Lost Christmas

by David Logan

  ‘Listen, I’ve tried to be nice, but I’m not interested, okay? So go and annoy someone else or I’m gonna start shouting at the top of me lungs! Got it?’

  ‘Got it,’ said Anthony.

  Goose switched direction and started walking away. Anthony knew he only really had one more shot. It was all or nothing.

  ‘So you lost something then?’

  Goose froze, turning his head slowly to look back at Anthony. ‘Yeah, how’d you know that?’

  ‘What d’you lose?’

  ‘My dog. He’s called—’

  Anthony held up his hand, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as if concentrating hard.

  ‘Mutt,’ he said finally.

  Goose actually gasped. He felt a flutter of excitement in his belly. ‘Yeah! You seen him?’ There was suddenly a childlike stutter of expectation in Goose’s voice. Like something out of Oliver Twist.

  ‘No, it’s what you were shouting earlier.’ Anthony could see the child in Goose retreat and the hard-edged mini-adult reappear. Silently he admonished himself. This was the wrong approach. He was losing him again. ‘I lost a dog when I was about your age.’

  ‘Is that right?’ said Goose, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Anthony could sense Goose’s invisible wall being rebuilt before his very eyes.

  ‘Yeah, I think so. I mean I’m not sure. There’s a lot I’m not sure about right now. Like this.’ It was the only thing Anthony could think of to say at that precise moment. He grabbed the name badge pinned to his striped jacket and held it out to Goose. ‘I don’t feel like an “Anthony”. Do I look like an “Anthony” to you?’

  Goose frowned, and Anthony could tell he had hooked his interest once more. He was determined not to lose it again.

  ‘Are you saying you don’t know your own name?’ Goose was looking for the angle, wondering if this weirdo was about to try to get some money off him.

  ‘I don’t want any money or anything,’ said Anthony, apropos of nothing verbal.

  ‘You what?’ said Goose, wondering if Anthony was a mind-reader.

  ‘You looked like you were thinking I wanted money off you,’ said Anthony, by way of explanation.

  ‘What does someone look like when they think that?’ asked Goose, clearly incredulous.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Anthony shrugged. ‘Like you. Anyway, back to me not knowing my name.’ Don’t lose his attention again, Anthony told himself.

  ‘How can you not know your own name?’ asked Goose.

  ‘I’m not sure. There seem to be lots of things I can’t remember. Like I’m pretty sure I wasn’t here yesterday, but today I am and I don’t remember the bit in between. The getting here.’

  ‘So where were you?’ asked Goose.

  ‘I don’t remember. I remember lights. Lots of lights and noise.’

  ‘Maybe you were abducted by aliens,’ said Goose. ‘I saw a film about that once. People lose whole chunks of time.’

  ‘It’s a possibility, I suppose,’ said Anthony. Don’t go off on a tangent! He admonished himself in his head, partly because he already knew he was about to go off on a tangent. ‘Did you know that the sun is three hundred and thirty thousand, three hundred and thirty times larger than the Earth?’

  ‘Can’t say I did know that,’ said Goose. ‘Or particularly want to know it,’ he added.

  Get to the point! Get to the point! ‘And there are three hundred and thirty-six dimples on a regulation golf ball.’

  Anthony could see Goose running the figures through his head.

  Then the boy frowned. ‘So? So what?’ he asked. ‘Three hundred and thirty thousand, three hundred and thirty, and three hundred and thirty-six aren’t the same numbers.’

  ‘No, but they’re close.’

  ‘No, they’re not.’

  ‘No, I suppose they’re not. Similar though.’

  Goose shook his head. ‘They both have some threes in them. You seem to know a lot of useless facts.’

  ‘Yeah, I do, don’t I? Maybe I got hit on the head by an encyclopaedia salesman.’ Anthony meant it to be funny, but he knew it wasn’t, and he could tell Goose didn’t think it was either. The boy was looking away.

  ‘Look I’ve got to be going now, okay?’ said Goose, having decided a direct and calm approach was probably the best way to handle this guy.

  Anthony nodded. ‘Okay.’ It’s now or never, he told himself.

