Page 58 of The Christmas Letter

‘I hate to tell you this, but not all fourteen-year-old girls want exactly the same thing. And unless she wants a DIY pottery set, I don’t think I’m your marker.’

‘Right, you’re right.’ He paused for a moment. ‘They’re having a family celebration this weekend – separate to her birthday party with all her actual friends, or so my mum tells me – but I might not go to it, which buys me a bit more time, I suppose.’

‘Why wouldn’t you go?’

‘Just . . . I don’t know.’ He couldn’t think of the right way to phrase it. ‘It’s sort of . . . my mum’s family. No,’ he corrected quickly. ‘I don’t mean that, obviously they’re my family too, but there’s sometimes this awkwardness. I can’t quite explain it, but I’m never quite sure if they want me there or not. There’s such an age gap between my siblings and I, it just feels a bit like I don’t quite belong.’

Holly pursed her lips. ‘If it were my sister,’ she said slowly, ‘I’d give anything to be invited to her birthday again.’ He watched it, the way the pain flashed across her face, even as she picked up a strand of grass, started to play with it. She offered him a quick glance. ‘I’m just saying.’

And it made him feel ridiculous. Because she was right – he should go. And because he couldn’t imagine what the guilt Holly was so clearly carrying around would be doing to her. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed it, hadn’t somehow felt it, back in March. But then that made him think of the guilt other people were carrying around, and that made his throat feel tight.

‘Well,’ Holly said briskly, ‘usually I’d say you can’t go wrong with a voucher as a present, but it’s also pretty impersonal, so if it were me I’d go for something that’s a bit different. I don’t know your sister at all, and it sounds like you might not know her that well either – no judgement there,’ she added quickly, ‘but like, a cool phone case – an arty, recycled one, you know, because she’ll probably have a phone she’s obsessed with, or a trip somewhere for her and her friends – a spa or something. Or a piece of art.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Obviously I would say that, but it’s something you can keep – and it can decorate her room. You’d have to guess at what she’ll like on the art front – but something cool and colourful generally goes down well with that age group, if my students are anything to go by.’

‘Thank you,’ he said.

She shrugged, the action almost careless, though he knew it couldn’t be, not really. Not if she was thinking about her own sister, and the birthdays she had missed. ‘You’re welcome.’

He watched her, trying to think of something to say, as she brushed her hair away from her face again. The strand of grass she’d been fiddling with got stuck there and he shifted automatically, leaning towards her and reaching up to pull it gently from the tangle of red. She stilled, and her gaze snapped to his in a way that made him briefly freeze too. His hand was still there, resting against her jawline now, her skin soft, a line of freckles running across her cheeks – something that hadn’t been there in the spring.

For a moment their gazes held. His heart sprang into action, thudding against his ribs, making him very aware of every beat, every breath. He heard it from her, too, the shift in her breathing. She reached up, placing a hand over his, and his skin sparked at the contact. But she took his hand in hers, lifted it away from her face.

‘I don’t think we should go there,’ she whispered.

He pulled his hand away from hers. ‘Right,’ he said, his voice gruffer than he would have liked. ‘Right, I’m sorry.’ There was no point in playing it cool. She’d be able to read it – just as he could read it in her too, the way her eyes had sharpened, the intense stillness of her body. But she was right. It wasn’t a good idea, to go there.

‘I’m sorry I can’t,’ she said, looking him very directly in the eye. ‘I’m friends with Emma. It would feel . . .’

‘I know,’ he said, sighing as he looked back out towards the castle. Weird, is what it would feel. For him, too. He couldn’t kiss her when she was texting his grandmother. His grandmother, who had cancer. His grandmother, who he’d spent years blaming for the worst moment of his life.

‘Do you think you’ll speak to her at some point? Emma?’ Holly was watching him like she knew the thoughts that had been running through his mind.

He waited before answering, trying to let it all settle a bit. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said eventually. ‘I just . . . I need to figure some things out, Holly. I’ve got nearly twenty years of emotions I’ve got to sort through first.’

‘I’ll text you her number,’ she said immediately. ‘Then you at least have it if you . . . Sorry. I’m interfering again.’ She offered a self-deprecating smile. ‘Apparently that’s my thing.’

He huffed out a laugh. ‘I’ve noticed.’

She gave him a playful prod in the ribs, and though he appreciated the attempt to keep it light, he had to stop himself from grabbing her hand, pulling her close. He remembered what it had felt like, to have her in his arms, feel her energy vibrating there. Remembered the smell of her, spicy somehow, like cinnamon.

Holly grabbed her bag, then pushed to her feet. ‘I need to head home. Do you want to walk back with me? I can give you a lift somewhere if you need one?’ No suggestion of dinner, or drinks, or extending their time together somehow. No, she was very clearly signalling to him that their time was up.

But he nodded, got to his feet too. A walk back with her, then they’d go their separate ways. It was the sensible thing to do – and at least the air was clear between them now, more or less. And he tried, he really did, to feel glad about that. After all, Emma was the only connection between them – a connection he hadn’t even wanted. Without that, Holly was practically a stranger. Just a woman he’d met in a café three years ago.

And had thought about ever since.

Chapter Nineteen

It was Derek who answered the front door when Jack rang the bell, Mia’s present clutched under one elbow.

‘Jack!’

‘Derek!’

They clapped each other awkwardly on the back, their tones full of the false bravado they’d moved on to after the slightly sullen stage of Jack’s teenage years, and never quite moved past.

‘Come in, come in,’ Derek said, gesturing Jack in through the door then leading him through the house and out to the back garden. The garden was the selling point of the house, in Jack’s opinion. Not that they did a lot with it – the grass was mown in neat lines, and there was a patio complete with barbecue and plastic chairs and tables, along with a trampoline at the end, from when Mia and Theo had been little. Jack had always thought they could do so much more with it – they had the space to really get some colour and layers in, maybe some delphiniums, hardy geraniums for the base of some taller plants, even some climbing roses for the fence at the back. But his mum had never been big into gardening, and apparently Derek wasn’t either. Jack had always envied them this green space, something he didn’t have in London.

‘Can I get you a beer, Jack?’ Derek asked.