Page 10 of Always, in December

Josie smiled. ‘I remember, you told me.’ Her grandparents were her dad’s parents, but that didn’t stop Memo from providing her with just as many memories about her mum, and Josie loved her for it. ‘But now, I really have to say goodbye, ok?’

‘Fine, fine. I love you, my darling.’ A muffled sound from off screen. ‘Grandad says he loves you too, he’s just got a mouthful of biscuit.’

Josie laughed. ‘Glad to know where I stand in the pecking order of granddaughter versus Hobnob. I love you both too.’

Josie hung up and shoved her phone in her pocket, then braved the chaos as she fought her way to the gate where she and Max had arranged to meet.

Max was waiting for her, standing casually, hands tucked into the pockets of his Sherlock coat, by one of the barriers next to the slightly tacky golden arch. The words Winter Wonderland were emblazoned on it, with a bespectacled Father Christmas on one side of the lettering, smiling benignly down on those who walked underneath him. Max hadn’t noticed her yet – unsurprising given the crowds of people jostling for space around him. Jesus, she’d forgotten the sheer number of people from last time she’d been here with Bia. She clocked a couple of girls going in, walking through the archway, both of whom looked back at Max to give him a second glance. He seemed totally oblivious, and Josie wondered if that was because he was used to it, or because he really had no idea how good looking he was.

She kept her head down, glancing up every few seconds as she walked briskly towards him, trying her best to avoid that awkward eye-contact thing where you spot each other from a distance and then have to keep away and back again until you reach each other. Unlike the other loners around him, Max didn’t have his phone out as a prop, but was stood quite still instead, apparently content to watch the people around him drift through the arch. The music from inside was louder now, not one harmonious tune but a collection of tinny Christmas jingles, blended together to form something that was both instantly recognisable and impossible to name.

Max noticed her when she was a few metres away from him, and shifted his position to face her, taking one hand out of his pocket and touching it to his temple and then out towards her in a sort of mini-salute.

Josie fixed a bright smile on her face as she stopped in front of him. ‘Hi!’ Her own hands, both in black gloves, one clutching her handbag to her shoulder and the other flopping uselessly at her side, felt suddenly redundant as she tried to work out what to do with them. She gestured feebly towards the entrance the other side of the metal barrier, determinedly keeping her smile in place. ‘Shall we?’

Max nodded his assent, and followed her around the barriers, joining the queue, which thankfully seemed to be moving quickly. ‘So did your flatmate get off today ok?’ he asked, glancing down at her as they shuffled forward, trying to keep a polite distance between the two Puffa jackets and their pram in front of them. His hair was just as messy today, proving that it wasn’t just being knocked off his feet that made him look a little dishevelled in a way that was undeniably sexy.

‘Huh? Oh, right.’ Josie cleared her throat, feeling like an idiot. ‘Yeah, she left this morning.’ She smiled slightly at the memory of Bia stumbling back into the flat in her leopard-print heeled boots for the fourth time and declaring that she’d forgotten a vital possible outfit for New Year, then swearing as she tried to make it fit into her already over-large suitcase. Her luggage definitely weighed more than the allowed twenty-three kilos though Bia had brushed Josie off when she’d tried to point that out. They don’t really mean that, Jose, I’m sure they’ll let me on. And Josie was sure they would – Bia would no doubt somehow talk her way out of any fine for the extra weight.

The sounds of the toddler in the pram ahead filled the resulting silence between them, a mixture of crying and shouting, with one of the Puffa jackets bent over the pram, trying desperately to convince said toddler that everything was alright. The owner of the Puffa jacket looked over their shoulder, revealing a woman with short, tufty, white-blonde hair. She glanced around before smiling apologetically at Josie, who smiled back, trying to convey reassurance. Had her parents ever taken her to something like this as a child? She’d often thought they must have, because every time she smelled those sugary nuts you get at the Christmas Market, she had a fleeting impression of laughter, hot liquid and butterflies in her stomach. One of the many memories of her parents she must have lost from her childhood, stolen away from her immature brain before she could fully cement them there, despite Memo’s efforts to the contrary.

When the lady, wearing a Santa hat and looking extremely pissed off about it, at the next available box office signalled impatiently, Josie and Max stepped forward together. The lady stared at them balefully, clearly wishing she’d opted for a less Christmassy temp job.

