Page 59 of The Christmas Letter

‘Sure.’

Derek crossed the patio for a cool box, which Jack couldn’t help smiling at – they were doing the barbecue properly, stocking up a cool box so they didn’t need to head indoors to the fridge. The way Derek looked then – wearing a t-shirt with a dog on it, a little round around the edges, big arms on show, reminded Jack of his dad a little. A memory came to him then, of his mum and dad in their little kitchen the other side of Devon, and his mum making a comment when his dad swiped a sausage from the frying pan.

‘You making fun of my dad-bod, Rose?’ his dad had asked, wiggling his eyebrows for comic effect.

‘I’m only saying, it might do you good to cut back a bit.’

His dad had caught Jack’s eye, then winked. ‘Jack doesn’t mind, do you, Jack? Makes for a good punching bag, all this flab.’

‘Jack, you made it!’ His mum’s voice pulled him back to the sunny garden. She was walking over to him, complete with a sun hat and sunglasses, Pimm’s in hand, wearing a floaty summery dress, looking tanned and happy. He smiled at her, gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m so glad you could come,’ she said, giving him a one-armed hug, then pulling back to look at him. ‘Was the drive awful?’ She’d changed her hair, he noticed now – it was always blonde, but it was now cropped to her shoulders.

‘It was alright,’ Jack said. Though he’d felt the mounting pressure, the way he always did, as he crossed the border into Devon.

Derek headed away to take up residence behind the smoking barbecue, grabbing one of the utensils and holding it up in preparation to start flipping burgers.

‘Mia!’ His mum called down to the end of the garden. Mia was sitting with another teenage girl on the trampoline, both of them cross-legged and showing no intention of jumping on the thing. She took after his mum in her looks: her blonde hair was straighter and longer and a little darker, probably because it was without the highlights his mum put into hers, but she had the same round face, and the same eyes – hazel, as opposed to Jack’s darker brown.

‘Mia!’ His mum shouted again, and this time both girls looked up. ‘Come and say hello to Jack.’

Mia threw a slightly sulky look at them but got up nonetheless, and she and her friend sauntered up the garden towards them.

‘Hi, Mia,’ Jack said, then immediately cringed. His voice was too bright. She wasn’t a dog, for God’s sake.

‘Hi,’ she said, exchanging a look with her friend – just as skinny as Mia, with dark hair and a long fringe that partly obscured her face.

‘Ah, happy birthday.’

‘Thanks.’ Another look at the friend.

‘This is Jess,’ his mum said, indicating said friend, who looked up at Jack through thick eyelashes when she was introduced.

‘Right, so, Mum, can me and Jess go out tonight?’ Mia twirled a lock of hair around her finger. ‘Sadie’s having a party.’

‘No,’ his mum said, so firmly it made Jack wince – that tone hadn’t changed since he was a kid. ‘It’s a family day.’

‘But it’s my birthday!’

‘It’s not your birthday until Thursday, and you’re having your party next weekend so don’t try that on me.’

She took a sip of her Pimm’s while Mia scowled at her and Jack rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. It was unfamiliar to him, this kind of family dynamic. Maybe it was the kind he might have had, if his dad hadn’t died. If he and his mum hadn’t been trying to pick up the pieces after the fact.

Mia turned to walk away, but Jack called her back. ‘Hey, Mia! I got you a present.’ He held the package out to her, and her scowl softened slightly as she took it from him.

All of them leaned in closely as she unwrapped it. Even Jack, and he’d bought the bloody thing. He watched her face carefully as she discarded the wrapping paper on the floor, which his mum bent to pick up, and held up the painting. He’d gone for Holly’s suggestion in the end, unable to come up with anything else. She pursed her lips as she looked at it, then nodded. ‘This is cool,’ she said, and Jack let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. She held it up higher. ‘What’s it supposed to be?’

‘That’s up to you, I think,’ Jack said, shoving a hand in his jeans pockets and rocking back on his heels. It was an abstract piece – again, Holly’s idea – with a black background, bold reds and oranges splashed across the page. It had reminded him of Holly’s fire, but also of that teenage feeling of impossibility, of being trapped in your own body.

‘It’s . . . angry, I think,’ she said, frowning in a contemplative way. ‘But also kind of hopeful?’

Jack smiled. ‘That’s what I thought, too.’ It was why he’d liked it – the angry fire being offset by lighter yellows, just rising out on top, tempering the harshness of it and suggesting that the anger may perhaps only be fleeting.

She looked up at him and smiled too – not a full smile, but still. And he couldn’t help but think of Emma in that moment, of how she’d given him his very first painting – the Mirabelle Landor card, the one he still had. The one he’d been carrying around with him when he met Holly that day in the café. He’d been carrying it almost like a talisman, because he’d been wondering if he might see Emma at the memorial.

What would Emma make of Mia? For some reason, he could imagine Emma taking her under her wing, the way she’d apparently done with Holly, and the way she’d done with him when he was a kid. She’d been so much cooler than other grandmothers – so matter-of-fact, the way she’d spoken to him like he was an adult, which had made him think he could talk to her, no matter what.

He hadn’t called her. It was all very well for Holly to tell him to, but it was easier said than done, with the weight of what had happened between them.

‘So how are you, Jack?’ his mum asked, once Mia and Jess had headed up to Mia’s room to decide where to hang the painting. ‘How have you been, since the . . .?’