Always, in December by Emily Stone

Chapter Twenty-Five

Josie sat curled on the sofa while Max made the tea, brought a mug over to her. She cupped her hands around it, craving the heat – it was toasty warm in the cottage, thanks to her grandparents’ generous heating, but she still felt cold to her core. Max sat down next to her as she took a sip of milky tea.

‘How are you doing?’

Josie sipped her tea again. ‘I don’t really know, in all honesty.’ She glanced at him. ‘Bia told you what happened?’ It seemed so like Bia to have told him that she didn’t even question it.

‘She said your grandmother had a heart attack, yeah. I’m guessing she’s still in hospital?’

‘Yeah. My aunt Helen and my grandad are with her. I just got back from the hospital and she seems ok, she was up and talking like normal, but I’m not sure if she was putting it on. The doctors have apparently just said that she needs to be there for observation, and they’re doing some scans or something today, but I don’t know what’s normal – how long is it usually after a heart attack, before you know if someone’s going to be ok?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never known anyone who’s had one before.’

Josie shifted position so she was resting her head on his shoulder, feeling almost guilty that it felt so easy to do so. ‘How are you here, Max?’

‘Well, I got a train, then a taxi, being as how I can’t drive at the moment, and—’

Josie shook her head. ‘You know what I mean,’ she said quietly.

He shrugged slightly, keeping the movement gentle so as not to dislodge her head from his shoulder. ‘I told you – I spoke to Bia and—’

Josie sat up, stared at the side of his face until he met her gaze.

He sighed. ‘I just wanted to be here for you, Josie.’ He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

Josie sat very rigid. ‘And Erin?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not with Erin. We were always just friends, really. I’m sorry for letting you think otherwise – I should have made that clearer.’ Even as something in Josie loosened, ever so slightly, he took a breath. ‘I’m really sorry, for how things have been with us – for all the mistakes I keep seeming to make. And if you want me to leave, I will. But it’s your choice.’ His lip quirked into half a smile. ‘It’ll be on your terms this time.’

She stared at him for a moment, and he didn’t balk from her gaze. ‘Stay,’ she said with a little sigh, giving in and resting her head back on his shoulder. In that moment, she decided she didn’t really care if she was being weak, allowing him back in her life. The fact that she so easily slipped back into wanting him there told her that it was no use anyway – he had a place in her heart whether she liked it or not. And right now, she was too damn tired to process this on her own, so if he wanted to be here then she’d let him. Later, once her grandmother was out of the woods and she had the energy for it, they’d have a proper conversation.

Max rubbed his hand along her arm soothingly. ‘How was your show?’ he asked, and Josie half shrugged.

‘Good,’ she mumbled. She hesitated, then, because she would keep wondering if she didn’t, said, ‘I got flowers.’

The hand stroking her arm stopped briefly before continuing again. ‘I hope you don’t mind?’

She sighed. ‘No. I don’t mind.’

They were quiet for a moment, drinking their tea, then Max looked outside the window. ‘It’s actually a really pretty day.’ Josie grunted a little. It didn’t matter to her that it was blue, frosty and bright outside – why should it? Gently, he took her tea from her, set it down on the table to his right. ‘Come on, I think we should go for a walk.’

She pulled back, frowned at him. ‘What?’

‘You can show me the village where you grew up, I’d like to see it.’

Josie pursed her lips. ‘I don’t really feel like it.’

‘I know, but sitting around here waiting for something to happen or waiting for the test results or whatever is going to do you no good – from what I know of her I don’t think your grandmother would like to think of you doing that.’ There was enough truth in that – in both parts of what he’d said – to make her agree to it. She was sure she could use the distraction, given there was no way she was going to be able to rest right now.

So, after changing into a slightly warmer outfit from her Budapest suitcase, they headed off out into the cold, the sun doing its best to dissolve last night’s frost, and walked towards the village square. The Christmas lights were up, though not quite as majestic in daylight, and there was a huge Christmas tree in the square, decorated all the way to the very top, the colour scheme a little different every year, if it was still the same as when she was a teenager.

‘I used to help decorate this tree,’ Josie said, gesturing. ‘Well, not this tree per se, but the tree they put up every year here.’ Max looked down at her, his shoulders hunched, his skin pale, like it was absorbing the chill around them. ‘Everyone used to get involved,’ she continued. ‘And my grandparents were big on tradition. As were my parents,’ she said with a little sad smile. She had a fleeting memory of her dad on a ladder, being one of the few to brave decorating the top of the tree while the rest of them looked up, the children playing with sparklers, the adults drinking mulled wine.

