But before she could finish he closed the distance between them and kissed her again softly. Like he knew that she wouldn’t be able to say it back—not yet. Like he understood that she was worried she was too emotional to mean anything she said right now, and was too scared that he might leave her again if she did say it. So when he pulled back, she just closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” she asked instead.
His lips curved. “Of course.”
She led him up the narrow staircase to her old bedroom, figuring the scandal of her sharing her single bed with a man would be overshadowed by more pressing matters at the moment. Her grandparents had barely touched her room since she’d moved out, all those years ago. They’d kept it hers even though she hardly ever used it, hadn’t changed it into an office or a gym—it wasn’t even a spare room, couldn’t be, with all her things still there, her teenage posters still on the wall, a line of cuddly animals on the top of the bookshelf, the ones she’d kept resolutely all the way to eighteen.
Once they’d each used the bathroom, Josie slipped into her pajamas, Max stripped down to his boxers and they got into the single bed together, wrapped so tightly together that they fitted as easily as one person. Despite how tired she felt, her body was still tense and rigid, on high alert as she waited for a call. She didn’t think she’d be able to stop it, was sure that she had another sleepless night ahead of her, but Max stroked her back in a slow, soothing rhythm and she felt herself start to drift. She fell asleep listening to the rhythm of his heart.
Sleep didn’t hold her for long though. She woke in the middle of the night and immediately reached for her phone. Two messages—one from Helen, one from Bia. She opened the one from Helen first. Couldn’t get your grandad to leave until we know more. Don’t worry—no change. See you tomorrow morning. Xx
She let out a slow breath, then read Bia’s message. Is Max there?
He is, she typed back. I hear you sent him.
She got a message back immediately, making her wonder what Bia was doing, to still be awake at this time. Sort of. Are you ok?
Sort of.
I’m here when you need me, ok?
I know. In the meantime, have fun for the two of us, ok?
She got out of bed and slipped on an old dressing gown, not bothering to care how she looked. It was dark outside, but there was still a layer of bright white snow in the garden, and the moonlight bounced off it, taking away some of the blackness.
Her stomach was churning with anxiety again, so she left Max sleeping and tiptoed down the creaking stairs. She was sitting in front of the dying embers of the fire when he came down to join her, not long after. She glanced up. “Sorry—did I wake you?”
“No,” he said softly. “I’ve just got a bit of a headache is all.”
She got up and found some paracetamol in one of the kitchen drawers, handed it to him along with a glass of water. Then they went back to the sofa, sitting in companionable silence for a little while, Josie becoming so lost in thought, in worries over Memo, that when Max spoke, it made her jolt. “Do you have any candles?”
She frowned. “Probably, why?”
“Let’s find them.” It didn’t take long, knowing her grandparents as she did, and she came back with a selection, along with some matches. He took one—a big, cylinder candle—and twisted it in his hands. “In some places, they have a tradition at Christmas where they light candles for lost loved ones.” He looked at her, the orange glow of the embers reflected in his eyes. She bit her lip, then nodded.
She lit two candles for her parents and placed them on top of the fireplace, watching the light flicker. The flame was so fragile—one single breath and it could be put out. He lit one himself, and placed it next to hers. They watched them for a moment, then Josie glanced at him. “Who’s it for?”
He hesitated. “Someone who died, far too young.”
She remembered how he always seemed to get it, that weight you carry when you lose a loved one. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, realizing that she was apologizing in the way everyone did when she told them about her parents. But there wasn’t another word that was right, she realized now.
“That’s OK.” He took her hand. “I was angry for a while, but I’m not now.”
Josie closed her eyes to banish the burning. “I just can’t bear it,” she whispered. “What if I’m lighting another one for my grandmother next year?”