Page 30 of Always, in December

‘No, that’s ok,’ Josie said quickly, not particularly wanting to risk Helen and Max interacting over video.

‘Anyway, how are you, my love? I’m worried about you, spending Christmas alone.’

Josie glanced at Max across the table, who was taking a sip of red wine, raising his eyebrows at her over the rim. ‘Well, I’m, umm, I’m actually out at a pub with a friend at the moment having lunch, if that makes you feel any better.’

‘It does,’ her grandad said, moving his head into the frame. ‘But we need proof.’

Smiling a bit, Josie turned her phone to Max, who moved his wine glass immediately out of sight, and cleared his throat, giving an awkward little half wave, which made Josie laugh.

Memo made an appreciative ‘hmm’ noise in the back of her throat. ‘So this is your “friend” is it? He’s pretty – when are you bringing him to visit?’

Josie laughed again, but they moved on to talk about other things, like what Helen had got them for Christmas – a Kegel exercise set for Memo and a smoothie subscription for her grandad, which made Josie a little nervous about opening her own present from Helen when she got home. If Helen could buy her own mother Kegels, there were no limits. ‘I got the quote, by the way,’ Josie said, a smile playing around her lips.

Memo raised her eyebrows expectantly. ‘Did you know?’

‘Love Actually?’ At Memo’s sigh, Josie laughed. ‘Thought you’d got me, did you?’

‘I have to admit I thought that might be the one to put me firmly in the lead, but alas, there’s always next time and I’ll catch you out sooner or later.’

Josie was smiling when they hung up, though the interruption meant that her roast had got a little cold. Max, one step ahead of her, ordered a jug of hot gravy.

‘How come you’re not there?’ he asked, then gestured to where she’d put her phone next to her on the table. ‘With your grandparents?’

Josie took a bite of beef, chewed slowly, then sighed and picked up her wine. ‘It’s just . . . it’s too difficult. Going back to where I grew up. Especially at Christmas, on the day they died. It makes me sad, and then they get sad that I’m sad and I . . .’ She sipped her Rioja, put it down. ‘I guess that just seems unfair, on all counts.’

Max nodded. ‘I get that.’

When the bill arrived, there was the predictable awkward fumbling with bags and wallets, but Max was insistent that he pay for the whole thing. Just as she’d noticed before, his wallet was chock full of papers, receipts and folded envelopes – his to do list, he said, where he couldn’t escape it – which meant that he had to dump several cards and papers onto the table in order to retrieve the card he wanted. One thing in particular made Josie stare, and she reached out to touch the sides of the envelope.

Wordlessly, she picked it up and unfolded it, tracing the writing on the front of it. Her writing.

‘Something wrong?’ Max asked, after he handed the card machine back to Bunches. Josie turned the envelope around, staring at him. He frowned at it. ‘That’s not mine.’

‘No. It’s mine.’

‘Huh?’

‘It’s a letter, I wrote it, and then . . .’ She’d lost it, when she’d hit him. He must have picked it up with all his things, shoved it there with everything else without realising. There was no reason he’d have wanted to keep it, surely, and it hadn’t been opened. ‘You must have picked it up, I guess, in the road. It’s the letter I lost that day.’

Max grimaced, and ran a hand across the back of his neck. ‘God, I’m sorry, Josie. Was it important? I swear I didn’t even realise, I just shoved everything in here, haven’t got round to sorting anything out yet.’

Josie nodded – she believed him. Still, the thought of him carrying it around these past few days, of holding on to something so intimate, made her feel a little strange, like she’d given up some part of her without being aware of it. He was watching her, his eyebrows pulled together, clearly worried about whether she was going to be pissed off, so she smiled to reassure him. ‘I have this . . . tradition,’ she explained, holding up the letter so he could see what was written on the front of the envelope. Mum and Dad. She wondered if he’d figure it out. ‘And, well, I guess it’s been delayed a little this year, but it’s still something I want to do. Something I need to do, on the way back.’ She took a breath, and he asked no questions. He wasn’t the type to pry, she was learning. It was partly that which made it so easy to ask, ‘Will you come with me?’

They walked hand-in-hand to the post box, the letter clutched in Josie’s other hand. She’d been meaning to write another one, but had let herself get distracted in the whirlwind of Max and the thought of that brought a tug of shame. But she was doing it now, she told herself. It wasn’t like she’d forgotten them – she’d never do that.

It was the first time she’d ever shared the tradition with anyone, even if she didn’t tell him exactly what the letter was – she thought he knew enough to guess, anyway. It felt more intimate than anything else they’d done so far and as they stopped by the post box there was a lump in her throat that she knew it was ok to feel. He squeezed her hand, saying nothing, just letting her know that he was there.

She heard the gentle thud of the envelope hitting the inside of the post box when she let it go, the sound of something that would never be delivered. She blinked back the tears when Max put an arm around her, stroked her back gently. ‘It never goes away, does it, that kind of grief?’ he said softly. She wanted to ask him again who’d he’d lost, but it didn’t seem like the time. So she just blinked and nodded, leaning into him and wishing she could find the words to tell him what it meant to her, having him there in that moment.

They held hands on the walk back, and Max chatted to her, keeping up a running commentary as he speculated on how Bunches was spending Christmas Day after work, how the couple in the Christmas jumpers met. He gave her the time to get herself together, distracted her enough that, by the time they felt the first drop of rain, she was laughing.

They looked up at the sky together. ‘Uh-oh,’ Max said. They were still a good twenty minutes from the house.

They had no more warning before it started up in force, and Josie squealed as Max pulled her into a run. For some reason they were both laughing so much that, by the time they reached the end of the road to turn left, Josie had to stop, doubling over as she tried to get her breath back, as much from the laughter as the run.

When she straightened up, Max had his hands out, palms up, and his face lifted to the sky in an almost serene expression. Josie let out another little laugh, and he turned to grin at her. ‘No point in fighting it now, we’re already drenched.’ It was true – Josie’s coat was sodden and she could feel the icy water running off her hair and down the back of her neck. So she shrugged and copied him, turning a small circle and closing her eyes as she allowed the rain to drench her face.

She felt Max grip her hand again, pull her round to him. But instead of starting to run, he twirled her under his arm, making her laugh again. He put one big hand on her hip when he spun her back to him, took the other in his. She shook her head. ‘What are you doing?’