Always, in December by Emily Stone

Chapter Four

‘Josie I can’t see you, where did you go?’ Josie glared at the back of the stranger who had just bumped into her then lifted her phone up again so she could see Memo’s face – and half of her grandad’s.

‘Sorry,’ Josie said. ‘The joys of walking through Central London on a Saturday.’ The Saturday before Christmas, no less, when everyone seemed to be in a general rush and panic, or too caught up in the bloody festive spirit to notice when someone was walking towards you. Mind you, Josie thought, trying to be reasonable, she was hardly one to talk – holding her mobile in front of her was hardly conducive to paying attention to where you were going, but Memo had insisted on sticking with the FaceTime call as planned.

‘I do wish you’d stand still, my love, your head moving like that is making my eyes go funny.’

Josie laughed as she crossed the road from Green Park station. ‘Come on, Memo, you’re not that old. And I can’t anyway – I’ll be late to meet my friend.’ Something in Josie’s stomach twisted at the thought of who she was going to meet, but she tried to keep any trace of that from her face.

‘Bia?’ her grandad asked, popping his head into full view of the screen and making Memo tssk at him as he invaded her space.

‘No, not Bia,’ Josie said, shaking her head slightly. Her grandad had met Bia once at Josie’s birthday party a few years ago, and had been slightly enamoured with her ever since.

‘Who then?’ Memo demanded, pushing Grandad back to his side of the red sofa – the one that they’d had ever since Josie was little, the one that had a permanent indent from where her grandad sat in the same spot every evening without fail to watch the local news.

‘I do have other friends, you know,’ Josie said, by way of a non-answer.

‘Of course you do,’ Memo said. Her eyes – brown, like Josie’s, like her dad’s – sparked in that defensive way of hers, the spark that used to come out whenever Josie had said someone was mean to her at school. The spark that Josie saw a bit too much recently – a sure sign that Memo wasn’t convinced that Josie was ‘totally loving London life’, as she so often claimed.

‘Where is Bia?’ her grandad mumbled, the half side of his face that Josie could see looking slightly forlorn.

‘She’s . . .’ Josie hesitated. ‘On her way to Argentina, actually.’

‘Argentina!’ Memo smiled, and reached up to pat her hair – grey, because there’s no point pretending I’m anything but ancient, my darling, but neatly styled into a bob that she had cut and blow-dried in the local village salon every week. ‘Do you remember when we went to Argentina, John?’ She prodded Josie’s grandad in the ribs and elicited a grunt, then turned back to Josie, while Josie waited at a traffic light to cross the road. Nearly there now. Her stomach jumped again and she told it, silently, to calm itself down. ‘It was such fun, we did it on our tour around South America. Did I tell you about that, Josie?’

‘You did,’ Josie confirmed. Back when Josie had first left school, Memo had relayed every single travelling story she could think of, in order to try and convince Josie to take some time out to study, but Josie had never really been the travelling type.

‘Wait,’ Memo said, frowning. ‘If Bia’s not there, then who will you be spending Christmas with?’

‘I . . .’ Josie made a show of looking away from the phone and around her, as if she was checking for traffic as she crossed the road.

‘Are you . . . You’re not still planning on spending it with Oliver, are you?’

Josie wrinkled her nose. ‘No. Absolutely not.’

Her grandad muttered something that sounded like, ‘Ought to give him a piece of my mind.’

‘But then, oh Josie, please don’t tell me you’ll be spending Christmas alone in that little flat of yours?’

‘Memo, I’ve told you so many times, I like spending Christmas alone.’ That was only sort of a lie, Josie reasoned, because she’d still rather spend it alone, pretending that it was a normal day, than go back to the village where her parents were killed. ‘And I like my flat,’ she said, a little defensively.

Memo waved a slim hand in the air. ‘Yes, yes, it’s a lovely flat, but why don’t you come here, my love? Helen’s coming and we’d all love to have you here.’

‘I can’t,’ Josie said firmly. ‘And I have a work party on Christmas Eve anyway,’ she added, talking over whatever protest Memo was about to mount. ‘So it just wouldn’t be practical.’ She swiped down to check the time on her phone and bit her lip. She’d be early at this rate, and she couldn’t be having that. She slowed her pace considerably, which was probably for the best anyway – the cold air was stinging her cheeks right now, but she was starting to get warm inside her coat from hurrying, and she didn’t want to arrive all hot and flustered.

