Page 65 of Always, in December

‘Yes, but . . . I don’t know, isn’t it the type of thing you’re supposed to do at the beginning of your twenties? You know, go somewhere obscure to “find yourself” or whatever?’

Bia pursed her lips as she considered. ‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘maybe you’re not going to “find yourself”. Maybe you’d be going because you’ve finally found yourself.’

Josie stared at her, then broke into a smile. ‘I quite like that.’

Bia grinned. ‘Good, because I was worried it was going to sound ridiculous.’

Josie’s phone rang in her hand, and Bia pushed off the bed to keep packing. Josie glanced down at the screen, and smiled as she answered. ‘Hi, Aunty Helen. Sorry, I meant to text, I got here safely and we’re just—’

‘Hi, darling.’ Helen’s voice was sharper than usual and Josie automatically tensed. ‘Now, I don’t want you to panic, but Memo’s in hospital.’

‘What?’ Josie’s spine turned rigid, and Bia turned to look at her, frowning. Josie’s hand felt suddenly vice-like on the phone. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘I’m . . .’ Helen took a deep breath. ‘She’s had a heart attack – Grandad took her into A&E this evening, and they’ve admitted her.’ Another breath, and this time it sounded like Helen was trying to choke back some emotion. That, above all, made Josie feel cold. ‘She’s ok – I’ve spoken to her on the phone and she’s insisting she’s fine, that everyone’s making a big fuss, but they have to do some tests and keep her in for observation and, well, it’s a heart attack. I’m on my way there now from Guildford. Dad just called me, but despite what Mum said he’s a state so I said I’d call you.’ Dad. Mum. Not Grandad and Memo. The slip made Josie’s lips tremble.

‘But . . . but she was at the exhibition,’ Josie said, a little numbly. ‘She was fine.’ This made no sense. She’d seemed happy, healthy. Weren’t you usually overweight or something when you had a heart attack? Wasn’t there supposed to be some warning sign, something that meant they could prepare for this? She felt Bia sink back onto the bed next to her, rub her shoulder gently.

‘I know, darling. I’m sorry.’

Josie shook her head. No. You only said sorry when someone was already dead. She moved her phone away slightly, checked the time. Not quite six p.m. yet. ‘I’ll get the train now,’ she said to Helen. Surely there would still be one.

‘Well, we won’t be allowed in to see her overnight – we have to wait for visiting hours in the morning.’

‘I still want to be there, with you and Grandad. What time is visitors’ hours?’

‘Nine a.m. tomorrow morning.’

‘Well, we’ll all go together then, from the cottage,’ Josie said firmly.

‘Alright, darling. I’ll see you there. You call me if you get stuck.’

‘I will do.’ She got to her feet, needing to move, to do something immediately. Heart attack. The words reverberated round her brain and her throat tightened in response.

‘And Josie? Try not to panic just yet.’ Helen had control of her voice back, Josie noticed. ‘Your grandad and I, we just wanted to let you know, just . . . just so that you know.’ Just in case. The unsaid words hung in the space between them.

They said goodbye to one another, and when Josie hung up she just stared at Bia, who was still sitting on the bed. ‘It’s my grandmother,’ she said.

‘Oh, Josie.’ Bia leapt to her feet.

‘She’s in hospital. She’s had a heart attack. I have to go.’

‘Shit, what?’

Josie didn’t know if Bia was referring to the hospital or the leaving, but it didn’t matter. She walked out of Bia’s room to the living room, where she’d left her suitcase – thankfully she hadn’t taken anything out yet. She quickly checked the train times on her phone – she could make the last train home if she left now; that way she could look after her grandad tonight and be there ready in the morning.

‘Josie?’

Josie looked back at Bia. ‘She’s had a heart attack, B, I have to go. I have to get to the hospital.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Bia said immediately.

‘No.’ Josie took a step towards her, took her hands and squeezed them. ‘We can’t both miss the plane.’

‘Shit, the plane.’ Bia grimaced.

‘Precisely. Look, you go. I’ll ring the airline to see if I can catch a later flight if . . .’ But she didn’t want to finish that sentence, didn’t want to say an ‘if’, because she wasn’t sure what the end of it would be.

Bia shook her head. ‘I can’t let you go alone, Jose.’