Page 53 of The Christmas Letter

The woman with the curls had stopped at almost the exact same moment and spun her head to look at Jack. Her eyes narrowed, assessing him, before she turned back to Holly, saying something in a low tone. The man had been slower on the uptake but had now stopped too, frowning back at Holly, who still showed no sign of wanting to approach Jack.

Taking a slow, careful breath, tasting the warm summer air and breathing in the smell of freshly mown grass, Jack started toward her.

Holly watched him carefully as he approached. He tried not to think of the last time he’d seen her, of how she’d run from his office – and how he’d done nothing to stop her. She lifted her chin when he drew near enough to speak to. Preparing for a confrontation, probably.

‘Hi, Holly,’ he said, keeping his eyes level on hers, even though she refused to hold his gaze for long. However the man and the woman either side of her were both staring at him. Sweat pricked the back of his neck, but he kept his posture casual.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, not quite a snap but definitely leaning in that direction.

He tried for a smile. ‘You’re not the only one who can track someone down and show up unannounced.’

‘Ah,’ the woman with the curls said, as Holly’s lips tightened.

‘That was different.’

He cocked his head. ‘How?’

‘Errr . . .’ the man interjected. ‘Hi?’

‘Hi,’ Jack said, offering him a polite smile.

The woman with the curls raised her eyebrows. But she did not look pissed off, like Holly, or confounded, like the man. More curious. ‘Jack, I take it?’ She held out a hand, her handshake firm, confident.

‘Jack?’ repeated the man, looking at the woman with the curls. ‘Who on earth is . . .?’ But he trailed off, seeming to realise he was being rude. Jack hadn’t thought of what to do if there were other people here. Which in hindsight was stupid – it seemed obvious that there was a very good chance there would be other people with her since she was at work. This was why he generally shied away from the impulsive – it was usually better if you had a plan, stuck to it. Less opportunity for things to go wrong.

‘Can we talk, Holly?’ At least his voice was level – that was something.

They were getting a few curious looks from the teenagers – the ones who were straggling behind, having stayed on late. The woman with the curls seemed to notice that too, and when she spoke her voice was brisk, used to taking charge. ‘Daniel, I think Holly and Jack need to have a chat, so why don’t you and I get going? No, come on,’ she said, as Daniel began to protest. ‘I’ll drive you. Unless . . .’ she added, giving Holly a searching look, ‘you haven’t finished prepping for parents’ evening tomorrow? Because you know we need to be on top form, after last time.’

An out, Jack recognised. Whether or not this small, take-charge woman was actually Holly’s boss, she was offering Holly an out, should she need it.

Holly hesitated, and for a moment Jack thought she’d take it. Then she huffed out a breath. ‘No, it’s alright. I’ll talk to him.’

‘Right. Come on, Daniel.’ She whispered, ‘See you later, babe,’ before putting a hand on Daniel’s back and marching him off across the car park.

Holly wound her fingers around the handle of her tote bag on her shoulder, then moved to the side of the car park, underneath the shade of the trees once again. Jack followed her, welcoming the slightly cooler air.

Holly took the bag off her shoulder, dumping it in front of her feet on the grass unceremoniously. Then, without preamble, she asked, ‘What are you doing here, Jack?’

He ran a hand across the back of his neck, feeling pressure rise up in his chest – the need to get it right. ‘I wanted to apologise.’

Holly was frowning. Though, actually, maybe she’d never stopped frowning since she’d seen him. Not a great sign. ‘So you showed up at my school?’ She shot him a dry, cutting look. ‘Seems a bit over the top.’

He forced himself to stay even despite her tone – after all, he was the one coming to her this time. ‘Again: pot, kettle.’ He said it with a little smile in his voice, to try and steer the conversation away from more antagonistic directions.

‘That analogy doesn’t even make sense – kettles aren’t black, and my pots are silver.’

He felt his lips twitch up ever so slightly. ‘You never answered my message.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘I didn’t think there was anything more to say. You made yourself perfectly clear.’

‘Well, that’s the thing. I . . . Can we talk, please? Go somewhere . . . else? Maybe somewhere we can sit? Or walk?’

She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’

‘I’m not married, Holly,’ he said quietly. It was dancing around the issue, really, but it was something. She looked at him for a long moment, and he felt more words start to spill out despite his attempt to stay clear and rational. ‘Well, I mean, I was, but I’m divorced. Vanessa, my wife – ex-wife – cheated on me and we separated in October and we were already halfway through the process by the time I saw you again and . . .’ He stopped himself, took a breath. ‘The point is, I’m divorced. Back in March, when Vanessa came to the office, it was only because she needed me to sign something, to get the last bit of paperwork done.’

She was still looking at him, her eyes assessing. ‘If that’s true,’ she said eventually, ‘then why didn’t you say so before?’