Page 20 of The Christmas Letter

Deciding that she needed a beat to compose the right reply to her mum – and that updating Abi would need a phone call rather than a text – Holly shelved the messages for later. As quietly as she could, she opened the bedroom door and started down the stairs. She hissed when, halfway down, she stubbed her toe on the banister, but she refused to swear out loud, not wanting to wake Emma.

Christmas morning. When she was growing up, she used to think life felt different on Christmas morning. She’d creep into Lily’s room every year, so that she and Lily could find their stockings and then go and wake their mum and dad together. She remembered one year in particular. She’d been eight; Lily was twelve and had decided she was too cool for some of the things Holly still wanted to do. Neither of them believed in Santa by this point – Holly had cottoned on, even though Lily had tried, along with their parents, to keep the ruse going as long as possible – but that didn’t make things any less exciting.

‘Lily?’ Holly had whispered, creaking her sister’s door open and tiptoeing inside. Her sister’s room always smelled funny these days – full of those perfumes she insisted on wearing to school, which Holly thought smelled disgusting.

Lily groaned, not opening her eyes. ‘Really, Holly? It’s too early.’

Holly shifted from foot to foot. Their stockings were downstairs, waiting for them above the fire. Lily still had one every year, even though she did that eye-rolling thing when their dad asked them what they wanted from ‘Santa’ this year.

‘But it’s Christmas,’ Holly said, still whispering.

‘And it will still be Christmas in an hour.’

Holly had stood in silence. She’d known this would happen. Known there would be a day when Lily decided she was too cool for Christmas morning, like she’d already decided she was too cool to spend Saturday mornings with their mum in the café, which Holly loved doing. And she knew she complained to her mum and dad about Lily being so bossy, but she missed the way she used to be, when they’d play together.

Then Lily had opened one eye. ‘Do you think Santa might have brought me a mobile phone this year?’

Holly giggled. ‘Maybe.’

‘And you? What will be in your stocking?’

Holly thought about it. ‘Maybe the painting of the horse. You know, from that shop with all the clay stuff.’

‘Pottery,’ Lily corrected automatically.

‘Pottery, right.’

Lily threw off her duvet. ‘Come on, then. We’d better go and find out.’

And Holly had grinned as she bounced down the stairs after Lily, because she knew that Lily really was excited about Christmas still even if she pretended not to be, because Holly knew her better than anyone. And the painting she’d hoped for wasn’t in the stocking – because it was under the tree, a present from Lily. Because Lily knew her better than anyone, too.

Holly tried to shake the memory away as she crept into Emma’s kitchen, wincing at the cold of the tiles on her feet and heading straight for the Aga, stumbling in the darkness. She eyed up the kettle, but decided she couldn’t just start helping herself to things in the kitchen. Instead she took a seat at the small wooden kitchen table, pulling across one of the newspapers that had been left there, still not switching on the light in case it woke Emma. The pale morning glow, unique to winter, was starting to make itself known now, but it was still nowhere near light enough to read. So she pulled out one of the adverts from inside the paper, allowing her mind to drift as she folded and twisted the paper in her hands absentmindedly.

The kitchen light flicked on, causing Holly to jump and drop the paper. She turned on her chair to see Emma standing in the doorway, wearing a pale-blue dressing gown, the twin to Holly’s pale-pink one.

Emma blinked a few times, bleary-eyed. ‘What are you doing sitting here alone in the dark?’

‘I didn’t want to intrude.’

Emma laughed, but the sound wasn’t unkind. ‘You’re already intruding, my girl. Might as well make yourself at home while you’re at it.’ She padded into the kitchen in thick, fluffy socks. ‘Come on, let’s have a hot drink.’

Holly stood awkwardly. ‘I can leave, if you want me to.’

Emma waved a hand at her while she filled the kettle. ‘You might as well stay for a bit, then head off when you’re ready.’ She turned to give Holly a narrow-eyed look. ‘I won’t be cooking some big Christmas dinner, though, so be warned. Cooking was never my thing, and I don’t have much food in the house.’ She gave a little sniff. ‘Pasta, that’s about all I can stretch to – and even then, better you make it. You can cook?’

‘Ah, I guess so. I’m not the next MasterChef or anything, but I get by.’ Though the local Thai takeaway did know her name, so perhaps that said something.

‘I’m sure it’ll be better than anything I could whip up.’

Emma looked down at the paper Holly had been playing with, lying on the kitchen table. She’d twisted it into a little giraffe – an old habit of hers, creating little paper animals when she was bored or restless. She hadn’t been thinking of what she was doing, really – wouldn’t have made a giraffe if she had been thinking about it, it being Lily’s favourite animal.

‘Sorry,’ Holly said quickly, reaching for the paper. ‘Habit.’

Emma made a clicking noise. ‘Impressive habit.’ Then she glanced at Holly’s feet – bare on the kitchen tiles – and grunted. ‘Socks.’

‘Huh?’

‘Hang on,’ Emma said, shuffling out of the kitchen. ‘Make us a tea, will you? Earl Grey for me, and whatever you can find for you. There’s instant coffee around somewhere too.’