‘So how come Helen is spending Christmas at yours? What happened to spending Christmas with Mike’s family?’

Memo rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, she broke up with Mike, didn’t she tell you?’

‘What? Are you serious?’ Mike was her aunt Helen’s third husband, and Josie had really thought it might last this time. She sighed. ‘So, you were right then. What did you give it, six months?’

‘I’m always right about Helen, my love – a mother knows her daughter.’ It hung in the space between them for a moment – the fact that Josie’s mother wasn’t here, the fact that Josie’s mother would never get to know her the way her grandmother did. Then Memo smiled and the tinge of sadness between them was gone, taken away in that way that only Memo could do. ‘Did I tell you I bumped into Pippa Cope the other day? Do you remember her – Beth Cope’s mum? You went to school together.’

‘I remember,’ Josie said vaguely.

‘Well, Pippa told me that Beth is pregnant again! Isn’t that nice?’

‘Sure,’ Josie agreed, though in reality, being as how she hadn’t spoken to Beth since she was about fifteen, and hadn’t even known that she’d had a child already, the news was somewhat hard to get excited about.

‘It’s such a nice place to raise children here, don’t you think?’

Josie huffed out a laugh as the sound of tinny Christmas music wafted over to her above the sound of engines and car horns. It was getting busier now, hordes of people clogging up the street. She stopped, leaned against the railings of the park. No point in trying to keep up FaceTime against this tide. ‘Yes, I’m sure it is a lovely place to raise children, Memo, but I don’t have any children, so let’s not go there just now, ok?’

‘I’m just saying,’ Memo said, with a little eyebrow raise to underline the point. ‘And even if not, you might be a bit happier here around your family, don’t you think?’

‘I amhappy,’ Josie said automatically. Memo pursed her lips and looked like she might argue the point further, but Grandad helpfully chose that moment to get up off the couch, groaning slightly as he did so.

Josie frowned. ‘Is your back playing up again, Grandad?’

‘It is,’ Memo answered. ‘I’ve told him to stop using that bloody ancient lawnmower as it weighs a ton, but you know what he’s like.’

Josie glanced up the road, towards Winter Wonderland. ‘Memo, I’m really sorry but I have to go, otherwise I’m going to be late.’

‘But we haven’t done the quotes yet! It’s my turn this week.’

‘Right, ok.’ Josie gestured for her grandmother to go ahead.

Memo paused and held her hands up for dramatic effect. ‘I’ll have what she’s having.’

Josie rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘Come on, we watched that together!’ Memo just waited expectantly. ‘When Harry Met Sally.’

Memo nodded. ‘That was your mum’s favourite film, you know.’

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.

‘Right. Yes. Yes, come on then.’ She started her awkward, clunky walk to the gate, thankful that she was not the only one looking like she was walking on precarious stilts.

‘You sure you’re ok?’ He tripped over his skates as he shuffled along behind her, having to grab hold of the side to stay upright. God, and they hadn’t even hit the ice yet.

‘I’m sure,’ she said lightly. Because explaining that she’d been hit by a memory of her dead parents seemed just a tad too much for a first date. Not that this was a date, she told herself firmly. Attractive he may be, but he also seemed like he never laughed, and she couldn’t be doing with that. Besides, she’d literally only just broken up with Oliver.

Josie stepped onto the ice first, and immediately clung to the barrier at the side as she shuffled forward to make room for Max. She turned her head to see him following her tentatively, staring at his feet as he slid forward. His expression of unrelenting concentration made her laugh and he looked up at her and smiled sheepishly in response. ‘I did try to tell you I was no good at this.’

She just shook her head, still smiling, and risked a few more awkward shuffles forward. Most of the other people were on the ice now, and the ones left clinging onto the edges were almost uniformly under the age of twelve.

She glanced back at Max. ‘Ok, come on, we can do this.’ She made herself push away very slightly and attempt to copy the woman in front of her. Right leg, left leg, right leg, left leg. Max had followed her – she could see him in her peripheral vision, though she didn’t dare turn her head in case it diluted her focus.

