an “awesome choice” at all? But from the way Noah is grinning as he takes the record out of its paper, I think I chose well.

“How did you know?” Noah looks at me, wide-eyed. “I love this guy’s music—I’ve wanted this album for years.” He looks at Sadie Lee questioningly.

“I didn’t tell her,” Sadie Lee says with a smile.

Noah and I look at each other and I mentally add “knowing exactly what to get him for Christmas” to my list of soul mate evidence.

After Noah slipped the record out to sniff it, he hands me a gift that has the same amount of tape as paper. “Sorry about all the tape,” he mumbles. “Gift wrapping isn’t my strongest suit.”

“That’s OK,” I say, trying to make a tear in the paper, but it’s impossible as
it’s covered in so much tape. “Er, does anyone have a knife?”

In the end, with the help of the pointy end of a bottle opener, I manage to get into the parcel. Inside is a beautiful hardback book of old black-and-white photographs of New York.

“I thought with you being into photography and all . . .” I can tell from the hopeful way he’s looking at me that he really wants me to like it. “If you prefer more modern photography I can take it back and get it changed. I—”

“No, it’s perfect. Black-and-white photos are my favorite—they’re like little moments of history captured forever.”

We look at each other and I feel that closeness again, that sense that we already know each other. I get the overwhelming urge to kiss Noah. If only we weren’t surrounded by our families.

As if reading my mind, Noah gets to his feet. “Do you want to go get a soda?” he asks.

At least, that’s what I think he says. I’m so overcome by the need to kiss him I can barely hear a word. I nod and follow him out of the room. Thankfully the others are way too engrossed in their gifts to notice.

When we get out into the hallway, Noah stops by the grandfather clock. The huge pendulum seems to be ticktocking in time with my pounding heart.

“Penny, I . . .” Noah begins. He looks into my eyes and for once I don’t feel too embarrassed and look away.

“Penny,” he says again, cupping my face in his hands.

And then we’re kissing. And it feels as if my whole body, the entire world, has turned to stardust.

Chapter Thirty-Two

For the rest of Christmas Day, Noah and I take every opportunity to steal secret kisses. It’s like we’ve invented a new game—a kissing version of hide-and-seek—hide-and-kiss. By the time I clamber into my bunk bed, I feel drunk with happiness. This has been the best Christmas ever—apart from . . . I have one last check of my phone—still no message from Elliot.

The next morning I’m woken by a gentle tapping on the bedroom door. I creep down the ladder and out of bed. Bella is lying on her bottom bunk tucked up between Rosie and Princess Autumn, her ringlets fanned out on the pillow like a halo. I creep over and open the door.

Noah is standing in the hallway grinning. “Get dressed—we’re going out,” he whispers.

“What? But . . . what time is it?”

“Almost seven.”

“In the morning?”

“Yes, in the morning! Put something warm on. And bring your camera. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

I scramble into a pair of jeans and boots and my fleeciest sweatshirt and I head down to the kitchen. Noah’s over by the counter putting a couple of flasks into his bag. The beautiful smell of freshly roasted coffee is filling the room.