Page 24 of The Christmas Letter

‘Germain & Co.,’ Pam said from behind her, her tone mild, almost incidental.

Holly frowned as she turned back to Pam. ‘Huh?’

‘I think that’s the name of the company Jack works for. Just in case you’re interested,’ she added with a little shrug.

Holly paused, letting the knowledge settle into her, trying to read between the lines of what Pam was saying.

‘Jack?’

‘That’s his name,’ Pam said with a little nod. ‘Emma’s grandson. Jack.’

And though Holly told herself it was ridiculous, that it couldn’t be, there was no possible way that Emma’s Jack could be the man from the café all those years ago, she felt a tug, deep inside her. Stupid, she told herself again. But still, she couldn’t deny it. That tug inside her – it felt like a thread, being pulled tight.

March

Chapter Nine

Jack sat at his desk, his back to the office window and the view of the city that it offered, the email on his computer screen going blurry in front of him even as he blinked to try and draw it into focus. He reached for the coffee next to him, only to find it empty. Probably a good thing. It was coming up to lunchtime now, and he’d already had four cups this morning – which was a lot of caffeine, even for him. But he’d been in the office until gone ten p.m. last night and had started again at seven a.m. this morning, and caffeine was sort of necessary in that situation. Only now he was starting to get a headache, and it was hard to know if it was because of the coffee or all the blue light.

He rolled his shoulders, read the email again. They were a team member down at the moment, Jenny having left for bigger and better things, which meant he was working on more projects than usual, and next week he’d be up in Scotland with a new client – a startup that had done pretty well for the first three years and was now floundering – so he was trying to get ahead of the curve. If there was one thing that could be said of his job, it was that it was never boring – and that variety, working across different projects all at once, was what had first drawn him to it. But coming up to eight years in the industry, he was starting to feel a bit knackered. Then again, he thought with a sigh, it might not just be the job – his whole bloody life felt exhausting at the moment.

His desk phone started to ring, the red light flashing. Reception. Jack stared at the phone for a moment, wondering whether to bother answering. They’d hired a new receptionist – young, just out of university, who wore a baffling combination of a t-shirt and tie – and he definitely hadn’t got the hang of things yet. He was frequently ringing the wrong person or directing client emails to the wrong team. Though it wasn’t that he wasn’t making an effort – he’d learnt the name of everyone who worked here, as far as Jack could tell, and always tried to greet them with some sort of personal reference, trying, no doubt, to establish camaraderie.

Jack picked up the phone – who was he kidding? He’d never ignored a work call in his life – and switched the speakerphone on. ‘Hi, Mike.’

‘Jack! Looking forward to Scotland next week?’

‘It’ll be a ball.’ Frankly, he couldn’t imagine anything worse right now than trekking to Glasgow in mid-March, but there you had it.

‘Totally. Look, I’ve got a George Ham . . .’ He trailed off on a cough. ‘Err, well he’s from Create Construction, says he’s got a meeting with—’

‘You want Sophia.’ Jack did his best not to sigh. ‘She’s the project manager for that one.’

‘Oh right, sorry, I thought it was you, because—’

‘No worries.’ There was a knock at Jack’s office door and he looked up, signalling for Ed to come in. ‘Got to go, Mike. Good luck.’ He wasn’t really sure why he’d said that – luck just always seemed appropriate when it came to Mike.

Jack sat back in his swivel chair – he’d spent hours choosing it from a catalogue and it was arguably the best in existence – and nodded at Ed, who was now leaning against the inside of the glass door. How Ed always managed to look so put together was beyond Jack – he knew for a fact that Ed had been out in Soho until late last night, but there was no sign of baggy eyes or sallow skin, as Jack knew there would be if he’d been out drinking.

‘Alright?’ Jack asked. He reached again for his mug, stopped his hand halfway and wrinkled his nose. Right. No more coffee.

Ed grinned. ‘Looks like this is good timing – I was coming to see if you wanted lunch. Or coffee, apparently?’

Jack sighed. ‘I’m not supposed to have any more caffeine.’

‘Says who?’

‘Me.’

‘Well, tell you that you’re ridiculous.’

‘Tried that,’ Jack said with mock seriousness. ‘I didn’t believe me.’

Ed snorted. ‘Come on. Let’s go get food – I’m sure that bowl of granola feels a long time ago now.’

Jack got to his feet. ‘It’s odd that you remember my breakfast of choice.’

Ed put on a serious face. ‘It’s that kind of attention to detail that means I’m the one sent champagne from the clients, mate.’