Lost Christmas

by David Logan

‘Yeah, well, it is,’ said Frank, eager to get it back in his pocket.

  ‘Sorry, Frank,’ said Goose.

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Frank had a puzzled look on his face. ‘Sorry for what?’

  ‘For this,’ said Goose, and with that he spun on his heel and started running back the way they had come as fast as he could go.

  ‘GOOSE!’ Frank bellowed. ‘NO! Come back with that!’ He took off at speed, in pursuit.

  Anthony was left alone. ‘That was unexpected,’ he said to himself aloud before hurrying after both of them.

  Goose knew exactly where he was going. He took every short cut available, squeezing through gaps in fences where Frank couldn’t follow so he would have to go the long way around. Goose made sure Frank was always able to keep him in sight but never got close enough for Frank to nab him. It didn’t help Frank’s pursuit that the forty cigarettes he smoked on average per day were making his lungs feel like shrivelled prunes that were wholly incapable of drawing anything resembling oxygen into them. After the first few blocks, Frank was wheezing too much to even shout after Goose.

  Goose turned corner after corner, sprinting across busy roads and all the time keeping Frank a reasonable distance behind.

  Frank couldn’t believe what Goose was doing. Did he think this was a game? Why was Goose robbing him?

  Goose turned into a road of well-kept terraced houses. He could see a red Peugeot 106 pulling up to the kerb at the far end of the street and he increased his speed.

  Alice parked and looked over at Jemma, lolling listlessly in the seat next to her. Alice reached over and brushed the hair from Jemma’s forehead. ‘Come on, we’re home, poppet.’

  ‘What?’ asked Jemma weakly, looking up. She spotted Goose running towards them and she knew their timing had to be just right. ‘Just give me a moment, Mum.’ And she lowered her head. Alice looked on with great concern.

  Goose reached Alice’s car and stopped. Frank was almost on top of him. Goose’s sudden stop took him by surprise and he had to twist to avoid a collision.

  ‘What the bloody hell are you playing at, Goose?’ Frank barked.

  Goose shrugged. ‘Sorry, Frank. Don’t know what came over me.’ And with that he handed him the book. It was at that precise moment that Frank’s brain realized where they were. He turned to look at Alice’s car at the exact same moment that Alice looked up. Their eyes met and she looked thunderous.

  ‘What have you done?’ said Frank softly to Goose.

  With that, Alice was out of the car. ‘What’re you doing here, Frank? You know you’re supposed to call before you come over. You agreed.’

  Frank put up his hands in an attempt to mollify the oncoming storm that was his estranged wife.

  ‘Now, Alice, I …’ His mind was racing. What should he say? How should he play this? Bloody Anthony and his talk of cows, and pigs called Napoleon, and Goose snatching the book. Now Frank’s head was a mess, while he had been so certain of himself just a dozen minutes ago.

  ‘This isn’t fair, Frank,’ Alice was saying. ‘Not to me, not to Jemma. You can’t do this. It’s intimidation.’

  ‘It’s not intimidation, it’s—’

  ‘What? What is it then?’ asked Alice.

  ‘I just …’ What? His mind was blank.

  The passenger door of Alice’s car opened and Jemma stepped out. Frank smiled awkwardly and his voice softened. ‘Hello, Jem, darling. You all right?’

  ‘No, she’s not actually,’ snapped Alice. ‘She’s not feeling very well. I need to get her inside.’

  Before Frank could express his concern or Alice could make a move, Jemma said, ‘Actually I feel fine now.’

  ‘What!?’ asked her mother. ‘You were dying ten minutes ago.’

  ‘It passed,’ said Jemma with a shrug.

  Alice wheeled on Frank. ‘Have you put her up to this?’

  ‘No! I—’

  ‘It was me.’ Everyone turned to look at Goose, who had been trying to edge subtly towards Anthony, who was loitering a short distance away. ‘I called Jem,’ Goose said.

  ‘This isn’t anything to do with you, Goose. You shouldn’t have done that,’ said Alice, clearly still furious but holding back because she was talking to Goose and not Frank.

  ‘Yes, I should,’ said Goose defiantly. ‘Someone had to. Frank’s got something to say to you.’

  All eyes turned to Frank. He glared at Goose, his jaw rigid.

