Page 55 of The Christmas Express
‘Do I what?’ Alex asks.
‘Should I call her? Bryn? Just to say Merry Christmas or something.’
‘Would you tell her where you are?’
‘No. Just . . . I’m wondering if I should try and get a better sense of her frame of mind. Before I get there. Don’t tell the others.’
Alex raises her brows at me. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking to you about this stuff.’
‘Why?’
When I woke up this morning, hunkered down in my seat after the best sleep I’ve had since being on board the train, something happened. I didn’t think of Bryn. At least, she wasn’t my first thought, unlike every other morning since my birthday. I thought of Alex, I wondered how she slept, remembered star-gazing with her the night before.
Only then did I think of Bryn, and travelling all this way to see her, and a small voice that I quickly hushed asked, but even if she does say she wants to get back together, what do you want?
The trail takes us alongside the river, which ripples and rushes in the chasms between icy slabs, before following a pathway up to the top of the falls.
‘Here we are,’ says Alex at the top of the trail, to the whole group, before turning to me with hopeful, expectant eyes. ‘Merry Christmas.’
I step forward to the lookout and peer over, and the view takes my breath right out of my lungs.
We’re standing above a waterfall, on a platform. The river water below is the softest mint and turquoise, and rushes down between a vast network of frozen claws.
‘It looks like a foam party,’ mumbles Joss, in awe.
I see what she means. The never-ending water has created icicles on icicles on icicles, all surrounding the liquid falls which rush into a teal pool at the bottom.
‘It’s incredible,’ I exhale, and lean in against Alex, resting my cheek on her shoulder.
We all watch, mesmerised, for a while, enjoying the quiet, the only sounds being the roar of the water, the shuffling of snow under seven pairs of feet, and a chorus line of breath being blown into gloved palms.
‘What’s everyone’s favourite Christmas memory?’ Cali pipes up. ‘Maybe not favourite. That’s too hard. But one that makes you smile.’
This one, I think, feeling the warmth of Alex through her coat.
‘A Christmas memory that makes me smile,’ Joe starts immediately, leaning over the fence and staring down at the water. ‘Was when Cali wanted to cook us all Christmas dinner but she burnt the turkey because she thought it had to cook overnight, not defrost overnight.’
There’s a collective good-humoured groan.
‘Alright, alright, it was perfectly edible,’ Cali protests.
‘You’re the only one who ate it,’ replies Joe.
‘That’s not true – Luke ate some.’
‘Well, obviously,’ I say without thinking, and see them both blush. Oops. ‘Erm, a memory that makes me smile was a Christmas I spent at the beach with my parents when I was about six or seven. I’d seen a thing on TV about Australians having barbeques on the beach on Christmas Day, and begged my folks to let us do it, just once. It was freezing and drizzling but Dad stood there tending a crappy little barbeque while Mum held a brolly over the whole thing, and I kept dropping the prawns through the grates. I think we went home and had bowls of cereal, but it was still fun.’ God, it was fun.
‘Alex?’ Cali prompts.
Beside me, she thinks. ‘My first Christmas on the train. I’m super independent, but that was my first Christmas away from my family, and actually they surprised me by boarding on Christmas Eve. I was so proud to show off where I worked and so touched they’d made that effort. They live in a beautiful home that’s so picture perfect at Christmastime, but they gave it up for me.’
‘You’re close with your family, huh?’ I ask. I like that about her.
Alex gazes down at the falls. I guess she’s missing them today. ‘I am,’ she agrees. ‘You have to put family first, right?’
Joss and Joe shuffle in unison, and Joss says, ‘My memory is that Christmas party of Luke’s work that we all crashed and they ended up offering Sara Luke’s job.’
