Always, in December(22)
The hostess took her coat and bags, and was in the process of instructing a waiter to take them to the table, when Helen’s voice boomed out. “Josie!” She was walking briskly toward them from the other side of the restaurant, etiquette be damned. She was wearing an extravagant purple dress that showed off an impressive figure, given she was in her sixties. Her blond hair, dyed religiously every six weeks, was in a new style, shaped around her face in a way that accentuated her cheekbones. Josie glanced at Max, but it was too late to tell him to get out quickly. Helen pounced, drawing Josie into a tight hug. Josie caught a faint whiff of tobacco, as she always did, even though Helen insisted she’d given up smoking years ago. Helen was a good few inches shorter than Josie, but you wouldn’t know it unless they were stood right next to each other—Helen had a way of carrying herself that made her seem like the tallest person in the room. She was Josie’s dad’s older sister, and though Josie often tried, she found very little of her dad in Helen, although she often wondered if she would have seen more of the similarity had she had the chance to know her dad as an adult.
“And who is this?” Helen demanded, wasting no time, and eyeing up Max critically with no hint of shame.
Josie cleared her throat. “Max, Helen, Helen, Max.”
Somehow instantly guessing what type of person she was, instead of shaking her hand, Max brought it to his lips and kissed it swiftly. “Delighted to meet you.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed, reserving judgment. “Are you the ‘friend’ Josie was with? Are you staying for supper?”
Max ran a hand across his stubbled jaw. “I wish I could, but I have other duties to attend to, unfortunately.”
“Hmm.” Helen glanced between the two of them before whispering to Josie, perfectly audibly, “What happened to the other one? Oliver, wasn’t it? I liked him.” Which wasn’t entirely true—Helen had only decided to like Oliver after the fourth time she’d met him, a year and a half into the relationship.
Josie sighed. “I’ll tell you later.”
Helen turned back to Max. “And what is it that you do?”
Max said, “I’m an architect,” at the same moment that Josie realized that she hadn’t even asked him what he did for a living in the last two days. God, he must think she was so self-involved.
Helen was pursing her lips, clearly deciding whether she thought “architect” was a good career choice. “For which company?” she asked, and Josie suppressed a snort. Like she’d have any way of telling the good companies from the bad. Josie smiled apologetically at Max over Helen’s head.
“ALA,” Max said. “Do you know them?”
Helen didn’t seem to read the slight joke in Max’s voice, thankfully, and just sniffed slightly.
“Ladies, if you’re ready to be seated…” The waiter was hovering uncertainly next to them, and Josie became aware that they were very much clogging up a walkway, though everyone was too polite to tell them explicitly to get out of the way.
“Yes, yes,” Helen said, waving a hand and taking Josie by the elbow, abruptly ending the conversation with Max.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Josie said over her shoulder.
Max nodded. “Nine a.m.”
Josie was steered abruptly around a corner, and Helen let go of her elbow when they reached a corner table. “Sit on my right, won’t you, darling? My ear is playing up again.”
Josie seated herself and smiled her thanks to the waiter as he handed her the menu, noticing that Helen already had a bottle of sparkling water and a bottle of Chardonnay on the table.
“Nightmare at the hotel,” Helen was saying. “No record of my reservation, and then Susan has come down with a terrible headache so had to cancel our plans, and well anyway, how are you, darling?” All without pausing for breath.
Josie smiled despite herself, taking a sip of the wine her aunt had poured. “I’m good.”
Helen eyed her appraisingly. “You look peaky.”
“Well, I suppose it’s cold today.”
“Hmm. And who’s that chap then? How did you meet?”
“In a club, five years ago,” Josie said promptly.
Helen looked up from the menu and frowned. “In a club?” Like she was one to judge: She’d met the husband she was now on track to divorce at a cocktail bar when out with one of her friends.
Josie shook her head. “It was a joke.”
Helen’s eyebrows shot up as she returned to the menu, one finger scrolling down the options. “Not a very funny one, darling.” But despite what Helen said, Josie found herself laughing, and for once the sound of an instrumental version of “Silent Night” did not annoy her.
The icy wind whipped Josie’s hair around her face, all efforts to tame it long since abandoned, and there was the taste of salt on her tongue as she sucked in a breath against the cold. Sand had made its way into her boots—completely impractical for walking along the beach, but she refused to go barefoot like Max. Honestly, she’d be surprised if he didn’t get frostbite. He was actually in the water now, allowing the foaming white hands of the waves to creep up around his ankles, trousers hitched up as he paddled like a toddler on a summer’s day. He grinned over to where she stood a safe distance back, camera in her hand.