  ‘What is it, Frank?’ asked Alice. Her tone had softened just a little, maybe in deference to Goose.

  Frank considered the question. He heard Goose’s words in his head and he looked down at the book in his hand. He looked up at Alice glaring at him, waiting for an answer, then back at the book. Then at Jemma, biting her lip. Then, finally, back at the book. ‘’Ere,’ he said, holding it out to Alice.

  Alice frowned as she looked at the proffered book but made no move to take it. ‘Wow, thanks.’ The sarcasm in her voice came across loud and clear.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Frank. ‘It’s worth … a lot of money.’ He nodded as if that would prove he was telling the truth. ‘I saw it on the telly … forty grand … it’s worth forty grand. Maybe more. One on the telly was a bit knackered.’

  ‘You what?’ Alice couldn’t compute what he had said. Her natural instinct was to look for the angle Frank was playing. Was it some sort of sick joke? But she knew her husband well enough to know he wasn’t lying right now.

  ‘And it’s for you,’ Frank said again, moving the book closer to Alice. She took it this time, holding it as if it was made of snowflakes and in danger of vanishing from her grasp if she was too rough. ‘For Australia.’ Alice looked up sharply, staring into his eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Neither could anyone else. For Frank’s part, he couldn’t believe he’d just said what he had, but he already knew he didn’t regret it. He wanted to do this. ‘To help you and Jem make a new life for yourselves … or … whatever you want.’

  Alice looked at Frank, then back down to the book, then back up at Frank. Her heart was beating a little too fast and she wasn’t sure if it was excitement or something else.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked Frank. ‘You’re not really ill or anything, are you?’

  ‘Nah, nothing like that,’ said Frank, and then he smiled as he realized: ‘Actually I feel great.’

  Alice thought some more. ‘Forty thousand? Are you sure? This isn’t one of your – you know?’ She meant flights of fancy. Like the time Frank decided he was going to breed chinchillas because some bloke at work had bought a couple as pets for his kids and paid fifty quid each. Turned out chinchillas make terrible pets. The bloke at work got rid of his after a month because they had spent most of the time living up the chimney; only venturing out at night to chew through the curtains, electrical cables and the sofa. By then it had been too late for Frank and he had bought ten of the little buggers.

  ‘No,’ said Frank. ‘It’s rare. Really rare.’

  Jemma stepped forward and looked over her mother’s shoulder. ‘You used to read that to me. I remember.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Frank, a happy smile spreading over his lips at the memory and the fact that Jemma still remembered. ‘Mad, innit? It was worth all that money when we were struggling for every penny.’

  ‘And you’re just giving it to us?’ asked Alice, who still couldn’t believe it. ‘To go to Australia?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Frank with a nod. ‘Happy Christmas.’

  ‘But I thought you didn’t want us to go,’ said Alice.

  ‘I don’t,’ said Frank. ‘I’m going to miss you both like crazy, but if it’s what you want then … that’s what I want too. I just want you both to be happy.’

  Jemma dashed forward and threw her arms around her father, hugging him tightly. Frank hugged her back and tears were starting to run down his face. Alice was trying hard not to start crying too. She reached out to touch her husband but pulled back at the last moment. The events of th
e last year made her cautious.

  ‘Can Dad come in, Mum?’ Jemma turned to her mother.

  Alice hesitated just for a moment. Then she nodded. ‘You want to come in?’ she said to Frank. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah, that’d be good,’ said Frank. ‘I’ll be in in a minute.’

  Alice nodded and she and Jemma headed inside, examining the book.

  Frank turned to Goose and Anthony. ‘I’m gonna nip in for a cuppa, like,’ said Frank.

  ‘Yeah, we heard,’ said Goose. ‘Can’t believe you did that. What happened to having the upper hand and America and all that?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Frank, grinning. ‘It just seemed like the right thing to do. You want to come in as well?’

  ‘I need to get the bangle, Frank,’ said Goose.

  Frank nodded. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of cash, which he stuffed into Goose’s hand.

  ‘’Bout a hundred and fifty there. It’s all I’ve got on me. I sold the bangle to Noel.’

  ‘Noel?’ Goose grimaced.

  ‘I know. I know,’ said Frank contritely. ‘Don’t let him do you. He only gave me forty.’