  ‘I don’t want you following me. You tell me which way you want to go and I’ll go the other way.’ Goose sounded very reasonable and mature. Anthony suddenly felt like the child. ‘You want to go that way –’ Goose pointed west – ‘and I’ll go this way?’ He pointed east. ‘Or you go this way –’ east – ‘and I’ll go that way.’ West.

  ‘By lying on your back and raising your legs, you can’t sink in quicksand.’

  Goose was already shaking his head before Anthony had even finished the sentence. ‘That’s not going to be much use in Manchester, is it? Not a lot of quicksand.’

  ‘S’pose not,’ muttered Anthony.

  ‘And I don’t want to know any more trivia,’ added Goose.

  ‘Dogs can make up to a hundred different expressions,’ said Anthony hopefully.

  ‘No,’ said Goose, forcefully but still not losing his temper. ‘Listen, Anthony, or whatever your name is, we need to go our separate ways now, okay?’

  ‘But our paths must’ve crossed for a reason.’

  Goose frowned. ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, it can’t be a coincidence, can it?’ asked Anthony.

  ‘What can’t?’ Goose didn’t understand.

  ‘That I meet the boy who stole the bangle from the old lady right after I meet the old lady whose bangle you stole.’ Anthony stopped to repeat that in his head to make sure it made sense. He was relieved that it did make sense and he had finally managed to say what he had been trying to say all along. Then he looked at Goose and could literally see the colour draining from his face. Anthony realized he had said the wrong thing. He was angry with himself. Goose started backing away.

  ‘Don’t go,’ pleaded Anthony. ‘There’s some kind of pattern: she lost a bangle, you stole the bangle, you lost your dog and here we are. It’s got to mean something, hasn’t it?’

  But Goose wasn’t listening. He was scared. Who was this weirdo? How did he know about the bangle? Goose had to get away from him. As far away as possible. He turned on his heel and started running. Goose ran faster than he had all day. He looked back only once to make sure Anthony wasn’t following. He wasn’t. Goose kept going.

  9

  WALKING ON EGGSHELLS

  Helen Taylor woke softly as she felt a small body slipping into bed with her. She opened one eye and saw a lump making its way up towards her under the duvet. Then a small, perfectly formed little hand appeared and touched her face. Helen smiled.

  ‘Hello, baby girl,’ she whispered, and lifted up the duvet to see her daughter’s beautiful, bewitching blue eyes smiling up at her from a face framed by a mass of blonde curls.

  ‘Hello, Mummy,’ said Milly Taylor. Helen kissed the palm of her six-year-old’s hand and sighed.

  Just then Helen became conscious of the sound of running water. She frowned and glanced over her shoulder, to see an empty space next to her where her husband should have been.

  ‘What’s your daddy doing up?’ Helen asked Milly. The door to the en suite opened and Henry strode out. He was wearing a shirt and tie. Helen sat up, adjusting the pillow behind her. She realized that Milly wasn’t in the bed with her any more. She hadn’t noticed her leave.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked Henry.

  ‘That’s an odd question,’ was his reply.

  ‘Are you going to work?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, but didn’t look at her. He sat at the end of the bed with his back to her and pulled on his socks.

  Helen was tall and thin. Bony, most would say. She had hard, angular features that were all perfectly in proportion
, but there was nothing feminine about her. Her hands were large, the same size as a man’s but with long, slender fingers. She was a strong, intelligent woman who had been to very good schools and paid attention. Both physically and intellectually she was intimidating and she knew it.

  ‘Today?’ She knew her tone was verging on combative but she didn’t care. He couldn’t possibly be going to work. Not today of all days.

  ‘There’s someone I have to see before the holidays.’ Henry still didn’t look at her. He flicked imaginary dots of lint from his socks; anything so as not to look at her. He could feel her glaring at the back of his neck, making his neck feel hot. He wondered if it was turning red. She said nothing, which was worse, and finally he felt compelled to turn. He looked at her but only from the side. ‘It won’t take long,’ he said calmly. ‘An hour or two at the most.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Take all the time you need.’ He hated it when she sounded like that. The words were reasonable, but the tone was aggressive. There was a sharpness to them, making it clear how offended she was.

