Always, in December(28)
“Hi, Memo,” she answered, deciding to quit while she was ahead and switch the straightener off.
“You’re not on FaceTime!” Memo said, her voice ever so slightly accusing. “Didn’t we say five p.m. today, before you left for your party?”
Josie hit her head with one hand. “God, sorry. We did, I just completely spaced.” That, or she’d been distracted by the thought of whether or not Max would show up this evening. “Hang on, I’ll switch now.” She faffed around with her laptop and, when Memo answered the FaceTime call, Josie saw both her grandad and Helen squeezed in on each side of Memo on the red sofa, peering into the screen. Helen and Memo looked all glammed up with what Josie thought must be identical red lipstick, both with sparkling studs in their ears. Her grandad’s one nod to the occasion was a smart tweed jacket—the one jacket he wore for everything from dinner at a friend’s to weddings and garden parties.
“Happy Christmas Eve!” they chanted together, like they’d practiced it, and Josie laughed.
“Don’t you look beautiful?” Memo said, smiling broadly at Josie. “All ready for your party?”
“Just about,” Josie said, trying hard to sound breezy.
“Why do you look worried?” Memo asked, her gaze fluttering across Josie’s face. So much for the breezy, then.
“I’m not worried,” Josie said evenly.
“You look worried. Doesn’t she look worried, John?”
Her grandad peered into the screen, making Josie feel hot around the collar of her dress. “I’m fine, Memo,” Josie insisted.
Memo shook her head. “You’re too pale.”
“Well, I’ll put on some more bronzer, then.”
She huffed out a breath. “You’re always looking pale these days. I don’t think you get enough sleep.”
“Leave the girl in peace, Cecelia,” her grandad said gruffly. “She’s got a lot on her plate, that’s all.”
Memo scrutinized Josie for a second more, then smiled, conceding the point, thankfully. “Well, we’re all very jealous here about your party, aren’t we?” She looked from Josie’s grandad to Helen and back again. Her grandad agreed with a grunt—though Josie knew he’d like nothing less than to be in London going to a party—and Helen nodded vigorously, taking a sip of something that looked like sherry.
“Very jealous,” Helen repeated, leaning across Memo to give Josie an appraising look. “You’ve straightened your hair, have you? You should put some hair spray in it, darling, it looks a little flat.”
“Oh shh,” Memo pushed Helen away with her spindly fingers. “Ignore her, Josie love, you look stunning.” Just too pale, Josie nearly said, but stopped herself. “Oliver will be so sorry he ever even looked at another girl when he sees you.”
Josie knew this was supposed to make her feel better, but all it did was tighten the knot of anxiety in her stomach. She tapped her nails against the dresser next to her laptop. She should have painted them, she realized now.
Helen pushed her way back onto the screen. “Oh, there’s no point crying over that now, Josie. Move on to bigger and better, that’s what I say. Though he is a very nice young man, and maybe if you—”
“Helen!” Memo leaned forward and snatched the laptop onto her lap, if the change in angle was anything to go on. “Josie, go and get your present, let’s do that now. We’ll have to be quick, we’re off to the Copes’ for drinks this evening before the carol service in the square.”
“That’s nice,” Josie said, turning to grab her present from Memo and Grandad off her bedroom floor. She remembered that carol service—remembered playing with Beth Cope while everyone sang and drank mulled wine. She’d gone with her parents, the night they died, before they’d headed off to their party.
Frowning away the tears that burned the back of her eyes, Josie turned back to the laptop. “It will be nice, I think,” Memo was saying, patting down her grey bob. “I made some brownies to put in bags and hang on the big Christmas tree—you remember the one?” Josie nodded. “Well, anyway, I really think this batch turned out quite well—less salty than the last batch. Your grandad ate two, didn’t you, John?”
“What?” His bushy eyebrows pulled together as Memo turned the screen toward him. “Oh, yes. They were very, umm, pleasant.”
Josie laughed. “Very convincing.”
Memo sighed. “He’s hoping the baking will replace smoking.”
“Well, he’s right about that—you should stop smoking, it’s bad for you.”
Memo’s hand fluttered across the screen. “Josie, whatever damage is done is already done by my age, there’s no point in changing it now.”
Josie frowned, but heard Helen, out of sight, say, “Hear, hear,” and knew she was fighting a losing battle with the two of them.
“Anyway,” Memo said. “Presents!” They opened their presents in front of the screen in a way that had long since stopped feeling weird, and Josie beamed at the beautiful jewelry box Memo and Grandad had gotten her. Her grandad laughed a little at the sign she’d gotten him, which was a surefire acknowledgment of a job well done, Helen started listing all the new skincare products she had her eye on at Space NK, and Memo genuinely seemed thrilled by the tea set. She’d have to remember to tell Max, Josie thought. If he showed up. God, there went her stomach again. She checked the time, trying to control the urge to do something, anything, with her hands.