Page 68 of The Christmas Letter

‘Oh, it looks gorgeous!’ Pam was saying. She must have moved her phone a bit further away, as her face became smaller. ‘Hello, Holly, don’t you look glowy?’ Given Holly never tanned, she thought ‘glowy’ was a pretty good compliment. ‘Come on, then,’ Pam said. ‘Tell me everything – make me jealous.’

Holly leaned over Emma’s shoulder as they both proceeded to fill Pam in on their trip, Holly obediently grabbing her Venetian mask off the table and holding it up when Emma told her to. ‘And we’re going to Burano tomorrow,’ Emma was saying. ‘You know, the place where they make all the lace.’

‘Oh yes, I’ve been there. It was excellent – beautiful houses.’ Pam, as far as Holly could tell, had been everywhere. ‘I bought some lovely lingerie there.’

‘Well, I don’t know about lingerie,’ Emma said, ‘but I do want something beautiful and lacy to take home with me.’

Holly continued to join in the conversation, though she was only half concentrating. Her mind was on Jack, on the fact that he still hadn’t called Emma. She couldn’t help the rush of disappointment, even as she’d told herself, repeatedly, not to think of him, that she’d done all she could there – and that getting involved any further would be a mistake. She could call him, in theory. She could press him on the subject further, because she wanted him to connect with Emma again. If it had only been that, then maybe she would have called, despite the fact it would make her even more of an interfering busybody. But the problem was, there was a selfish desire there too. Because she wanted to see him again, for herself.

And that, she told herself firmly, was why she absolutely must not call him.

Chapter Twenty-two

One of the staff at the hotel – a petite woman with long dark hair – smiled at Holly and Emma as she brought over two coffees. Emma had tried to ask for Earl Grey but had to settle for coffee when they told her they didn’t have any. It was early morning – she and Emma were deliberately getting up first thing so they could do something touristy in the morning and then spend the hottest part of the day lying down somewhere cooler, in true Mediterranean fashion – and they were currently sitting in the small courtyard where they’d had breakfast every day. It was a little boutique hotel, slightly off the beaten track – somewhere Emma had found, having insisted that Holly leave all the big arrangements of the holiday to her. It was perfect – Holly was pretty sure it was full, but there were only around ten rooms in total, so it never felt overwhelmingly busy, and they’d never had to fight for space in the courtyard, which was just stunning. There were a handful of stone tables with iron-backed chairs, all around a three-tiered fountain that lit up in the evening. There were plants all around the edges, climbing up the walls – big green leaves and a climbing purple flowering plant that Emma had told her was wisteria.

The waitress set the drinks down next to the basket of fresh pastries and brioche and a platter of fresh fruit. ‘Grazie,’ Holly said – about the only word of Italian she’d managed to pick up. Once the woman had gone back inside, Holly went back to staring at her phone.

Emma made a tch sound in the back of her throat. ‘No point staring that hard at it, my girl. Either you’re going to call or you’re not – looking at it won’t make any difference.’

Holly bit her lip, glancing down at her screen again – at Lily’s number. Then she looked up at Emma. ‘Is this your way of reminding me to sort my own family situation out?’

Emma winced. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘Maybe you were right,’ Holly muttered, tapping her fingers on the table next to her phone. But how did you call someone after so long without saying a word to them? And because it had been so long, it felt like a text wouldn’t cut it – it would have to be a proper conversation, or nothing at all. Which was perhaps how Jack felt, Holly reasoned. Was that why he hadn’t called Emma?

Emma took a sip of her coffee, then made an impatient noise. Holly frowned at her. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing. I’m just going to need to excuse myself. Again.’

‘Is there anything I can—’

But Emma flapped her away. Holly watched her leave the courtyard, heading for the hotel reception, where there was a rather plush bathroom with golden taps and fancy sinks and everything. Then she rolled her shoulders. Come on, Holly. Emma was right – staring at her sister’s number was not going to accomplish anything.

She pressed the call button quickly, trying to stop her brain from whirring too much.

‘Hello?’

Holly sucked in a breath at the sound of her sister’s voice. She’d answered! She’d actually answered. The word was cautious, like she wasn’t sure who would be at the other end of the line. Holly had kept the same number, though, so if Lily wasn’t sure, that meant she had deleted her number. She felt sweat prick her palms and flexed her fingers on the phone.

‘Lily?’ The word sounded sticky. ‘It’s . . . It’s Holly.’ Her heart was beating fast, and she felt too hot, even though it was early and she was in a light summer dress.

‘I know,’ Lily said. Her voice was guarded, careful, and Holly couldn’t work out how to take that.

‘I just . . .’ Holly closed her mouth, swallowed. Tried again. ‘How are you?’

‘How am I?’ Lily seemed baffled by the question. Holly couldn’t work out what her sister was thinking – or what the right thing to say was. They used to be able to read each other so well, could answer questions before the other one even asked – how had that all disappeared?

‘Yes. I . . .’ She could feel herself about to go into babble mode, just to fill the space between them. ‘I wanted to call you because I’m in Venice.’

‘Venice?’ Still in that same baffled tone. But she was talking to her! For the first time in three years, that was Lily’s voice at the end of the phone. She hadn’t hung up. Where was she right now? Holly wondered. In her kitchen, maybe, getting ready to go to work?

‘Yes, Venice,’ she said, trying not to speak too quickly. ‘And I remembered—’

‘Holly,’ Lily interrupted. ‘Why did you call me?’

‘Like I said, I—’

‘Lily Jenkins?’ There was a voice at Lily’s end of the line, a voice that sounded a little distant, and very formal.