‘How about you?’ she asked as they walked towards the tree to stare at it.

‘Me?’

‘What were your Christmases like, growing up?’

‘Well, my mum, being American, is very into Christmas.’ His lips twitched as they started walking again, a few more people coming out now as the handful of shops started to open, supporting local businesses by doing what shopping they could here. ‘She went big on the decorations – inside and out – on the house where we grew up in Bristol, though nothing could happen until the first of December. And we did everything – eggnog, Christmas cookies for neighbours, the lot.’

Josie smiled. ‘Sounds nice.’

‘It was. I think Mum tried to enforce Thanksgiving on us too, before I can remember it really – Dad said she gave up in the face of our Englishness, so she had to focus all her efforts on Christmas instead.’

Josie surprised herself by letting out a small laugh. ‘And now? You still all spend it together?’ She remembered last year, how he’d been on his way to see them all.

‘I think that was my mum’s plan, but they’ve only been living in America for a few years, so we’ll see if it holds. When my parents sold the house I grew up in,’ he added, ‘me and my sister, being the adults we are, threw quite a strop – no more Christmases there.’

Josie chuckled, the action, tired as it was, warming her a little. ‘Sounds like a reasonable—’

‘Josie? That can’t be you?’ Josie frowned and looked towards the sound of the voice. A dark-haired woman wearing a red coat, heavily pregnant from the looks of things, was beaming at Josie as she stepped towards her from the local shop.

It took Josie a moment. The woman had shorter hair than she remembered and her face was rounder, smiling rather than scowling, and without the thick layer of makeup she’d worn without fail during their secondary school years. ‘Beth?’ asked Josie.

‘Oh it is you,’ Beth said, resting her gloved hands on the bump underneath the coat. ‘I haven’t seen you in so long! I see most of the others every year at least, but you don’t usually come back for Christmas, do you?’ She’d almost forgotten this, Josie thought, the fact that you couldn’t go anywhere here without bumping into someone you knew.

‘Not usually,’ Josie admitted, trying hard to keep her smile in place. The thing was, even at school she and Beth hadn’t been the best of friends, more like friends by association – they’d hung out in the same group and were from the same village, but really, they’d never done anything one-on-one unless by accident. Still, a wave of nostalgia hit Josie – she hardly ever saw anyone from school these days, the last few years proving more and more difficult to arrange regular meet-ups, what with them all dotted around and busy with their own lives, jobs, partners.

‘You’re back for Christmas then?’ Josie asked, knowing the small talk was mandatory when you bumped into someone like this.

‘Oh, my husband and I actually moved here about a year ago,’ she said, her eyes twinkling a little as she said ‘husband’. ‘He’s set up his own construction company, you know.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Josie automatically, although having no clue who her husband was made the information fall a little flat.

‘And we’re expecting our second child,’ said Beth, running her hands protectively over her stomach.

‘Second,’ repeated Josie, a little dumbfounded. ‘Wow.’ Memo had told her Beth was pregnant, Josie remembered vaguely, but hearing about it and seeing it were two different things.

‘I know.’ Beth beamed again, looking much happier than Josie had ever thought she could. ‘Neil’s at home with Lucy at the moment, I just popped out to the shops for my mum.’ She raised a shopping bag to emphasise the point. ‘Anyway, it’s so good to see you,’ Beth continued, when Josie didn’t immediately think of something to say. ‘And we were all so sorry to hear about your grandmother – I really hope she’ll be ok.’

Of course everyone would know, Josie thought. Though it didn’t make her feel annoyed – in lots of ways it was nice that people knew, and cared. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Me too.’

Beth nodded sympathetically and Josie marvelled at how different she’d turned out to be. She didn’t feel any different herself from the slightly shy, rule-following teenager she’d been – but maybe it was hard to tell, with yourself. ‘And is this your husband?’ Beth asked politely, indicating Max, who Josie realised she’d left standing there, watching the conversation in a slightly bemused manner.

The question reminded Josie so much of Beth at school – her direct way of speaking, which had so often got her into some kind of trouble – that she laughed a little. It was nice to know that some things, at least, did not change. ‘This is Max,’ she said. ‘A friend.’ For want of a better – or more complicated – word, anyway.

Beth glanced down at Josie’s left hand, almost like a reflex, and seemed a little disappointed. ‘Well, that’s ok,’ she said reassuringly, ‘there’s still time to meet someone.’

