Page 1 of Home This Christmas

I feel the biggest tingle of excitement as I anticipate my evening ahead at the new Riverside restaurant.

Autumn into Christmas is always one of the best times for Guy Haynes, the hot new name in the culinary world who has invited a string of his celebrity friends to the opening of his latest restaurant. I am happy to be one of the food reviewers going along.

‘What time will you be back?’ my boyfriend, Ade, asks as he lounges on our huge Italian leather sofa. It was thrilling being able to afford some stylish home furnishings when I began to earn some serious money.

‘Not sure. There is bound to be a real buzz with it being opening night.’

There is a rumour that the new Superman actor might be in attendance, as he is apparently a friend of Guy.

‘Okay,’ he says, with half an eye on the old episode of Top Gear he is watching.

‘I did ask if you wanted to join me,’ I remind him.

I fasten some silver earrings into my ears, before applying a slash of dark red lipstick in front of the stylish lounge mirror.

I’ve gone for a black jumpsuit this evening, the same colour as my long, curly hair.

I would really have loved Ade to accompany me to the restaurant, but I guess there will be other times.

‘I know you did. My work buddy is in a bad way after his breakup, as I told you. He’s coming over for a pint and a takeaway later,’ says Ade, switching off the television. ‘Anyway, I’m sure there will be more of these restaurant evenings.’

‘Of course there will.’ I walk over and gave him a quick kiss. ‘Lots more hopefully.’

Truthfully, though, I get the impression Ade can’t be bothered coming out with me to these events lately. I know they are not really his thing – and most of the time, I review restaurants alone – but there is always a plus-one invite for opening nights.

He confessed only the other day that he was a little tired of visiting fancy places, surrounded by people he didn’t know.

He admitted to occasionally longing for the days when we would grab some fish and chips on the way home from our local pub when we lived in our previous, some might say, grotty flat on the wrong side of the river.

When my career took off, suddenly I was no longer Ruby Holmes, working for a local newspaper and living in a cramped flat, but food critic and darling of Britain’s Best Cook. I was shot into the stratosphere and Ade came along for the ride.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed our life back in our old place too, but we move on, don’t we? I’d always known it would not be forever, as I was determined to make a success of my career. It’s what I moved to London for after all.

Our current home is on the third floor of a sleek glass and steel high-rise apartment with views of the Shard. By day, the flat is bathed in natural light and by the glow of the city lights in the evening.

I am not sure my mum thought I had it in me, to move from the Yorkshire village where I was raised and make it in the city.

She would roll her eyes and tell me I was a dreamer whenever I talked about the restaurant-lined London streets and the opportunities they might offer.

I sometimes wonder if her lack of faith had spurred me on to do well.

‘If you fancy joining me later, get a cab down. There’s usually always a good after-party on an opening night,’ I tell him cheerfully.

‘Might do. Let’s see,’ he says noncommittally.

I head out to the taxi and try not to dwell on whether Ade will appear later.

Instead, I distract myself with thinking about who might be there tonight.

There have been rumours that one or two members of the royal family would be in attendance, along with the owner of a Spanish restaurant that has several Michelin stars.

Sometimes I have to pinch myself, that this is my life.

There’s a queue as we pull up, extending out under the Christmas lights already up along the street. A pap shouts at a well-known supermodel who duly poses for a shot after emerging from a blacked-out car.

Another food critic steps out of a taxi then, her frosty expression fixed on the door as we make our way inside. She once told me that she loves to see the fearful look on restaurant staff whenever she enters a building, which I find baffling. I guess some people just love the power.

I grab a complimentary glass of champagne from the waiting staff carrying trays of filled flutes and take in the space. The decor is stunning; shimmering gold foil lights hang from a wooden ceiling, and the lights from the city are pouring in through the floor-length windows.

I swivel round to see Ged, a critic I really like, dressed smartly in jeans, shirt and velvet jacket combo. He has floppy red hair and always has the biggest grin. I have always liked Ged; he’s fair in his critique, if a little over generous at times.

‘How are things?’ I ask my fellow food critic who writes for a magazine.

‘Good, good. Probably eating too much, but then what would you expect in this line of work?’ He laughs as he pats his slightly rotund stomach. ‘Especially at this time of year. I’ve been eating bloody mince pies since October. It’s my guilty pleasure.’ He winks.

‘I know what you mean.’ I laugh. ‘I wish they wouldn’t put them in the shops so early.’

‘So where is Ade off to tonight, then?’ asks Ged as he sips his drink.

‘Oh nowhere. He’s having one of his friends around, who is having a bit of a personal crisis.’

‘Oh right.’ He frowns briefly before smiling once more.

‘Anything wrong?’ I ask him.

‘What? Oh no, nothing. I thought I saw him earlier near a train station. Obviously, it wasn’t him.’ He shrugs.

Why would Ade have been heading out and to a train station? Maybe he had a change of plan – although it would have to have been very last minute. He was expecting his friend around within the hour. I am pretty sure it was just someone who looked like him…

‘Was he alone?’ I find myself asking.

‘Erm, yeah definitely. If it was him, that is…’ He smiles, a little uncertainly. ‘It was dark after all, and I wasn’t close enough to say hi.’

Guy Haynes welcomes us all then and gives a short speech before we are directed to our seats.

‘Looking forward to this,’ Ged says, rubbing his hands together.

‘Me too!’ I enthuse as I follow him to our table.

The food is utterly brilliant. My favourite dish is dessert as always: a sweet and warming ginger-infused cheesecake, which is fitting for the season.

We are entertained throughout the evening by a rather wonderful singer and pianist – and a table of well-known comedians, who are seated on the next table, keep us all giggling with their wisecracks.

The party goes on quite late in the end, with everyone clearly having the time of their life celebrating Guy and his new baby.

We say our goodnights, and as I travel home in my Uber, I push down a feeling of disappointment that Ade never showed up.

I had texted him at some point in the evening asking if his friend had left, and if he fancied coming over, but he never read the message.

I can’t help thinking about why Ged thought he saw him near the tube station this evening.

London is always busy before Christmas – it took a lot of getting used to when I first moved. But Ged knows Ade pretty well. He wouldn’t have mistaken him for someone else, surely? But if it was Ade, I wonder where on Earth he could have been heading?