She was halfway around the rink when she lost him. She risked a glance back, having to flail her arms when she nearly fell. Max actually had fallen, apparently – she could see him getting to his feet the other side of the rink, and grimaced to herself. Great. She should have listened when he said he didn’t want to do it. But by the time she completed her first loop he was up on his feet, clinging to the barrier. She met his gaze, and he raised his eyebrows as she headed for him, waving her arms as she realised she had no idea how to stop. She hit the barrier with a gentle thump and laughed a little, despite herself. He smiled too and it lit up his face, his eyes crinkling in a way that softened them. The wave of warm relief that ran through her was almost intoxicating. ‘You’re a pro,’ he said with another grin.

She flicked back her hair dramatically. ‘Well, I was due to compete in 2012, but my marketing career got in the way.’

He shook his head in mock sadness. ‘An unsung champion.’

‘Tell me about it.’ She cocked her head. ‘Are you ok? I saw you fall.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘So much for getting away with that unseen. I’m fine – balance just not really one of my strong suits.’

They leaned back against the barrier, earning a glare from a girl who couldn’t have been older than four, being as how they were blocking the route round. Max took Josie’s hand and pulled her gently back onto the ice, letting go as soon as they were out of the way. A couple in their twenties skated past them, towards the centre of the rink, their strides in perfect unison, her bright blue coat perfectly offsetting his grey.

‘They look like something out of a bloody Coca-Cola advert,’ Max muttered, watching them too, and Josie laughed, causing Max to smile, a little reluctantly she thought, again. ‘Come on, then,’ he said, holding out his hand.

She batted it away playfully. ‘I’m not holding onto you, you’ll just pull me over.’ Exactly like her mum had, she thought to herself, though the memory made her smile now.

They attempted another circle before Max declared that they had to have a break from all the hard work. They were both still smiling when they stepped out of the locker room, a full forty-five minutes ahead of the end of their allotted hour, and Josie felt something shift, like they’d managed to fumble their way through the initial awkwardness a bit. The fact that he was proving he was actually able to have fun helped a little, she admitted.

‘So, mulled wine next?’ Max asked. ‘That’s Christmassy, right?’

‘Right,’ Josie agreed with a nod. They glanced around at the various stalls, both of them seemingly lost as to where to start.

‘One of everything’ Max declared, and set off in the direction of the nearest wooden hut, the smells of cinnamon and orange peel getting stronger as they neared it. He handed her a branded Winter Wonderland cup, and they sipped the mulled wine as they walked down, now clearly in the market section. Even Josie, who had practically made it her mission not to enjoy this kind of thing in the past, couldn’t resist eyeing up the trinkets – beautiful earrings and handcrafted woodwork.

When Max headed off to the next available drinks stall to get them a top up, Josie checked her phone and saw a message from Bia.

Are you having fun? Did he like my outfit???

All good. He loved the outfit, hasn’t stopped complimenting it.

I knew it!!! Send a pic. Want to see him.

Josie snorted, and as Max walked over to her she managed to surreptitiously take a photo of him, which she sent to Bia. She got a set of three heart-eyed emojis back.

‘They have mulled gin, Josie,’ Max said, wearing a look of clearly exaggerated amazement. ‘Something about cherry and cinnamon, and I sort of lost track after that, but I figured we had to try it.’

Josie smiled a little as she remembered Bia’s mulled water comment but she took her cup and sniffed before taking a tentative sip. It wasn’t bad, though it was a good deal stronger than the mulled wine. They passed a flower stall next, and Max doubled back, then reappeared with a single rose. He snapped off the end of it, then tucked it behind her ear, fastening the stem in place with her hat.

‘As a thank you, for bringing me,’ he said. He shrugged like it was no big deal, but Josie couldn’t help reaching up to run her fingers over the rose’s petals, then tracing the place where he’d touched her ear.

‘So, umm, what do you want to do next?’ she asked, partly to cover up the flush that she was sure was creeping into her face. ‘We could—’

‘Josie!’ A squeal to her right cut her off and she spun to see none other than Claire bloody Burton rushing towards them, arms outstretched, her dyed red hair bouncing around her shoulders. ‘I thought it was you!’ She practically leapt on Josie, pinning her arms as she hugged her. ‘Oh it’s been too long, I can’t believe we bumped into you like this.’