‘Actually,’ said Max, speaking for the first time, ‘they’re trying to stop you doing that now – they don’t want you to meet anyone new after you turn thirty.’

Josie and Beth both frowned at him. ‘They?’ Beth asked.

‘The government,’ Max said promptly. ‘They did some research on it – turns out it’s bad for our mental health, meeting someone so late in life, so they’re introducing all these measures to encourage everyone to settle down in their twenties.’ His face was deadly serious, even as Josie stared at him incredulously. ‘It’s supposed to increase social cohesion and lead to fewer mental health problems, especially depression, meaning we can divert funding elsewhere. It’s all going back to Durkheim’s original research on suicide, you know.’

Beth’s frown only deepened, while Josie shook her head at him, amazed that he could say it all so convincingly. ‘I didn’t see that anywhere,’ Beth said. ‘Was it on the news?’

Josie elbowed Max hard enough in the ribs to make him wince. ‘He’s being an idiot, Beth, ignore him – it’s his idea of a joke.’

Beth had a half smile on her face as her eyes flicked between Josie and Max, like she was trying to figure out the punchline. ‘Anyway, we’re doing gingerbread-making now at my mum’s house – you should come! Unless you have plans right now?’

‘Oh, I don’t—’

But Max cut Josie off. ‘That sounds amazing. I love gingerbread.’ He settled the matter by taking Beth’s shopping bag from her to carry, then gesturing for her to lead the way.

Josie remembered Beth’s house from her teenage years, when she’d spent a few group sleepovers there, but she wasn’t prepared for the wave of familiarity that hit her when she stepped into the warmth. They stripped off hats and coats and Beth’s parents came out from the kitchen, both of them wearing matching aprons.

‘Josie Morgan, that isn’t you?’ Beth’s mum exclaimed, coming up to her with sparkling, delighted eyes.

‘I bumped into her on the way,’ Beth said. ‘Thought we could use a hand.’

‘Oh, we certainly could. We were so worried when we heard your grandmother was being taken to hospital last night, weren’t we, Simon?’ Beth’s dad, completely bald now, nodded obediently. ‘That’s why you’re here?’ Josie nodded, getting the distinct impression that this was the reason she and Max had been brought along for gingerbread-making at eleven in the morning. ‘Well, try not to worry, distraction is the best thing, I’d say. Beth was right to bring you along.’

‘Thanks, Mrs Cope.’

‘Oh, come now, Josie, you’re not a child anymore – you go ahead and call me Pippa.’ She brought her into a hug, then pulled back, and to Josie’s surprise those sparkling eyes looked a little tearful. ‘You look so much like your mother, do you know that?’ She’d been told that before, of course, mainly by Memo, but it always gave her a little jolt, hearing it. ‘She used to do all this, you know,’ said Pippa as she led them into the kitchen, where there were a few racks of gingerbread men already cooling, the kitchen pleasantly steamy, smelling of cinnamon, ginger and spices, flour on every surface as far as Josie could tell.

‘The gingerbread, you mean?’ Josie asked, glancing back at Max to check he was ok. He was already in conversation with Beth’s dad, nodding along to something.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Pippa. ‘It’s for the Christmas tree, you know – decorations, but we always put them on last minute, because obviously they all get eaten. And for the annual bake sale to raise money for the homeless – you remember that, of course?’

‘Right. Yes, I do.’ Her grandparents had taken her along as a child, though they’d stopped making her come as a teenager, when she insisted she’d be happier at home reading. They’d brought her something back from it every year though, and Josie felt a slight tightening in her stomach at the thought, at how she’d so adamantly refused to get involved in any of the traditions after her parents had gone. And there was another flash of memory now, one she’d forgotten or buried, of her mum in their orange-tiled kitchen, with trays and trays of gingerbread surrounding her. Her hair tied back in a bun, wearing a red polkadot apron covered in flour, telling Josie she was only allowed to sneak away the misshapen biscuits to eat. It was nice, she realised, to get that back, to know that she still had those memories tucked away somewhere, just waiting for the right trigger.

A few more helpers arrived over the course of the morning, and together they mixed the batter, rolled it out, cut into shapes, set the timer, and put the biscuits on racks to cool, like a little, very relaxed, assembly line. She was laughing along as Max got dough stuck all over his hand, as Beth’s dad – Simon – nearly burned his fingers because he wouldn’t listen to Pippa, as Pippa told her stories of people sneaking out at midnight to get the gingerbread off the tree because it was just so damn good. Pippa put Christmas songs on in the background, and though Josie exchanged a grin with Max at that, for once she didn’t hate the sound of the music, rather found herself humming along with the tunes.

