Page 70 of The Christmas Letter

‘No, Venice, Scotland.’ But she snapped because she was stressed, and freaking out, and that was not Jack’s fault. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry. Look, she collapsed. And we’re in hospital and they won’t tell me anything and I can’t understand most of it anyway but they told me to call her next of kin and I think that’s you and—’

He cut off her babbling with a much calmer voice. ‘Ok. Ok. Is she . . . Where is she now?’

‘I don’t know. They won’t let me see her.’ Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them away. ‘But she collapsed, Jack. And she’s not well, I know she’s not, but they won’t tell me anything. Maybe they have to speak to you? If it’s . . . You know, if it’s bad.’ Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper.

‘Jesus, ok. Look, hang on.’ There was a pause and she could hear nothing, just the hum of chatter outside somewhere. Then, ‘Holly? I’m on my way.’

‘You’re what?’

‘I’ll come to Venice – the Italian one. I’m going to get the next flight I can. I’ll be there today, ok?’

‘You’re coming? Here?’

‘Yes.’ His voice was firm, and Holly felt relief slide through her.

‘Thank you,’ she breathed.

‘Look, why don’t you go back to wherever you’re staying, text me the address and I’ll . . .’

‘No,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m staying here. At least until I can see her, check she’s ok.’ She wouldn’t let her mind consider the option that she wasn’t ok.

‘Alright,’ Jack said, and though he was clearly trying to stay calm – stay calm for her – there was a tension there, rippling under the surface of his voice. ‘I’ll see you soon, ok?’

‘Yes,’ Holly said, and she moved to a stone pillar, closed her eyes, and rested back against it. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

Chapter Twenty-three

It was late afternoon by the time a nurse came out to find Holly and told her – in Italian, though she got the gist after a couple of repetitions – that she could see Emma.

The nurse led her down a grey-floored, white-walled corridor – the monastery bit was definitely lost in this section – and into one of the rooms. Holly baulked in the doorway. It was a single room, just one bed. The smell of antiseptic lingered in the air and there was the sound of a machine beeping quietly in the corner. It was air-conditioned, but Holly still felt heat rising in her chest. The last time she’d been in a room like this, it had been Lily on the hospital bed.

She stepped further into the room as the nurse smiled and left her. Emma, she told herself firmly. She crossed to where Emma was lying, a tube hooked up to her, her purpling eyelids closed, her skin holding a yellow tinge that extended to her bare arm under the hospital gown someone had changed her into. It was Emma, not Lily, who needed her right now.

Holly glanced around, saw two little wooden chairs in the corner of the room. She picked one up, moved it next to Emma’s bed. As she sat down, Emma’s eyelids flickered open.

‘About time you got here,’ Emma croaked.

Holly let out her breath on a whoosh and felt a heavy weight lift from her body. Emma was ok. ‘Well, I would have been here earlier, but I took advantage of the time alone and slipped out to do some shopping. You know, Gucci was calling . . .’ But the joke was ruined by her shaky voice.

Emma grunted. ‘You found Gucci in the nearest charity shop, did you? I guarantee it’s a fake.’

She shifted, then grimaced in pain. Holly felt a breath get stuck in her throat.

Emma blinked up at her, then reached out to take one of Holly’s hands. ‘I’m ok, my girl.’

Holly pressed her lips together. ‘I’ve been so scared,’ she whispered.

‘I know; I’m sorry. But I’m ok, I promise. Just trying to add a bit of drama to your life, that’s all.’ She paused. ‘Did they take me on one of those boat ambulances and everything?’

Holly nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘Well, there’s a story you’ll be able to tell when you get back, going on an ambulance boat in Venice. And at least one of us was conscious for it.’

Holly gave Emma’s hand a gentle squeeze. She seemed so fragile. It was strange – Emma was an old woman, and she’d been diagnosed with cancer before Holly had even met her – but Emma hadn’t ever seemed frail, not in the ways that mattered. But now . . .

‘What’s wrong?’ Holly whispered. ‘Did they tell you? Did you understand? Is it the cancer?’

Emma sighed. ‘Well, I think it all comes back to that, in the end.’