‘We?’ Josie asked weakly.

‘Oh, Oliver’s just over there, getting us a drink,’ Claire said, gesturing behind her without looking. Well great, Josie thought. That was just fantastic, wasn’t it? Of course she’d have the bad luck to bump into her ex at Winter bloody Wonderland. Claire glanced at Max, but then steamrolled on without waiting for an introduction. ‘Yes, I dragged him along, you know, to cheer him up after . . .’ She broke off on a cough, her pale cheeks turning a little pink. It didn’t deter her though – from Josie’s experience, very little could deter Oliver’s big sister. ‘He was just devastated when you ended things, Jose.’ Claire glanced over her shoulder, then dropped her voice. ‘He’s been moping around for days without you, can’t seem to break him out of it whatever I do. I just wish you two could make it up, you were so good for him, kept him on the right track, you know?’

‘He slept with someone else, Claire,’ Josie said shortly. Josie saw, out of the corner of her eye, Max raise his eyebrows at that, but he said nothing.

Claire grimaced, and reached up her hand to toy with the frayed ends of her hair. ‘Of course,’ she said quickly. ‘Of course, it’s not that I think you should forgive him right away, or ever,’ she added quickly at the look on Josie’s face. ‘I just, well . . .’ She trailed off and Josie’s stomach squirmed. She shouldn’t have been so short with her – it wasn’t Claire’s fault that her brother had decided to throw away their relationship for a pair of knockout heels and a tight red dress.

Claire turned around and waved, and Josie saw Oliver walking towards them, hair fixed in place as always, chest pushed out in the way it always was when he walked. She tried desperately to think of something to say, something to excuse her and Max before his imminent arrival, but came up blank. She glanced up at Max, but he said nothing, only glancing between Oliver and her. No bloody help at all. Claire turned back to face them, and this time looked at Max. She smiled. ‘I’m Claire, by the way,’ she said.

‘Right,’ Josie said quickly, the back of her neck far too hot. ‘Right, sorry, Claire this is—’

‘Josie?’ Too late. Oliver was here, standing frozen with his arms at ninety-degree angles, a cup of steaming liquid held stiffly in each hand. ‘What are you doing here?’ He said it like an accusation, like she’d planned this somehow, deliberately to spoil his fun.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, which dislodged the rose, so that she had to fumble to put it back in place. Oliver’s gaze followed the movement and he frowned when he saw the rose, glancing ever so briefly at Max by her side, who just stood there, hands in pockets, a benign expression on his face. ‘Oh, you know,’ Josie said vaguely, trying to figure out what she should look at and settling for his Adam’s apple. ‘Just fancied a day out.’

‘But you hate this kind of thing,’ Oliver said, still frowning, eyebrows pulling down towards his sharp nose.

Max raised his eyebrows. ‘You do?’ Both Claire and Oliver snapped their focus to him immediately, the fact that he’d spoken for the first time making him impossible to ignore now.

Josie cleared her throat. ‘I, well . . .’

Oliver was staring at Max, his gaze flickering to the top of his head, and Josie just knew he was measuring up the height difference between them. Max smiled, an easy, charming smile, one that he saved for strangers other than her, apparently, and held out a hand to Oliver. ‘Max,’ he stated.

Oliver stared at the outstretched hand for a moment before fumbling with the cups he was holding, taking a good few seconds to offload one to Claire. ‘Right,’ he said, grasping Max’s hand, his eyebrows still pulling together as he looked from Max to Josie and back again. ‘Right, I’m—’

‘Oliver,’ Max said cheerfully. ‘I gathered.’ Josie jolted as Max swung an arm around her, the weight of it settling on her shoulders. ‘It’s so good to meet you at last.’ Josie glanced up at Max, trying very hard not to look stiff and awkward, but he gave nothing away, still smiling amenably at Oliver. ‘I’ve heard all about you of course.’