  ‘Don’t be like that,’ he said. He could feel the ever-present anger creeping into his voice now. He had to leave quickly before he said something he’d regret. ‘I have responsibilities.’ Immediately he wished he hadn’t said that.

  ‘And what about your responsibility to me?’ Helen let a beat of silence hang for just the right amount of time before adding, ‘To Milly?’

  Pain shot through Henry at the mention of the name. He had hardly slept. He had lain awake most of the night, listening to Helen snore softly. At one point she had cried out in her sleep. Henry had turned to look at her, wondering if he should wake her. He could see she was dreaming and that the dream was upsetting. He had a pretty good idea what the dream was about. He would have wanted her to pull him out of it, if it was the other way round, but he didn’t do anything. He just looked at her and listened to her whimpering sobs until they stopped.

  Henry stood up and threw on a jacket. He wasn’t particularly tall. He liked to think he was of average height, but he was a little shorter than his statuesque wife. His body was solid with very little fat. He had the physique of an athlete and the head of an accountant.

  ‘If I’m running late, I’ll text you and meet you there.’ He moved around the bed, pausing to lean down to kiss his wife. Helen turned her head away. Henry just kissed her roughly on the top of the head and left.

  Helen covered her face with her hands and silenced a sob that reverberated through her.

  Out in the hallway, Henry heard her. He wished he could go back in and make everything right, but he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t have the strength and, even if he did, some things can’t be fixed. No matter what he did, it would never, ever be right again. He took a deep breath and headed down the stairs.

  As he took his overcoat down from the hooks by the front door he saw a small pile of envelopes on the doormat. Mostly bills and junk mail. Henry looked through them. He stopped when he found a pale blue envelope. He stared at it for a moment and then he strode into the kitchen, opened the bin and dropped it in without a second thought. He headed back out to the hallway, wrapped his scarf around his neck, picked up his briefcase and left.

  *

  Helen heard the front door closing. She leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling. The duvet rippled and Milly was back in bed again. Helen peeled back the covers and the little girl smiled.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Helen asked. Milly nodded. ‘What do you fancy?’

  ‘Eggy bread,’ she said.

  ‘Eggy bread it is,’ replied her mother. She ran her long slender fingers through her hair, looped it behind her ears and climbed out of bed.

  Milly was already in the kitchen when Helen entered. The little girl was sitting on one of the high stools by the breakfast bar and twisting from side to side. Helen looked at the detritus left over from the previous night’s Thai takeaway.

  ‘I suppose I had better clear up first. Make a little space.’ She busied herself loading the dishwasher. She had meant to cook last night, but time had got away from her and in the end they ordered in.

  ‘Why’s Daddy like he is?’ asked Milly.

  ‘How do you mean?’ asked Helen, but she knew exactly what Milly meant.

  ‘He’s so cross all the time now.’ Milly stopped swinging and considered a thought. ‘Is it because of me?’

  Helen didn’t answer immediately, but eventually she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘But you’re not cross. You’re just sad all the time.’

  ‘Different people deal with things like this in their own way.’

  She crossed to the pedal bin with a plate, ready to scrape off the remains of pad thai and king-prawn keang kiew wan, but as soon as she opened the bin she saw the pale blue envelope Henry had discarded. She put down the plate and retrieved it, ripping it open with her finger.

  It was just a Christmas card with a cartoon of a fat reindeer on the front. She opened it up and read the simple inscription: ‘Thinking of you. Love from Anna, Mark and the sprogs.’

  Helen threw the envelope back in the bin and headed out of the kitchen into the hallway. There were two doors leading into the large L-shaped lounge. She crossed to a chest of drawers, which stood behind a baby-grand piano and opened the second drawer down. She retrieved a shoe box, opened it up and added the card to about twenty others. She looked around at the bare room. There was no tree, no decorations, nothing. No indication at all that it was Christmas Eve. Henry had cancelled Christmas. She remembered that line in Robin Hood, the one when the Sheriff of Nottingham, played by that actor who’s in everything … she was terrible with names … cancelled Christmas in a fit of pique. That’s what Henry was like. The thought made her laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Milly was sitting on the piano stool, swinging her bare feet back and forth.

