Always, in December(41)
She heard the gentle thud of the envelope hitting the inside of the post box when she let it go, the sound of something that would never be delivered. She blinked back the tears when Max put an arm around her, stroked her back gently. “It never goes away, does it, that kind of grief?” he said softly. She wanted to ask him again who he’d lost, but it didn’t seem like the time. So she just blinked and nodded, leaning into him and wishing she could find the words to tell him what it meant to her, having him there in that moment.
They held hands on the walk back, and Max chatted to her, keeping up a running commentary as he speculated on how Bunches was spending Christmas Day after work, how the couple in the Christmas jumpers met. He gave her the time to get herself together, distracted her enough that, by the time they felt the first drop of rain, she was laughing.
They looked up at the sky together. “Uh-oh,” Max said. They were still a good twenty minutes from the house.
They had no more warning before it started up in force, and Josie squealed as Max pulled her into a run. For some reason they were both laughing so much that, by the time they reached the end of the road to turn left, Josie had to stop, doubling over as she tried to get her breath back, as much from the laughter as the run.
When she straightened up, Max had his hands out, palms up, and his face lifted to the sky in an almost serene expression. Josie let out another little laugh, and he turned to grin at her. “No point in fighting it now, we’re already drenched.” It was true—Josie’s coat was sodden and she could feel the icy water running off her hair and down the back of her neck. So she shrugged and copied him, turning a small circle and closing her eyes as she allowed the rain to drench her face.
She felt Max grip her hand again, pull her round to him. But instead of starting to run, he twirled her under his arm, making her laugh again. He put one big hand on her hip when he spun her back to him. She shook her head. “What are you doing?”
He spun her in a circle again. “What does it look like?”
And then they were dancing down the street, letting the rain fall around them, grinning at a woman under an umbrella when she looked at them incredulously. Josie had a feeling that people would be watching them out of windows but she didn’t care, she just kept laughing and spinning, deciding that dancing in the rain on a random street in London should be on everyone’s bucket list.
They were both breathless when they stopped. He smiled, smoothed back her sopping hair, and kissed her, and she did not care, in that moment, that her feet were sodden or her fingers were numb, because she would have quite happily stayed out here, kissing him, until the rain stopped. The cold got the better of them in the end, though, and they were both shivering a bit when they got back to her flat. She switched the heating on, knowing it would take a good hour before the flat was properly warm. When Max pointed out they’d both get warmer much more quickly if they showered together, Josie agreed.
While Josie blow-dried her hair, Max curled up on her sofa, reading the book she’d left there. She came to the doorway of the living room and leaned against it, watching him. He looked so perfect there, next to Bia’s Christmas tree, like some sort of TV advert. He seemed to sense her watching and looked up from the book, smiling at her.
She walked toward him, keeping her hands clasped behind her back. He noticed the way she was holding herself, deliberately hiding something, and cocked an eyebrow. She stopped, shifting her weight awkwardly from foot to foot. “I’ve, err, got something for you.”
“You have?” He smiled, held out his hands. “Well, hand it over then.”
She hesitated, then produced the blown-up photograph from behind her back, which she held up for him to see. It was the photo he’d commented on at the beach, the one with him sideways on, almost in silhouette, the smile on his face only hinted at, like it was some kind of secret. She bit her lip as she waited for his reaction. “I was going to get it framed for you, but, well, I ran out of time, and seeing as how it’s Christmas Day today…”
He took it from her gently, making sure to only touch the sides. Then he looked up at her. “I love it.” The smile he gave her was a little sad, and she wondered if she’d made him feel awkward, giving him something, like he had to give her something in return. “It’s not much,” she carried on quickly, “not like those earrings, and you don’t have to feel obliged to take it with you or anything, I just wanted…”
He stood, gave her a quick kiss on the lips to stop her talking. “I love it,” he said firmly. “It feels like I have a part of you to take with me now.” She tried to smile at that—after all, that’s exactly how she felt about her photography, like she was giving a part of herself, but…to take with him. When he left. Did that mean he didn’t want to see her again, when he got back from New York? She couldn’t quite bring herself to ask, in case it ruined the day, so instead she settled for another glass of wine, for curling up next to him while they watched Harry Potter.
Neither of them brought up the matter of him staying over again—it was just assumed. Later, when they were in bed, her back pressed against him, his hand in hers, she remembered that his flight had been moved to Boxing Day. He hadn’t mentioned it all day and she wondered if he, too, was pretending that it wasn’t happening, was allowing himself to think that it might be canceled again, that maybe they’d have a bit more time together. He kissed her softly on her neck, running his free hand down her side, and she felt the heaviness behind her eyes taking over. She’d talk to him tomorrow, she thought sleepily, before he left. Maybe she could go with him to the airport. Surely they’d see each other again, surely they could try to make something work, even if it was long distance? Bristol wasn’t that far away, after all.