Page 19 of The Christmas Letter

Emma snorted, and this time, the noise sounded almost approving. ‘Yes, well, the cancer. I’m dealing with it.’

‘Are you having treatment? What will you have to . . .?’ But she didn’t finish that sentence, realising belatedly that this was going too far.

Emma took advantage of Holly trailing off and rubbed her hands together in an efficient manner. ‘I think that’s enough of story time for one night, don’t you? Especially since, as we’ve just established, I’m an old woman with ill health. I need my sleep.’

‘Right,’ Holly said quickly. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ She got to her feet, glancing at the crack in the curtains. It wasn’t only stormy now but pitch black. She grimaced as she fished around in her crocodile-print handbag for her keys. Driving home would not be fun in this.

‘Many people wouldn’t find the courage to drive again, if they went through what you did.’ Emma was staring at the keys in Holly’s hand with an odd, twisted expression.

Holly shrugged, unsure of what to say. She was unwilling to admit that it had taken her a full two years to get back behind the wheel. Not to mention that the first time she’d done so, she’d had a full-blown panic attack.

Emma huffed out that small, impatient breath. ‘Well, you can’t drive in this.’

Holly glanced out at the crack in the curtain again. She was probably right – especially because she’d be a state of nerves, driving so close to the place where she’d crashed before. ‘I’ll get a hotel, I guess.’

Emma scoffed.

‘An Airbnb?’

Emma rolled her eyes. ‘You’re expecting to find somewhere to stay at this hour on Christmas Eve, are you? The only accommodation you’ll find is the camp site, and they’ll expect you to bring your own tent.’ She gave Holly an appraising scan, and for a moment she thought Emma might actually pack her off with a tent. She had a vision of spending Christmas Eve and Christmas morning in the car on the side of the road – a new low even for her.

Then Emma sighed. ‘I’ve got a spare room. It’s not much, but you can stay in it for the night.’

Holly hovered in the middle of the living room as Emma got to her feet. ‘But it’s Christmas,’ she said blankly. It was Christmas, and she couldn’t impose on a stranger, despite the fact it was exactly what she’d set out to do this morning.

‘Indeed.’ And with that, Emma gave her a smile that suggested she hadn’t always been so spiky, that maybe there was warmth buried there too. ‘It’s Christmas.’

Chapter Eight

Dear Lily,

I’m writing to you from Devon right now. It’s a long story, but I’m staying with a woman I’m pretty sure might be more fun than she’s letting on at the moment. Though I’ll hold judgement on that until the end of the day, I suppose.

It’s hard, being here, not to think about the crash. I drove right by where we had the accident. I remember Mum telling me it could have been worse. There was a car a little behind us that saw the whole thing, called an ambulance – it’s why we got to hospital so quickly. Did you know that? I’m sure Mum and Dad told you at some point, but we’ve never talked about it.

Are you spending Christmas with Mum and Dad? I presume so, because if you and Steve were doing something else, I think Mum would have tried harder to get me to go to theirs. I don’t think I would have gone though. It’s almost easier not to be asked – because then I don’t have to explain anything, don’t have to hear Mum try to pretend that she’s fine with the fact that you and I aren’t speaking to one another. If you are with them, I hope you have fun. I hope Dad makes his epic mulled wine and Mum doesn’t fall asleep before 9 p.m. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I also hope you’ll all miss me, just a little.

Because I miss you, Lils. More than you know.

Love,

Holly

Holly woke while it was still dark. Dark – and quiet. She blinked a few times, listening. She could no longer hear the howling of the wind or the battering of the rain. She shivered as she pushed the duvet off and got up out of the little single bed. She reached for the back of the bedroom door, where the dressing gown Emma had lent her hung. A dressing gown, to go with the flannel pyjamas Emma had also given her – ones she claimed she hadn’t worn in approximately fifteen years.

Holly checked her phone, smiling a little when she saw a message from Abi.

Happy Wednesday babe! I’m sending this message for no particular reason because as you know there’s nothing remotely special about today but thought I’d let you know I was thinking about you and I love you and I’ll see you very soon. Xxxx

Then another one, just underneath.

P.S. Can you please update me on how your quest went? I’ve constructed about a million different narratives, and I want to see if any of them are right.

There was also a message from her mum.

Happy Christmas, Holly. I hope you and Abi have a lovely day. Thinking of you, as always. Xx

She stared at the message, feeling an all-too familiar lump. She’d told her mum she was spending Christmas with Abi, when she’d asked. It had been easier than the truth – she hadn’t wanted her mum to feel guilty about her spending Christmas alone.