“Excuse me?!” He flared his nostrils. “In all Holly’s years of jumper calendars, film screenings, and commitment to all things Crimbo, I have NEVER done so many Christmas things in one day.”

“But this isn’t Christmas, Fred, this is a competition.” I said it as a joke, but Fred didn’t laugh. I sure had a weird way of saying thanks for his help.

“Well, let’s go get that sausage then. I’ll be back in a sec.” Fred gestured for me to wait, so I used the spare minute to check my phone for the millionth time today.

Thirty-two things left to do, and only six and a half hours before our train. It was going to be tight, but there was no way I could not do it. Especially as Clara was posting as much as me. I’d managed to get 150 new followers today, but despite it being super early for her, she’d gotten 450 already—her day of livestreams was doing well. Too well. And she’d just replied to my latest post.

Nice work @OneElleOfATime 18 done!
#OneElleOfAChristmasDayInLondon

I could tell she was throwing shade at me.

I sent back a thumbs-up, hoping she could tell how seething I was.

And even worse, the other name I really didn’t want had made an appearance on my timeline. @tooblessed2bstressedxx

@DoveAllLove is the rule that if all fifty don’t get done
@OneElleOfATime is out the comp?! xoxo

I was relieved when I got a notification that Dove had replied—maybe now would be the time to tell her in private I didn’t think I could get the Platform 9¾ photo.

@tooblessed2bstressedxx ooooh now that IS an idea. Love me some Xmas drama!

What? Was Dove agreeing?!

As if today weren’t stressful enough.

I looked over at Fred, who was now chatting to a stranger about the perfect mustard to ketchup ratio. I didn’t want him to know I was freaking out. I guess, if worst came to absolute worst, I had been offered a hotel room by SnapGoGo. But there was no way I wanted to leave him to head back on his own.

Pretending I had everything under control, we headed up to Camden and chowed down a snowman-shaped ice cream made with liquid nitrogen. I don’t know if it was the ice cream on the coldest day of the year, or talking to Fred and not checking my phone, but it made me feel a little bit less stressed. We then burned through lots of things in a few minutes when we got to Oxford Street. Fred snapped a quick shot of me marching down the escalators in Zara, then I posed outside Liberty’s windows and ended up on Carnaby Street. The evening was settling in, and if I’d been loving London earlier, now I wanted to marry it and have all its babies.