Page 35 of The Christmas Letter

‘Somehow I believe that. So how about you put yours in mine too – because I will definitely not lose my phone.’ He said the last bit so seriously, like he’d never misplaced anything in his entire life.

Numbers safely exchanged, Holly kept her phone out and opened Uber.

‘Will you be ok getting back?’ Jack asked.

‘Yeah, I’m just getting a taxi.’

He insisted on waiting until the taxi arrived, and Holly had never been so aware of another person next to her, every movement he made. When the cab finally arrived, she turned to him. ‘See you tomorrow?’

He nodded. ‘Until then.’ He leaned in to kiss her cheek again, the way he’d done when she’d arrived. Only this time he lingered, and though his lips were barely a whisper on her skin, the touch of them sent a shiver down the back of her spine.

She let out a slow breath as she got into the car. It was a good thing, she decided, that they were heading in opposite directions this evening – it stopped her from doing anything impulsive. This way, she could get back to the hotel, where Abi would no doubt be waiting up, and give herself a damn good talking to before she saw Jack tomorrow.

Chapter Twelve

Holly stood by the window of the hotel room, looking out at the London skyline. It was a relatively low-budget hotel, so the room itself was rather plain and boring, but it had a good view. She could see the London Eye from here, along with Big Ben, if she looked out to the left far enough. The sky had brightened today, and against the backdrop of the blue, it was really quite stunning. She didn’t usually miss London but today, it gave her a pang, looking at it, at what she’d left behind.

She had her phone pressed to her ear and was listening to Emma as she reeled off the names of artists she’d ‘discovered’ in the gallery she was sending Holly to. She’d even managed to get artwork from them for the Impression Sunrise Café, she said, her voice taking on a rather grand air. ‘Before they got too important for the likes of Devon, that is.’

Meanwhile, Abi was sitting on one of the twin beds behind Holly, propped against the pillows in her sensible red and white pyjamas as she talked to James, her usually calm teacher voice becoming increasingly higher-pitched.

‘And make sure you say my name at the second one,’ Emma was saying, ‘because I’ve told them to expect you, so they’ll be sure to let you in – sometimes they can be snobby about that.’

‘Right,’ Holly said, even though her stomach spasmed with that. Because she was going with Jack, who would surely think there was something strange, if she mentioned his grandmother’s name.

She was going to have to tell him. Today.

‘Holly?’

‘Yes, sorry. Yes, I’m here.’

Emma huffed out a breath, sounding annoyed. But Holly was learning not to take that too seriously – that was sort of Emma’s resting sound, and Holly was pretty sure she didn’t even realise she was doing it sometimes. ‘Well, anyway, you’ll have a great time – is anyone going with you? That friend of yours?’

‘Abi,’ Holly said automatically, glancing over her shoulder to where Abi was now hugging a pillow to her, her mouth a tight line as she listened to whatever James had to say. Uh-oh. ‘And no. Abi’s not going with me.’ Not quite a lie, but not the whole truth, either.

‘Well, good. Art is best appreciated alone, I always find.’

‘Totally,’ Holly said. Oh, but actually, I won’t be alone – I tracked down your long-lost grandson and have been fantasising about making out with him so I invited him to the art gallery with me. Hope that’s all good with you? Jesus, this whole thing was a terrible idea. She never should have got involved in the first bloody place. Though, really, she still thought it was ridiculous that Emma wouldn’t pick up the phone to Jack. Well, the theoretical phone. Emma didn’t actually have his number, but she could have tried. She knew where he worked after all, she had to have been the one that told Pam the name of his company in the first place.

Now Holly had his number, but she couldn’t very well hand it over without an explanation, could she? Besides, she didn’t want Emma to get mad at her – she didn’t want a repeat of Christmas, of the door being slammed in her face. And it would feel worse, if Emma did that now. Because Holly had got to know Emma, because she liked her, and wanted Emma to like her too. Because she felt she could talk to Emma, in a way that she’d lost with her parents and her sister, since the crash.

She gave herself a little mental shake. She had to explain things calmly to Jack, that was all. He seemed like a reasonable guy and surely anything Emma might have done couldn’t have been that bad.

‘When’s your doctor’s appointment?’ Holly asked.

‘Hmm?’

‘You heard me.’ Emma often did this when it came to talking about her health – she liked to pretend it wasn’t happening, as far as Holly could tell, and often went temporarily deaf. But pretending it wasn’t happening wouldn’t help anything, would it? ‘They were going to talk to you about chemo, weren’t they? Surely they need to get started on that?’

‘Oh, they’re across it, don’t worry.’

‘But I am—’

‘Holly. I can handle my doctor, thank you very much, I’ve been doing so for years without your help.’

‘But this isn’t a head cold, Emma.’

‘I’m well aware of what it is, my girl,’ Emma said, her voice low, almost soft – or as soft as Emma got, anyway. The sound made Holly swallow. She didn’t like it – the admission of vulnerability from a woman who normally seemed so implacable.