Page 65 of The Christmas Letter

‘Yes. Autumn’s the best time for it – not as hot, fewer tourists.’

‘I have to work around term time for holidays,’ Holly said mildly.

‘Well, you can’t go in October half term,’ Abi said, her voice stern. ‘That’s my wedding.’

‘Oh really? You should have mentioned it.’

‘It’ll have to be summer, then,’ Pam said. And somehow, it seemed agreed. Pam was even getting out her phone, looking up flights. Emma didn’t protest, and neither did Holly. Because really, why the hell not? And if it was something Emma wanted to do, then they should do it.

It was all done lightly, and they started chatting about what Emma and Holly should do in Venice, before going on to think of more and more extreme ideas for Abi’s honeymoon. Not one of them mentioned the idea that Emma might be able to go to Venice next year instead.

August

Chapter Twenty-one

Dear Lily,

I’m writing to you from Venice – can you believe it? It is amazing! I think I want to live here. Though maybe I’d get fed up with all the tourists. Do you think there are still tourists in winter? Maybe I could live here in winter, find a job teaching English or something.

We talked about coming here ages ago, do you remember? I think it was just before you met Steve, so I wasn’t even out of school yet. But we planned this whole European adventure, saying that we’d stop off at all the big cities before spending two weeks on the beach and you’d soak up the sun while I learned to surf – even though I’d objectively be terrible at surfing, which you quite rightly pointed out.

What happened to that plan? I think I got distracted with my art, and worrying about how I was going to make money, and you met Steve. I guess I always thought there’d be time to do it in the future. I suppose that just goes to show – you should never take your future for granted.

Emma is getting worse. That’s why we’re here, together, in Italy. Not that anyone has said that out loud, but Pam told me back in June to book the tickets and get going, before Emma got too sick to do it. Emma won’t talk to me about it. And I’m scared, Lily. I’m scared that she’s more ill than she’s telling me, or that the doctors have told her something that she’s keeping from us.

Sorry. I know you don’t want to be hearing about that. I suppose it’s easier to get my thoughts straight this way, by writing them down. You used to tell me to do that, do you remember? When I couldn’t figure out how to apologise to mum and dad about whatever I’d done, you’d tell me to write it down first, so that I’d know what to say.

But now is not the time for apologies – I’ve written those a thousand times over. So right now, I’m going to put this pen down, and go and enjoy Venice with my friend. Even if I can’t be here with you, I want to try and make the most of it – because you never know when things might change, just like that. If anyone knows that it’s us, right?

Love,

Holly

Holly picked up her Aperol Spritz, the cool beads of condensation welcome against her skin, and raised her glass to Emma, who was sitting opposite her. ‘Cheers.’

Emma smiled and returned the gesture, but picked up her water rather than the spritz Holly had ordered her.

Holly sat back against her chair, her back sticky with sweat, even though it was early evening. Venice in August was hot, just as Pam had warned them. Hot and busy.

It was also, Holly thought while taking a sip of her drink, absolutely incredible. One of the things she loved about it was how you could be surrounded by tourists one moment, around St Mark’s Square, for instance, and then you could wander down a little alleyway between buildings and find yourself completely alone, like you’d discovered some kind of secret passageway. Everywhere you looked you wanted to take a photo – the whole place was an artist’s dream, and Holly had found her fingers itching more than once, desperate to pick up some clay.

Right now, though, they were sitting at a café along the waterway, near a stop for one of the gondolas. Holly had insisted they go on one, sitting down and getting punted around, seeing Venice from the Grand Central and other waterways, even though Emma had wrinkled her nose about it being for ‘sucker tourists’. Dusk was settling in now, and Holly loved how the city looked in the changing light – the way the water deepened in colour, how the beautiful stone buildings seemed to absorb some of the fading sunlight.

Holly studied Emma over the rim of her glass. She’d seemed especially tired over these last few days, though she had waved it off whenever Holly had asked her about it. The latest on her cancer was that she was in ‘observation mode’, which meant she was going for regular check-ups with her doctor but wasn’t, as far as Holly could tell, actually doing anything about the cancer. Emma had phrased this as a good thing, telling Holly that if the doctors weren’t worried then she shouldn’t be either, and if it was just a case of ‘waiting and seeing’, then that’s what they should do. But Emma’s face was pale, despite the heat and sun, almost yellowy in colour, and she was too thin – thinner than when Holly had seen her in June. She hadn’t eaten much the whole time they were here, either, claiming the rich food was making her stomach funny, but Holly had looked up pancreatic cancer and knew that the tumour could press on the nerves in your abdomen and cause stomach pain. So she’d decided over the last few days that when she got back, she was going to make Emma go to the doctor with her, so that Holly could ask these questions for herself. And if Emma refused, well, she’d just lie and tell her she was taking her to an art gallery or something – if she was the one driving, there was nothing Emma would be able to do about it.

Emma took another sip of her water, looking out at the canal.

‘Emma?’ Holly asked.

Emma looked over at her, shadows under her eyes.

‘Are you—?’

Emma waved a hand in the air. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine. Just tired – nothing a slice of Tiramisu won’t fix.’

Holly’s phone buzzed and she looked down to see Abi replying to the photos she’d sent with a line of heart-eyes emojis. Holly smiled, then looked up again.

‘Abi,’ she said in answer to Emma’s questioning look.