Miracle on Regent Street
Read Miracle on Regent Street Online
Authors: Ali Harris
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2011
A CBS Company
Copyright © Ali Harris, 2011
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Ali Harris to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act,
1988.
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1
st
Floor,
222 Gray’s Inn Road
London WC1X 8HB
Simon & Schuster Australia
Sydney
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-0-85720-290-1
Trade Paperback ISBN 978-0-85720-289-5
eBook ISBN 978-0-85720-291-8
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual people living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Typeset by Hewer Text UK Ltd, Edinburgh
Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berkshire
To Ben. With never-ending superlove . . .
Thursday 1 December: 24 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Friday 2 December: 23 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Saturday 3 December: 22 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Saturday 4 December: 21 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Monday 5 December: 20 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Tuesday 6 December: 19 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Wednesday 7 December: 18 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Thursday 8 December: 17 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Friday 9 December: 16 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Sunday 11 December: 14 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Monday 12 December: 13 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Tuesday 13 December: 12 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Wednesday 14 December: 11 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Thursday 15 December: 10 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Friday 16 December: 9 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Monday 19 December: 6 Shopping Days Until Christmas
The End. Or Almost . . . Sunday 1 January: 357 Shopping Days Until Christmas
Evie’s Vintage London Address Book
Thursday 1 December
24 Shopping Days Until Christmas
I
gaze out of my bedroom window into the dark winter morning as the snowflakes fall softly outside. Is this it? I wonder. It’s not a sudden
change in the wind, like the one that carried Mary Poppins to the Banks family, or the tornado that carried Dorothy to Oz, but maybe, just maybe, this downfall is the universe’s way of
telling me that my life is about to change. A flurry of snow to signal the flurry of action I’ve been waiting for so long.
I drop the curtains so that they fall back in place and dash over to my dressing table where my Advent calendar is propped up against the mirror. I smile as I open door number one and pop the
chocolate in my mouth. The picture is of a snow globe. Another sign that things are about to be shaken up?
Half an hour later I slam the front door behind me, heave my bike down the front steps and hop on, feeling a thrill of anticipation. Today big things are going to happen, I just know it.
Today, like every work day, I’m wearing plain black trousers, a white shirt (with a thermal vest underneath) and flat brogues. I’m also wrapped in a cardigan, my sensible knee-length
duffel coat, bobble hat, and a multicoloured striped scarf, which I’ve wound tightly around my neck and mouth. Not a great look but it’s not like anyone is going to notice at this time
of the morning. Or indeed at any time. It’s been two years since anyone really looked at me. That was when Jamie broke up with me.
Obviously I’ve changed
massively
since then and I’m completely over him. Well, maybe not completely. But, you know, these things take time. Two years isn’t that long to
get over a five-year relationship, is it? I don’t care what my sister says, it’s perfectly understandable that I’m not quite there yet. Besides, since we broke up I’ve been
focusing on other aspects of my life. I mean, I don’t live with my parents any more, for a start. OK, so I do live with my big sister, Delilah, and her husband, Will, in the converted attic
in their house overlooking a gorgeous square in Primrose Hill, but it’s different because I’m independent. Like a 28-year-old woman should be. Well, independent apart from the fact that
in exchange for my lodging I have to look after my 3-year-old niece, Lola, and 2-year-old nephew, Raffy, before and after work. It’s not ideal, but I can’t complain.
I inhale deeply and gaze around me wondrously. How could I fail to feel positive on a day like this? The roofs of the grand Regency houses on Chalcot Square are covered in white, as if a big
scoop of vanilla ice cream has melted all over the peppermint, orange, raspberry and lemon sorbet-coloured houses. And the pretty garden that they surround looks like a Christmas cake that’s
just been covered with a thick layer of royal icing. I push off, wobbling a little as I weave round it and cycle on to Regent’s Park Road.
I cross the road and head over to Primrose Hill, pedalling hard to break through the thick layer of snow that crunches under my wheels. Then I stop for a moment and just cruise downhill, feeling
the wind whip against my cheeks, throwing my head back and closing my eyes so that I feel like I’m suspended in space and time. I open my eyes, grip the handlebars tightly and pedal furiously
again. Because today, for once, I’m determined to go somewhere.
It feels as if I have been magically transported back in time as I cycle into Portland Place. No vehicles are on the streets and I can’t help but imagine them when they were cobbled and
filled with horses and carriages. I’m just picturing myself in full Victorian costume, when I swing off down New Cavendish Street and onto Great Titchfield Street, past the unlit pubs and
restaurants, and then I swerve down a smaller road, skidding to a halt as I pull up in front of Hardy’s department store: a place that has been my daytime home for the past two years and
where, today, all my career dreams will finally come true.
H
ardy’s sits elegantly on the corner of two streets just north (or, as many people say, ‘the wrong side’) of Regent Street. Over
the other side is Soho, home to numerous famous theatres, legendary restaurants and cool, destination bars. But here, in ‘Noho’, we’re like Soho’s less famous but much
prettier sibling. Officially classed as in Fitzrovia, Hardy’s is too far from the big shops on Regent and Oxford Street for the crowds who flock there every day. Tourists don’t know
we’re here, and Londoners would far rather visit salubrious Selfridges, quaint Liberty or just-plain-useful John Lewis than schlep all the way over to us.