Page 57 of The Christmas Letter

Maybe it was that, the lurking guilt, that made him say, a touch defensively, ‘She chose to drive. My dad wanted to drive and she . . .’

A flash of the incoming headlights again. Of his dad, in the passenger seat, complaining about Emma not going fast enough, of his mum telling him to shhh. He remembered kicking the back of Emma’s seat, nerves and frustration getting the better of him. Remembered Emma’s voice. ‘Don’t do that, please, Jack. It’s distracting.’

He was grateful when Holly’s voice pulled him out of the memory. ‘That doesn’t change the fact that it was an accident.’

Holly turned to look back at the castle and he mirrored her, looking out at the stone turrets. Then she folded her legs underneath her and sat where she was on the grass, placing her hands behind her and leaning back on her palms. Jack copied her. He tried – and failed – not to feel pleased, at the fact she was settling in to talk to him.

‘I invited her, you know,’ he said quietly, after a moment. ‘To the ceremony I was planning that day.’ She didn’t ask which day. They kept circling back to it, one way or another. ‘I invited Emma and she didn’t come,’ he repeated. ‘She ever say anything about that?’

He’d kept his tone casual, but though he’d mentioned it to make a point to Holly, to prove that he wasn’t the bad guy here, he realised he actually wanted to know the answer. He wanted there to be a reason – a reason, not an excuse – that explained why Emma hadn’t been there. Because it had been an olive branch. He’d sent the invitation to Emma via post, since even though he didn’t have a phone number, he still knew where she lived – and she’d proven that she didn’t care enough to come.

‘No,’ Holly said. ‘She’s never said.’ She bit her lip. ‘That doesn’t mean . . . We don’t . . .’ She huffed out one of her impatient breaths. ‘She doesn’t like talking about it that much.’

‘What do you talk about?’

‘I don’t know. Other things. Art. It’s kind of hard to explain. If you got to know her, you’d get what I mean.’ She paused. ‘I think you’d like her, you know.’

He frowned – because Emma was his grandmother and he had known her. But perhaps that was the point. A child relationship was different to an adult one, and maybe that was part of the reason it was so difficult – because how did you even begin to form that, when there was so much missing in between?

Holly’s phone buzzed, and she fumbled in her bag for it. She read a message, glancing at Jack quickly before typing a reply and then shoving the phone back in her bag. And he knew. He just knew who had texted her, even before she said, a little pointedly, ‘That was Emma. We’re having lunch in a few days.’

He nodded slowly, not sure of what to say. How often did they check in with one another, he wondered? He couldn’t really fathom it: the thought of his grandmother, the one he’d cut so completely from his life, talking to this woman sitting next to him. He opened his mouth, not really sure of what he was going to say. But then a shape jumped out several metres ahead of them, and Jack made a startled sound. ‘Is that a deer?’

It was. It had antlers and everything. And it was right there, in front of everyone. ‘That’s so cool!’ He was grinning, though he schooled his face when he clocked Holly watching him, looking amused by his delight.

‘They live here,’ Holly said. ‘You’re such a city boy.’

It was a teasing tone, and he felt lighter, hearing it. She was impressing him too, how easily she’d softened once they started to talk through things – maybe not completely, but still. He’d been bracing for the temper he’d seen back in March, but maybe she was the type to flare with anger and then let it go just as easily. Or maybe she was good at hiding it, though he didn’t think so. But he wanted to know. It surprised him how intensely he wanted to dig beneath the layers and figure her out.

‘Hey, I was a country boy, once upon a time.’ He looked out at the trees again. ‘It must be amazing in autumn here,’ he murmured. ‘All these trees changing colours, all at different times.’

‘It is,’ Holly agreed. ‘I brought my students here in autumn last year to paint the landscape and capture the colours changing for just that reason.’

He ran his hand through the warm grass. ‘Do you ever paint here?’

‘No. Not really my thing, painting. I’m ok at it, but not brilliant. Not enough to . . .’ She trailed off, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

It was Jack’s phone that beeped this time, and he slipped it out of his back pocket automatically.

‘Feel free to take it,’ Holly said.

‘No, it’s an alarm,’ he said, switching it off as he spoke.

‘An alarm? Regularly get up at six p.m., do you?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘A reminder, then, not an alarm. It’s my half-sister’s birthday next week, so I’m reminding myself to get her a present.’

‘Half-sister?’

‘Different dad,’ he explained. But now he felt like a dick, for calling attention to it specifically. She was his sister, wasn’t she? Half or not.

‘Oh right, of course.’ Holly paused for a moment and he remembered that she had already known about his dad’s death when he’d told her about it, but she quickly covered up any awkwardness by asking, ‘So what are you going to get her?’

‘No idea.’ Jack spread his legs in front of him, supporting himself on his hands, sunlight warm on his face. ‘A voucher? Amazon voucher? She can get whatever she likes then.’

Holly did a sort of nod-shrug thing and he tapped one finger on the grass.

‘She’s going to be fourteen – what did you want when you were fourteen?’