Page 72 of The Christmas Letter

Holly raised her eyebrows. ‘You speak Italian?’

‘Ah, no.’

‘So what did you just order?’

Jack gave a guilty shrug. ‘No idea. I suppose we’ll find out.’

Holly gave a tired snort, just as the waiter came back out with a carafe of red wine and two glasses. He poured them one each, then smiled as he left them to it.

Jack held up his glass. ‘Well, cheers, I guess.’

They clinked glasses, though Holly found she couldn’t keep the eye contact as she took a sip. There was something a little too intimate about the way he was looking at her. The wine was delicious – by far the most superior she’d had since being here. She turned her attention to her breadstick, munching down and enjoying the satisfying snap it made each time she bit into it.

She realised she was eating so quickly that crumbs were falling on the table, and she wiped them away, looked up at Jack guiltily. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.

He laughed a little, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Don’t be. Eat. Sorry, I should have thought about it and brought you food on the way.’ He frowned. ‘How long were you there, in the hospital?’

Holly brought her hands to her temples, massaged. ‘Not sure. Since breakfast.’ She dropped her hands and took a sip of her wine. Then she made herself look at Jack directly, at the candlelight warming the depths of his dark eyes. ‘Thank you, for coming.’

‘I should be thanking you,’ he murmured. ‘So, thank you, for calling me. Thank you, for being with her, for looking after her.’ He rubbed his hands over his face.

She couldn’t really imagine what it must be like, seeing Emma after all this time. She could theorise – she could try to think what it would be like if she were to see Lily, for instance, but it would all be the wrong sides, because Jack was the one who’d been blaming Emma; Jack was the one who hadn’t wanted to see her. Yet he’d come when it had mattered, in the end.

‘Are you . . . ok?’ she asked tentatively.

‘Yeah.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Yeah, I guess. I just . . .’ He sipped his wine, and Holly suspected he was buying time to think. ‘I’ve spent so long, holding on to this . . . grudge, and I don’t know what to do. Seeing her . . . Well. I don’t know how to move forward.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure how to take this . . . what to do now, what to say, or—’

‘One step at a time,’ Holly said gently. Then, because she sensed he needed it, she reached out, placed a hand over his on the table. The table was so small, it was hardly a stretch. ‘Don’t think too far ahead,’ she continued. ‘Even if . . . Even if you can’t find a way to forgive her or move on for what happened,’ – she didn’t offer up an opinion as to whether that would be right or wrong, kept her voice judgement-free – ‘the fact that you’re here, that you cared, that you came . . .’ She swallowed. ‘It will mean so much to her, Jack.’

‘Yeah,’ Jack said after a pause. ‘Yeah, ok. One step at a time.’

Holly opened her mouth, then bit her lip, hesitated.

Jack smiled, just a little. ‘You want to know what we talked about.’

Holly glanced at him, then away, drawing her hand back. ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ she said quickly.

‘Honestly? We didn’t talk about much. She cried a bit. I cried a bit.’ He grimaced, like he hadn’t meant to admit that. ‘She kept saying thank you, for coming, and it made me feel so damn guilty and I . . .’ He heaved in a breath. ‘Then she asked me whether I still liked gardening, and that subject managed to tide us over for a bit.’

She laughed quietly. ‘That sounds like Emma.’

‘I guess the hard stuff will come,’ Jack said with a sigh.

Holly nodded slowly. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

The waiter came out with the food at that point – a burrata and tomato salad, an aubergine and mozzarella pasta dish, and gnocchi with what looked like candied walnuts mixed in. Holly’s stomach rumbled at the smell as the waiter put down the dishes, along with two side plates in front of each of them. A sharing deal, then. Good, it meant she could have everything. She fell on the food immediately, serving herself as much as she could fit on the little plate, and didn’t talk for a good few minutes as she ate. The food, like the wine, was incredible – each mouthful bursting with flavour so that she wanted both to linger over the taste and to eat as quickly as she could. The candied walnut gnocchi in particular made her tastebuds sing – the sweetness offset by a buttery saltiness, with a grating of Parmesan to top it off. Jack, too, seemed content to just eat, and it was only when Holly was on her second plateful that she managed to stop long enough to talk again.

‘So, how is the gardening dream coming along?’ she asked. Better, perhaps, to keep it light for the time being. There would be plenty of time for more serious conversations later, she was sure.

‘Well, currently non-existent, but I’ve told my mum I’ll redo her whole garden, so that’ll be fun.’

Holly cocked her head. ‘I can’t work out if you’re being serious.’

‘Oh, I am,’ he said with a little smile. ‘Having a whole garden to do what I want with? That is definitely my idea of fun.’

‘And how are your sister and brother?’

‘They’re good. Theo – my brother – came to stay with me a few weeks ago, and he is definitely more in love with London than I ever have been.’ He speared a piece of gnocchi. ‘How’s your scary friend? Abi, right?’