At lunchtime, Pippa offered around mulled wine – saying that it being a Monday was cancelled out by the fact it was Christmas time – though Josie declined and was given a peppermint tea instead. Max opted for the tea too, potentially just in solidarity. He was sitting down now, having insisted that being stood up around all these beautiful women was making him lightheaded, and making them all coo in response.

Pippa seemed to have an endless amount to talk about saved up inside her, but it never seemed forced, rather felt easy, almost soothing to listen to. ‘A psychological thriller this time,’ she was saying now, about Memo’s book club. ‘It’s very exciting, I’d be surprised if Cecelia doesn’t manage to finish this one at least.’ Then, when someone brought up the last badminton game of the year, happening tonight at the local village gym, Pippa piped up with, ‘Oh yes, Simon will be going to that, won’t you, Simon?’ Simon nodded. Josie glanced at Pippa from where she was hovering by the oven, with her oven gloves on, ready and waiting, and Pippa smiled. ‘Your dad used to go to badminton all the time, you know. Malcolm was always on the winning team, wasn’t he, Simon?’ Another nod.

And so, instead of it making her sad and bringing up memories of the crash, instead of being haunted by the thought of her parents’ lives here, Josie felt comforted by it all, being surrounded by people who knew them, who had memories of them, who knew that they’d been real people, just like they knew her grandparents.

It was thinking about her parents that made her realise she hadn’t written her letter yet this year. She’d been planning to do it in Budapest, but obviously that wasn’t going to happen now. Being here, around people who knew her parents, made her think that now was the perfect time to do it, so she slipped off the oven gloves, set them on the side. ‘Pippa?’ Pippa looked over to her from where she was showing Max precisely how she wanted the biscuits iced. ‘I don’t suppose I could borrow a piece of paper and a pen, could I?’

‘Of course, love. Down the hall and to the left – Simon’s study is in there.’

Josie brushed a hand over Max’s shoulder as she left. ‘I’ll be back in a sec.’ He smiled up at her and nodded, then went back to concentrating on the decorating, his tongue poked out in concentration. It made something flutter in her heart, seeing him there, willing to get involved in things like this, just to stay with her and make sure she was ok.

She found the study and helped herself to paper and pen, then sat down to write the letter.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I’m missing you, as always – maybe more so this year, because I’m back home. But it’s nice, being here, and knowing I’m not the only one thinking of you. I should have come back here at Christmas before now, I know, but I hope you know it wasn’t because I didn’t want to think of you both on the day you died – it was because I was too scared to.

Memo is in hospital – maybe you already know that. I hope so much that she’ll be ok, but whatever happens, I promise I’m going to try harder to come back here. I don’t want to lose this place, or lose any part of you both.

Merry Christmas and lots of love,

Josie

Josie pressed her lips together, but it felt somehow cathartic, writing a slightly different letter, and she knew she wasn’t about to cry. She found an envelope, sealed it, and tucked it inside her coat on the way back to the kitchen.

An hour or so later, most of the gingerbread was finished and Josie and Max took their leave. Pippa gave them a gingerbread man each, wrapped up so they could eat them later. Josie hugged Pippa and Beth, and when she promised Pippa that she’d come back to visit soon, she meant it.

Josie hadn’t realised it had started to snow while they were inside, and she gasped slightly at the sight of a very thin layer covering the pavement. As they walked, tiny snowflakes nestled into Max’s hair, like flecks of blue ice in the fire. There had been no word from Helen all morning – Josie had texted a few times, but knew that she’d hear if anything drastic happened, one way or another. Still, now she was outside, away from the distraction of people and baking, the fear was starting to creep back in.

She took Max’s cool hand in hers and he squeezed it. Without telling him, she led him towards the same post box she used to run to as a child, the same one to which she’d delivered her letters to Santa. Because he already knew about it, she didn’t have to explain when she slipped the letter inside, and this time neither of them said anything at all – it was enough for Josie just to have him with her. She couldn’t help wondering, briefly, if this was the start of a new Christmas tradition – delivering her letter with Max, every year – and knew that the hope that squeezed her heart at the thought was potentially a dangerous thing. Now was not the time to think too much on that, though, so she said nothing as they turned and walked hand-in-hand back to the cottage.