Always, in December(3)
How lucky Josie was that Bia had been one of the four people she’d shared a house with when she first moved to London. She’d known no one here, so had to opt for the SpareRoom option, making a decision on which place to rent based on a twenty-minute viewing and awkward chat with the other housemates. It had been Bia’s sparkle then that had sold her on that first place and now, eight years later, they were still living together, albeit in a different flat.
“So,” said Bia, setting down a glass of red in front of Josie, before leaning against the counter that separated the living room and kitchen, “I passed short-arse coming down the stairs.” At four foot nine, Bia was hardly in the position to call anyone short, but she’d always been sure that Oliver had a complex over being just a few centimeters shorter than Josie. Maybe she was right, thought Josie, given Cara was perfectly petite and not long and gawky like her.
Josie scowled her displeasure to Bia, who already knew all about the breakup and how he’d told her he’d slept with someone else while she was still in bed, barely awake and not yet dressed.
“Want to talk about it?” Bia asked.
Josie shrugged. “Nothing more to say. He was just dropping back my stuff.”
Bia snorted. “Nice of him.”
“Quite.”
Bia took a gulp of wine, closed her eyes and groaned in not entirely faked pleasure. “Thank God for that,” Bia sighed. “I swear to God, Jose, if someone offers me one more glass of mulled wine, I’m going to throw some goddamn mulled water in their face.”
Josie raised her eyebrows. “What happened to the jolly, festive you?”
“Oh, she’s still here, but she wants champagne, not stewed alcohol.” Bia took another grateful gulp of wine and Josie sipped hers, too.
“It’s nice.”
“Malbec.” Bia grinned. “To get me in the mood for my flight tomorrow.”
Josie frowned. “What?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
Josie hesitated, caught in the headlights.
“Argentina!” cried Bia, her wine sloshing dangerously close to the surface of the glass as she punched it in the air. “Remember? You were the one who told me to go for it. I’m going to go, find the lust of my life, spend Christmas on the beach, then party in Buenos Aires for New Year. I told you this,” she insisted.
“Yes, but I didn’t think…” Josie didn’t finish the sentence. She’d told Bia to go for it, yes, assuming, at the time, that she’d be spending Christmas with Oliver like they’d planned, but she hadn’t really thought she’d book it. Bia was constantly announcing grand plans and then never following through—over the summer she gave up on a month-long yoga retreat in Spain because she decided she didn’t really like yoga, then there was the time she signed up for acting courses in London before figuring out she couldn’t afford them, or when she thought it would be brilliant to make some more money selling beauty products from home, until she discovered that actually involved quite a lot of effort.
“…and when I come back, I will miraculously have figured out what I want to do with my life and can quit this terrible PA job.” Josie nodded, and tried to look like she’d been paying attention to everything Bia had just said. “That’s how it works, right? Life-changing holiday, life epiphany?”
“What? Yeah, that’s how it works, for sure.”
Bia twisted her lips, clearly unimpressed with Josie’s lack of enthusiasm. “Unless you think I should be a PA for the rest of my life?”
“No, don’t be silly,” Josie said. Though in all honesty, it was relatively hard to keep up with what Bia was doing for work at any point in time—she hadn’t stuck to the same job for more than eight months since Josie had known her, though she didn’t look at it as being flaky, just as figuring out what she wanted to do. Living that way would give Josie near constant heart failure, she was sure, but it worked for Bia.
“Jose, are you OK?” Bia frowned down at her.
“Yeah,” said Josie, taking a big gulp of wine as a distraction. “Just, you know, Oliver.” Bia nodded sympathetically. In truth, Josie hadn’t quite realized she’d be spending Christmas alone until just now. She hadn’t given it a huge amount of thought, trying to put off thinking about the day as she always did, but if she had, she’d have assumed Bia would be around for most of it at least, given Bia’s parents lived in London too. Now, she was facing the grim prospect of spending over a week alone in this flat. She glanced automatically to the coffee table in front of her, to the three envelopes there that she’d been preoccupied with before Oliver had interrupted. The first, unopened, was a formal letter from her company. The second, a Christmas card from her grandmother, reminding her, again, that she was welcome to stay with them for Christmas. And the third, the same letter she wrote every year without fail to her parents.
Bia followed Josie’s gaze, but didn’t ask, and for that Josie was grateful. She couldn’t face telling Bia about her job yet, and Bia already knew why Josie couldn’t bring herself to spend Christmas with her grandparents. But she didn’t know about the last letter. Josie hadn’t ever told anyone about that—it was something private, something she did just for herself.