  Helen shook her head. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Just … you loved Christmas.’

  ‘I still do,’ said Milly. ‘I wish we had a tree this year.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Helen.

  ‘Why don’t you get one? Today.’

  ‘It would upset your father,’ said Helen.

  ‘He doesn’t seem to worry about upsetting you,’ said Milly.

  ‘Now that’s not fair,’ said Helen, frowning.

  Milly slid off the stool and crossed to the door. She turned and looked at her mother. She shrugged. ‘It’s not me saying that,’ she said. ‘After all, I’m not even here.’ And with that Milly faded away.

  It was one year ago today that Milly had died. Helen spoke to her more and more frequently, and she always missed her when she left.

  10

  THE MAN WHO MADE IT SNOW

  Goose couldn’t sit still. He would sit down for a second or two, then jump to his feet, striding back and forth on the far side of Frank’s stained and scuffed coffee table. Frank was sprawled out on the sofa sipping from a can of Beck’s, watching Goose’s maniacal marching, feeling a little fatigued by the frenzied activity before him, as Goose described his encounter with the weirdo in the park.

  ‘And then he goes,’ said Goose, pausing for effect, ‘“She lost her bangle, you stole it and you lost your dog.”’ Goose looked at Frank, adding a little involuntary affirmative nod of the head, unconsciously telling Frank it was time for him to agree that what had happened was extraordinary and twisted. Frank took a sip of his lager and said nothing. Not the reaction Goose wanted. He gnawed at the inside of his cheek. ‘So what do you think?’

  Frank just scratched at the ginger stubble on his jawline. ‘I don’t know, Goose. There’s a lot of strange people in the world.’

  ‘You reckon he’s some sort of undercover copper?’

  Frank’s brow knitted as he ran over everything Goose had just told him, wondering if he had missed something; namely the bit that suggested that the bloke hanging about in the park was the Old Bill. Frank shook his head.

  ‘Be serious, Goose. Manchester’s fin
est have got better things to do than hang about in cold parks talking to kids on Christmas Eve. They could get themselves arrested.’

  At that, Goose plopped down on the sofa, threw his head back, looked up at the ceiling and huffed. Frank wasn’t treating this with the importance it deserved. Frank could see the irritation writ large on Goose’s face. He felt bad, but still had the embers of a hangover so had to force himself to care. All he could think of to say was, ‘So he have a name, then?’

  ‘Anthony,’ answered Goose, then added quickly, ‘though he said it wasn’t.’

  ‘Wasn’t what?’

  ‘His name.’

  Frank closed his eyes and concentrated. He rubbed his eyes. This conversation was more than he could handle. ‘I don’t understand. Was it his name or not?’

  Goose shrugged. ‘He had a badge that said, “I’m Anthony. How—”’

  ‘– can I help?’ Frank interrupted, finishing the sentence for Goose.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Now Goose had the same confused look on his face as Frank. ‘How’d you know that?’

  ‘Cos I met him,’ said Frank. ‘Last night. Near the Witches. I think he made it snow.’

  ‘You what?’

  Frank suddenly realized how daft that sounded. ‘Maybe it was a coincidence.’ Frank wanted to change the subject. Then he remembered something relevant. ‘’Ere, he had dog collars on.’

  ‘He what?’ asked Goose.

  ‘Yeah. On his wrist. Three of them.’

  ‘Are you winding me up?’ asked Goose.

  ‘No, swear. It was weird. He wasn’t there one minute and then …’ Frank’s voice trailed off as he caught himself and heard what he was saying.

  ‘So,’ said Goose, ‘are you saying he’s got Mutt?’

  ‘Nah. Just … I don’t know. There was a bloke in Brockley I remember, used to go out nicking people’s dogs, then waited for the reward posters to go up so he could claim the money.’

  With that, Goose shot to his feet, paused a moment, then sat back down. Then, back to his feet.