  ‘Forty?’ said Goose. ‘But you gave me a hundred.’

  Frank shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, you know,’ he said as casually as he could manage.

  The bud of a thought flowered in Goose’s head. Yeah, well, you know? No, he didn’t know. Frank had paid him more than twice the bangle’s value. Why would he do that? Goose knew the rest of the stuff wasn’t worth a lot. Goose thought back to all the other things he had taken to Frank over the last year. That stamp collection that seemed pretty basic but Frank had assured him that there were some real rarities in there. He’d given him fifty pounds for that. Just at the right time too. It was near Nan’s birthday and he was able to buy her that silk scarf she wanted. Then there was that vase he’d nicked from the semi-detached on Highdown Road. He was sure it was a piece of tat but Frank had given him eighty quid, which was lucky because Mutt had to go to the vet for his booster shots. And, in that moment, Goose put all the pieces together: Frank had been looking out for him all this time, giving him above and beyond. Goose had never seen it. Now he wondered how he could have missed it. Goose stared open-mouthed at Frank. All this time he had thought he was so alone, and now it turned out he never was. Goose threw himself at Frank, wrapped his arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. Frank put an avuncular hand on Goose’s shoulder and smiled.

  ‘Well, someone’s gotta look after ya.’

  Goose pulled away. If he hugged Frank any longer, he’d start crying. Everything Goose could think of to say at that moment seemed wildly inadequate so he didn’t say anything at all. Frank understood perfectly. He looked at Anthony and smiled.

  ‘And thanks. For everything. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Anthony.

  ‘Right, brew’s waiting,’ Frank said, and he turned and headed into his old home. He paused at the front door and looked back once. He smiled. Then he went inside. Anthony and Goose started to walk away.

  ‘So who’s this Noel then?’ asked Anthony.

  16

  TWO BEARS IN LEDERHOSEN DANCING ROUND A FISH

  Helen pulled down a copy of Enid Blyton’s Five on a Treasure Island from a shelf by the window of the small, cluttered bookshop.

  ‘What about the Famous Five?’ she said. ‘I used love these when I was a girl.’

  Milly poked her head out from behind a nearby display and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. What’s it about?’

  ‘It’s about these children, Julian, Dick, Ann and George (George is a girl), and a dog called Timmy, who go on adventures. Usually to do with smugglers, far as I remember.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Milly, and she disappeared from view again.

  Helen retrieved her mobile from her handbag and glanced at the screen for the fifth time in less than two minutes. Still no message from Henry. How could he do this to her? Today of all days. Did he have no feelings left? She could feel the anger rising in her again as it had all day. She took a deep breath. She didn’t want to be angry today. Not today.

  Milly appeared at her side. ‘What about that one?’ she said, and pointed at a thin book with a garishly pink cover depicting a young ballerina. ‘I like ballet dancers.’

  Helen took the book from the shelf and studied the blurb on the back. She grimaced and flicked through the pages. ‘I don’t know. It’s a little young for you. You were already more advanced than this.’

  Helen felt eyes on her and turned to look at the young woman behind the counter. She had a stud above her lip, numerous earrings and the tip of a tattoo creeping up from beneath her collar. She was watching Helen out of the corner of her eye. Helen realized she had been talking aloud. She knew she did that when she was home alone, had caught herself a few times. She didn’t realize she had started doing it in public.

  The young woman with the stud called over to her: ‘Can I help you find anything?’ Her voice was nasal and disinterested. She didn’t want to be stuck at work on Christmas Eve.

  Helen shook her head, embarrassed. ‘Just looking, thank you,’ she said.

  The young woman turned back to the gossip magazine in front of her but kept sneaking glances at Helen, concerned that she might be trouble.

  Helen was wearing a red coat that came down to her knees, where it met the top of a pair of black leather boots. As always, she looked impeccable. She exuded poise and class so it was strange that she was now receiving suspicious looks from the pierced assistant.

  Helen was carrying a large bunch of flowers. She shifted them from one arm to the other. She took her phone out one more time. Still nothing. Then she glanced out of the window and saw the number forty-seven bus pulling up.

  ‘Oh, there’s my bus,’ she said as she headed to the door. The studded bookseller watched her leave, then glanced over to the shelf where Helen had been loitering to see if anything was missing. She quickly lost interest in that and returned to her magazine.