Oliver’s frown intensified, making his face look even more angular than usual. Claire was still smiling, but she looked uncertain and her gaze was now darting around the three stalls immediately behind them, selling Christmas decorations, jewellery and paintings, maybe wondering if she could make an escape from the meeting she’d initiated. ‘You have?’ Oliver asked, looking at Josie this time, who tried to arrange her expression into something between a smile and an apology, and ending up doing a weird jerk thing with her head in the process.

‘Oh yeah,’ Max continued. ‘Couldn’t believe it when Jose told me about you guys breaking up.’

Jose? She risked a glance up at Max again, but he didn’t meet her gaze.

‘I’m sorry,’ Oliver said, biting out the words, ‘but who exactly are you?’

‘Max,’ he said slowly, and Josie had to suppress the completely inappropriate urge to giggle at the way Max managed to make it sound that condescending.

‘Right,’ Oliver huffed, ‘but—’

Max drew away from Josie slightly so he could look down at her, scandalised. Josie shook her head ever so slightly as she did her best to return the look. ‘You didn’t tell him about me?’

Josie cleared her throat. ‘I, err—’

‘Me and Josie go way back,’ Max continued, giving Josie’s shoulder a little squeeze as if to emphasise the point. ‘Met at a club, oh I don’t know, what was it, Jose, about . . .?’ He looked down at her, his lips twitching as he waited for her to finish the sentence.

‘Err, five years ago?’ Josie offered, taking a sip of her cinnamon gin, which was already cooling down dramatically.

‘In a club?’ Oliver asked, looking at his sister, who merely shrugged, and focused her attention on whatever was inside her cup.

‘Yeah,’ Max said breezily, ‘can’t remember the name of it now, but we hit it off and have been friends ever since. She never mentioned me?’ He rolled his eyes at Josie as if to say come on now and she fought to keep her face straight.

‘No,’ Oliver said shortly. ‘And we’ve been together two—’

‘Years,’ finished Max, nodding, filling in the blank with the obvious guess. ‘Yeah, I know. I’ve been in New York most of that time, you see, moved there a few years ago, but Josie and I stayed in touch. I was hoping to meet you on this visit, but, well.’ He pressed his lips together and Oliver flushed. Claire took an extra-large gulp of her drink, which brought on a minor coughing attack, though she waved Oliver away when he tried to thump her on the back. ‘Anyway,’ Max continued, ‘I’m back in London for a bit, so I thought I’d drag Josie to this.’ He winked at Claire, using her own phrase from a moment ago, and she smiled feebly back, before wiping her chin with her hand. ‘You know, get us in the mood for Christmas.’ He raised his gin in a salute.

Oliver stared at Max mutely for a moment before looking directly at Josie, who was doing her best to look at ease, pressed against Max’s side, the heat of his body travelling between both their coats to get to her. ‘Josie, what—?’

But Max had slipped his phone out of his pocket and was making a show of looking at the time. ‘Oh, Jose, look,’ he said emphatically, shoving the phone under her nose and tapping the top corner where the clock was.

‘Oh damn,’ Josie said, trying to sound confident. ‘We’d, err, better go otherwise we’ll miss the . . .’

‘Ice Bar.’ Max saved her from having to make something up. Max let go of Josie to pat Oliver on the shoulder, who was clearly trying, not very successfully, not to glare at him. ‘Great to meet you both, at last,’ Max added, with a final, winning smile for Claire, who couldn’t seem to help beaming back, though she straightened her face when Oliver glanced at her.

‘Bye!’ Josie called behind her, as Max steered her away, linking his arm through hers and dragging her determinedly the other way, which may or may not have been the way to the Ice Bar – she had no idea.

‘Did you really live in New York?’ Josie whispered the question, though that was probably unnecessary given how loud this place was.

‘Nah. Like I said, my parents do now so I’ve been to visit a few times, but thought it would be difficult to explain why he’s never met me unless I was abroad somewhere.’

Josie was quiet for a moment, then, unable to contain it any longer, she burst out laughing. Max stopped, looking down at her, and she slipped her arm from his to clutch her side, not sure why exactly she found the whole thing so funny. Max’s lips twitched slightly. ‘Thought you might need an out,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Josie agreed, still laughing. ‘Yes, thank you, that was . . .’ – she straightened up and beamed at him, Oliver’s incredulous expression imprinted on her mind – ‘brilliant.’ She sighed, and downed the rest of her gin. ‘He cheated on me,’ she explained with a wave, glancing over her shoulder to check they weren’t following.

