Page 89 of The Christmas Letter

Holly cocked her head, recovering before he did. ‘Is it that bad, to see me?’

‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘No, of course not . . . Sorry, I—’

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, clearly trying not to laugh.

How was she this casual? Had she known he’d be here? Or maybe it was only him. He felt like his skin was on fire around her, but maybe she’d got over it – whatever ‘it’ was.

Holly was looking at Emma, scanning her from head to toe. He knew that look, because he did it too, every time he saw Emma. So he knew that Holly was checking to see what the damage was, checking for any visible signs of the illness attacking Emma’s body. But the problem was, the signs weren’t all visible.

‘So,’ Holly said, moving to sit next to Emma, while Jack was still just standing there, like a complete lemon. ‘Are we still going shopping for your wedding outfit?’

‘Yes, yes, but you only just got here – give an old girl a chance. Let me finish my tea first, will you?’

Holly drummed her fingers on her thigh, and Jack saw now how she was holding herself very straight. So, not feeling totally as laid back as she’d made it seem, then? Though he couldn’t quite figure out if that was a good thing.

Holly seemed to sense him looking and glanced over at him. ‘Want to come shopping too?’ she asked. ‘Maybe you can help me convince Emma to spend more than twenty pounds on a wedding outfit.’

‘There’s just no point in spending money, if I’m only going to—’

But Holly cut her off with a glare. He got it. Holly might be more forceful than he was on the matter, but he hated it too: Emma’s little reminders that she was dying, that she might only have months left to live. Months – or years. It’s what he told himself, as often as he could. But it was the uncertainty that was the worst thing – for her as well, he was sure.

Jack crossed to Emma’s little armchair, trying to avoid sinking into it completely as he sat down. ‘I’d love to, but I don’t think I can face hours in a shopping centre.’

Holly rolled her eyes. ‘We will not be hours.’

‘Well, I won’t be,’ Emma muttered.

‘That is so unfair. I wasn’t hours when we were shopping in Venice, was I, Jack?’

Their gazes met then, and he saw her eyes change, the exact moment he felt something tighten in his gut. At the memory of that day, after Burano. Of the jazz club, and what had happened after.

Holly flushed and Jack cleared his throat, clocking the suspicious look Emma was giving them.

‘So, ah, how’s Abi doing then, Holly?’ he asked, changing the subject to something safer.

‘Yes, and how are the wedding toppers coming along?’ Emma piped up.

Holly shrugged. ‘Ok, I guess.’

Emma narrowed her eyes. ‘You are still going to do them, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am,’ Holly said with an offended huff.

‘Good.’

‘I wouldn’t let Abi down like that.’

‘Of course – nothing to do with the fact you actually enjoy it.’

‘I don’t—’

‘Ah,’ Jack said, raising his hand like a school kid as he interrupted the argument. Both Holly and Emma looked at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Oh, Holly is making little sculptures for the top of her friend’s wedding cake.’

‘Really? You didn’t tell me that.’

Another suspicious look from Emma. Dammit. But they were allowed to talk, weren’t they? It would be weird, all things considered, if they hadn’t been talking.