  As Helen hurried out of the bookshop she collided with a broad man in a long army-style trench coat.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Helen, not really looking at the man, who was accompanied by a young boy. She ran on, reaching the doors of the bus just as they were closing. The driver opened them for her and she stepped on.

  Anthony and Goose watched her go. ‘Someone’s in a hurry,’ said Goose.

  He had already forgotten all about the woman in the red coat as he turned to look up at a small antiques shop, nestled next to the bookshop. It looked a little too upmarket for the area. There was no gaudy sign, just a discreet brass plaque by the door. It read: ‘Noel Noble – Purveyor of Rare Antiquities’.

  ‘Prepare yerself,’ said Goose out of the corner of his mouth. ‘You’re about to meet the slimiest man in Manchester.’ Anthony looked intrigued as he read the brass plaque. ‘Hmm,’ Goose grunted. ‘Purveyor of hooky crap, more like.’

  Goose and Anthony entered the antiques shop. A small brass bell announced their presence.

  ‘I’ll be right with you,’ called a rich, chestnutty voice from the back of the shop. Classical music was playing softly in the background. The shop was full of everything from jewellery to clocks to armoires, tables, urns, pots and chairs. The small space was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of stock. It looked cluttered.

  Anthony glanced at Goose and saw him examining the roll of money Frank had given him. Anthony gestured for Goose to put it away. Goose understood and did as instructed.

  ‘Let’s hope we’ve got enough,’ he said quietly. ‘Otherwise you’ll have to dazzle him with some fact about ducks and … trousers.’

  Anthony considered this. ‘Don’t know anything about ducks and trousers.’ Then a thought occurred to him. ‘Quackmore Duck is Donald Duck’s dad, but he doesn’t wear trousers.’

  Goose couldn’t help but smile.

  They heard movement and turned to see Noel Noble appro
aching from the shadows and clutter at the back of the shop. ‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I was …’ He stopped as he saw Goose and Anthony. His expression changed, as did his voice. Gone was the mellifluous tone, replaced with Noel’s naturally harsh Glaswegian accent. ‘What do yous want?’ He was talking to Goose but looking at Anthony.

  Noel was a small, thin man. His wavy hair was clearly dyed: a little purple around the edges and seriously thinning. He had arranged it in a sort of heavily lacquered pile on the top of his head. It fooled no one. He wore an expensive bespoke suit, but it was still too large for him. He was swamped by the material, which made him look all the more diminutive.

  ‘I want to buy the bangle Frank sold you this morning,’ said Goose.

  Still looking at Anthony, Noel forced an uncomfortable laugh and returned to his unctuous purveyor-of-rare-antiquities lilt. ‘Frank? I don’t know any “Frank”. Come on! Out with you.’ And he tried to shoo Goose and Anthony towards the door.

  Goose spun out of Noel’s grasp. ‘I said “buy”, didn’t I?’ Anthony tried to speak up and tell Goose not to do what he was about to, but there was no chance. Goose plunged his hand into his pocket and pulled out the roll of cash. Noel’s eyes lit up for an instant, but he was shrewd enough to hide his avarice.

  ‘A bangle, you say.’ Noel put a finger to his mouth and made a pantomime of furrowing his brow in deep thought. ‘I don’t seem to recall any bangles. I have a very nice broach. Early Victorian.’ Noel was talking to Anthony. Goose realized this was because he didn’t yet know who this stranger was and was trying to work it out before saying anything potentially incriminating.

  ‘He’s not the Old Bill, Noel. Look at him,’ said Goose. Noel did look at Anthony and as soon as he stopped to think about it, he knew he wasn’t a police officer. Still, no reason to abandon caution.

  ‘Why would I care if he was the police? I have nothing to hide.’ Noel directed this last statement firmly in Anthony’s direction.

  ‘Come off it, Noel. You? Nothing to hide?’ sneered Goose.

  ‘Watch your tongue, boy.’ And for a split second Noel’s feral side was exposed. As a small man growing up in one of the rougher parts of Glasgow, Noel couldn’t afford to be seen as weak. As a distinguished antiques dealer, he kept that side of his nature concealed, but it was there, bubbling just under the surface. Goose didn’t yet understand that side of Noel.