‘I gathered.’

‘At the work Christmas party.’

‘Ouch.’

‘With a mutual colleague. Cara.’

He shook his head. ‘What a bitch.’

She let out another little laugh. ‘Well, it was more his fault than hers, but still.’ She sighed. ‘So thanks, again.’

‘You’re welcome.’ He glanced behind them. ‘I know what it’s like – the whole ex thing.’ She looked up at him. It was the first real bit of information he’d offered voluntarily. ‘My girlfriend . . . She broke up with me earlier this year.’

Josie nodded slowly. ‘When?’

‘May.’

She nodded again. Maybe he was still getting over her, if he’d really loved her. Maybe that partly explained why he’d been so short with her at first. Well, that and the whole knocking him over thing. She wanted to ask more, but Max squared his shoulders.

‘So, Ice Bar?’

Josie shrugged. ‘We can try. I doubt we’ll get in, I’m pretty sure Bia said you have to book.’

‘Nah, I’ll sweet talk them.’ Max linked an arm through hers again, and when she looked up questioningly said, ‘They might still be watching.’

Somehow Max did manage to talk them into the Ice Bar, though she had no idea what he said, because he made her wait behind him. So after a few more drinks, which they drank huddled in Inuit-style overcoats, the two of them meandered back towards the exit, in much easier company than when they’d first set foot inside. It was dark now, and Josie had to admit the whole thing was rather festive, the lights of the stalls glowing, the smell of chestnuts, spices and candyfloss washing over them, people laughing as they passed makeshift bars.

It might just be because she was feeling pleasantly buzzed, but she really could, in that moment, see why people got all excited about it. She smiled up at Max, who grinned down at her and took her hand, swinging it as they walked. He’d been like that since they’d bumped into Oliver, like he’d decided they had something in common, both having to get over someone in their past. She smiled to herself a little at the thought that Oliver had inadvertently made her not-quite-date so much more fun.

‘So,’ Max said, ‘are you heading out of London soon for Christmas?’

She tried and failed to keep a smile on her face. ‘Nope. Staying at my flat this year.’ No matter what she might have told Memo, her stomach dropped a little as she imagined the day, at home next to Bia’s Christmas tree, eating Deliveroo for one, which was even worse than those people working at Deliveroo, because at least they got paid. She tried to think of something else, and deliberately made her voice bright as she said, ‘I’ve still got to go Christmas shopping before that though. Such a nightmare.’

He glanced down at her. ‘Not a fan?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, I usually have it all done in September, and order everything online but this year I . . . didn’t.’ No need to say the reason – that Oliver had kept telling her they’d do all theirs together, had insisted that she had to be more creative, that she couldn’t just order everything online because it was impersonal. And now she was stuck having to cram it all into one day before her aunt Helen came to visit her and collect the presents for herself and her grandparents, as she did every year. She sighed as they walked back under the archway, leaving the lights twinkling behind them.

Max let go of her hand, and even through her gloves her fingers registered the loss of warmth. He turned to face her, studying her. ‘Well, in a twist of fate, turns out that I’m an excellent Christmas shopper.’

She cocked her head. ‘Are you now?’

‘Mmm-hmm,’ he nodded sagely. ‘So how about I take you tomorrow? We’ll make a day of it, and I’ll help you.’

She frowned up at him. ‘What, really?’

‘Sure, why not?’

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘It’s just . . . isn’t there something else you’d rather be doing? Not that I don’t want you there,’ she said quickly, concerned then that it sounded as if she was trying to ditch him. ‘Only . . . Well, I’m not exactly known for my enthusiasm when it comes to any kind of shopping, let alone Christmas shopping.’

He looked like he might smile, but seemed to deliberately pull his expression into something serious. ‘Ok, consider me duly warned. But given the fact that the majority of my mates are either up in Scotland or in Bristol, and my family is in New York, it’s either invite myself along with you or hole up with a crate of beer in my hotel room, and no one likes a day drinker.’

Josie laughed. ‘Well, when you put it like that.’