Page 73 of Always, in December

The breath Josie let out was more like a sob. ‘Miracle on 34th Street.’

Memo grunted, her purpling eyelids fluttering closed again. ‘Thought I’d have you there. You don’t like those Christmas films.’

Because the tears were starting up again, Josie backed away, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Her grandad, too, looked too grey and tired to say anything, but Helen came to the rescue, piping up, talking about the lack of good food in the hospital and downloading all the research she’d done on the best diet to start Memo on once she was out of hospital. Josie wasn’t sure exactly how long had passed before she realised that Max still hadn’t arrived. She cleared her throat and the other three looked at her. ‘I’m just going to go and find Max,’ she said quietly. ‘Let him know we’re all ok.’ She nearly added for now at the end of the sentence but stopped herself in time.

‘Oh, he came with you, did he?’ Memo croaked, her breathing growing heavier. ‘That’s nice.’

He wasn’t there when she got to the waiting room, so she headed out to the front of the hospital, in case he was still outside. It was cold and fresh, her breath misting in front of her, but there no sign of him there either. She was frowning when she retraced her steps. There were a few more people in the waiting room now, but none of them were Max.

Josie saw Helen coming out from ICU and crossed to her. ‘I can’t find him,’ she said, trying to control the hint of panic that was creeping into her voice. Had he disappeared on her, again? Surely not, not after what he’d told her.

But there was a faint ringing in her ears, and her nerves felt jittery. There’s something I want to talk to you about.

‘Didn’t he say he was going to get coffee?’

Josie nodded, but bit her lip. The other two times he’d been, he’d been back in moments, and she’d passed the coffee machine when she went to look for him outside.

‘Maybe he went to the toilet,’ Helen suggested, but she was frowning too.

Yes, thought Josie. That would be it. She hadn’t checked there, obviously, but if she waited for him here then surely he’d be back any minute.

It was then that two more people came out from the ICU. One of them was the young, blonde nurse Josie had seen yesterday, and it was her who gestured towards Helen and Josie. Josie’s heart stuttered and she looked at Helen, seeing the same panic reflected in her face. The woman the nurse was with, who was wearing blue scrubs, a look of authority marking her out as a doctor, nodded, then walked over to meet them.

‘What is it?’ Helen demanded.

‘You came in with a man, is that right?’ Her voice was far too even, far too calm.

‘Which man?’ Josie asked, even though she knew, somehow. She understood that this woman had come looking for them in particular, that she was talking about Max, and that whatever the reason, it wasn’t good. A chill descended on her body.

‘A Max Carter?’ The way her voice turned gentle around his name made Josie want to hiss.

‘Yes,’ she said instead, almost snapping it out. ‘Has there been some kind of accident?’ Had he made a faux-pas, taken too many painkillers or something? She knew that was wrong, knew it was more than that from the way the doctor was looking at her with a practised face. But her body wouldn’t believe her. It remained chilled, and numb.

The doctor glanced around the room. You wouldn’t know it was Christmas Eve in here, Josie thought numbly. Nothing to mark the festive period, like celebrating a festive holiday was somehow wrong, when surrounded by so much death.

The doctor indicated one of the seats in the waiting room, and ushered Josie and Helen towards it. But Josie stayed standing. ‘What happened?’ she whispered. She needed to know. Needed to know now, needed this doctor to tell her.

‘Can I just ask what your relationship is to Max?’

‘I’m his . . .’ Josie hesitated, trying to figure out the right word. There wasn’t one, she realised. But the doctor didn’t need to know the details right now. ‘I’m his friend.’

The doctor nodded, and took a breath. ‘I’m so sorry to tell you this, but he’s passed away.’

Josie just stared at her. That couldn’t be right. There’d been some kind of mistake, obviously. Max was fine, he’d been here five minutes ago. He’d made gingerbread with her yesterday, he’d come with her to the hospital. You didn’t just keel over and die after that. Something cold seized her heart as she thought for a moment that they’d meant to come out to tell her that something was wrong with Memo, because they shared the first letter of their names, before realising that she was the only one who called her grandmother Memo.

‘No,’ she said firmly. Her voice was sure, confident. She even looked around the room again – ready for Max to come up to them now, to make some joke that only he would understand about the mistaken identity.

‘What happened?’ Helen whispered to the doctor, and Josie jolted, turning her attention to Helen. Nothing happened, she wanted to tell Helen, because there was no way they were talking about Max.

‘He had a brain aneurysm. There was nothing we could do. He collapsed here, in the waiting room, but by the time we got him to—’

‘No,’ Josie repeated. But her voice sounded lumpy and wrong now.

The doctor looked directly at Josie now. ‘He would probably have got a bad headache at some point in the last few hours, but he would likely have thought nothing of it, because of the tumour.’

Headache. That one thing, that one word, made everything feel distant. Her ears were ringing and the words the doctor was saying faded to nothing. This wasn’t real. It wasn’t real, it was some horrible nightmare – maybe she was still back at the cottage, maybe she’d never woken and was still asleep in Max’s arms right now.

Helen’s grip was vicelike on Josie’s arm. Josie didn’t notice that the doctor had walked away to give them space until she saw her on the other side of the room. She blinked, trying to bring the world back into focus as Helen steered her to a chair, made her sit down.