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 all right. The owner of the Puffa jacket looked over their shoulder, revealing a woman with short, tufty, white-blond 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 signaled 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 gave 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 maneuver 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 on 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 skeptically.
“I’m not actually that good at—”
“Doesn’t matter!” Her voice came out in that same forcibly jovial tone, like an overexcited 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 the 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 mold 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 blond 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.