It was the first time I’d actually felt excited about my account since I’d started it. And I’d already done my first post that felt more like me. From now on, I only cared about the people I cared about. Which is why I was grinning over how happy I’d made @_Beckywiththemediocrehair_. It was a multiple-comment situation—she was freaking out! I told her I’d DM with full details.

I’d come here to the UK to show everyone my take on British Christmas. But all I’d shown them were arty shots of drinks, and twinkling trees, and London in full festive flow. Stuff anyone could have done. But this post, these pictures—they were the real story.

The things I was going to remember, really remember, from this, one of the best weeks of my life, were the things in between.

Hiding in a cupboard with Ruby’s knee in my face. Laughing at a bald Father Christmas.

The twins trying—and failing—to put a red nose on Colin (human).

Christmas wrapping with Holly’s mom.

Ruby trying to get a paper crown over my freshly zhuzhed hair.

Fred reciting historical facts on the London Eye. Fred clinging to a plastic penguin on the ice rink. Fred being…Fred.

In every single photo with him, I looked happy.

Especially the one I’d just posted, the one of us on the train—I’d put a giant Christmas tree over his face, but if you knew, you’d know.

I pictured Holly’s face when she saw it—we’d have to talk about it when I landed tomorrow.

I looked at the caption again and laughed.

Move over, Harry, I found the best one.

Dove wouldn’t approve. And I didn’t care one bit.

Fred—he wouldn’t even see it. Although that was the point. It wasn’t for anyone but me. This wasn’t shady. It was about honesty.

And it was time to take it up a notch.

I stepped on Fred’s “Merry Christmas” doormat and rang the doorbell.

His mom answered. Time to turn the full charm on. “Sorry to trouble you, Mrs.…” Why didn’t I know his last name?! “Fred’s mom.” Great. “Is Fred in?”

She looked kind of shocked. “You want to see Fred? My son, Fred?”

I nodded. “Uh-huh. If that’s okay?”

She looked at me very suspiciously. “I’ll just go get him.” She kept her eyes on me as she backed away, slightly closing the door.

“MUM?” A voice that sounded very much like his little brother was shouting behind the door. “WHY IS THERE A FILM STAR ASKING FOR FRED?”

Hardly, I looked like a melting Popsicle.

Feet thundered down the stairs then there was a shout of “shut up” and what sounded like a door being shut very quickly.

And then the front door opened wide.