‘Err . . .’ Josie hesitated, and glanced at Max. She wasn’t sure whether she should ask for one or two tickets. Was she supposed to pay for him?

‘Two tickets?’ the lady prompted, looking at Josie as if she thought she was an invalid.

‘Yes, please,’ Max said, sliding his wallet out from his coat pocket. Josie wrinkled her nose at the old leather and the sheer number of cards, receipts and bits of paper sticking out from inside the wallet. Surely he must lose things like that? He handed over his bank card to pay and the lady handed them their tickets without glancing up from her screen.

‘Here,’ Josie said, fumbling in her handbag, ‘I think I have cash, hang on.’

Max shook his head, slipped his wallet back in his pocket and without even touching her managed to manoeuvre Josie out of the way of the trio of girls who stepped up behind them. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

Josie hesitated, then nodded and smiled her thanks, figuring it would be rude to argue. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, wishing that she’d opted against Bia’s advice and gone hat-free. It was a crisp day for sure, but not cold enough to see their breath, the clear sky above allowing the sun to warm the chilly air. Soon, once the sun set, she was sure she’d be thankful for her hat, gloves and scarf, but right now she felt too warm as they walked down the first makeshift street, with food stalls either side of them. She couldn’t take her hat off now though, because she was sure that her hair would be plastered to her head, something that Bia clearly hadn’t thought about when she’d dressed Josie in her winter chic outfit this morning before she’d left.

Max glanced down at her as he set the pace, his long, leisurely stride covering the ground in a way that made her feel she had to rush to keep up with him. ‘So . . . What now?’

‘Well,’ Josie said, blowing out a breath. ‘I thought we could go ice-skating?’

‘Ice-skating . . .’ Max frowned immediately and Josie resisted the urge to grit her teeth. It had been his bloody idea to come together, he could at least fake the enthusiasm.

‘Yes,’ she said more firmly. ‘Ice-skating.’ She made herself smile brightly again. ‘It’ll be fun!’ And maybe break the ice, she thought to herself, smirking a little at her joke, though she wouldn’t say it out loud. ‘Come on, I think it’s this way.’ She took the lead and marched on, even as she saw his expression twist sceptically.

‘I’m not actually that good at—’

‘Doesn’t matter!’ Her voice came out in that same forcibly jovial tone, like an over-excited shop assistant, but she couldn’t seem to stop it. ‘It’s all part of the experience,’ she insisted. And it would be better, she was sure, than walking around in awkward silence for the afternoon.

They managed to get in on the next ‘round’ of ice-skating, which, she was told by plump, finger-waggling ice-skating man, was very lucky indeed. They pulled on their skates in the locker room, the white plastic skates refusing to give so much as an inch to mould to her feet. There was still five minutes before the changeover, so they hobbled awkwardly to the side of the ice rink, Max pulling a face as he tried to walk, and leaned against the barrier to watch the remaining people from the last group.

Josie watched a young girl with blonde hair in two plaits, around seven or eight, she’d guess, being pulled around the ice rink by her dad, face set in concentration, legs barely moving as she tried to keep her balance. She smiled as the girl stumbled, wide-eyed, and grabbed hold of her father for support, who laughed a little and said something to her before starting up again, slowly.

Almost unconsciously, Josie rubbed at the scar on her left wrist, hidden by her glove. She’d been ice-skating with her own parents once, she remembered. It was an indoor rink, nothing like this one, but her dad had been holding her hand, just like this girl’s. She remembered he’d had to get off the ice for some reason, and had handed her over to her mum. She’d refused to skate with her mum at first, telling her that she just wasn’t as good as Daddy, but had been cajoled into it by laughter and teasing. And then her mum had fallen, just as Josie had been afraid of. And instead of letting go of Josie’s hand, her mum had grabbed hold of it, trying to keep upright but pulling them both over in the process. Everyone had been so worried, Josie remembered now, because she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even cried as she’d smacked her wrist on the ice. They were worried it might be broken at first, but it turned out to be just a sprain. It had left a round, puckered scar on the top of her wrist, though, which she’d used to learn left from right as a child.

‘Josie?’ She jolted a little at the sound of her name and looked up to see Max watching her. ‘You ok?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled, trying to let go of the twinge of sadness. ‘Sorry, in my own world.’

‘They’re letting people on now, so if you want to . . .’ He gestured at the gate to the ice rink.