by David Logan
He went past his parents’ bedroom. The door was open. The white quilt was turned down at both top corners and up at the bottom on the right, where his dad slept.
He continued downstairs. He reached the door to the lounge and stopped. This was almost the end. Usually he would push open the door and that would be that. He had had this exact same dream thirty, maybe even forty times in the last year. He hated this part, but he really believed that this time would be different. Truth be told, maybe he didn’t believe it but he hoped it more than anything. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
One.
Two.
Three.
Goose opened his eyes and almost burst out laughing with joy. There wasn’t emptiness facing him. He saw his old living room and his mum, dad and nan standing in a line, trying to look innocent, just like they had that day a year before.
‘Hello, Mum. Hello, Dad,’ said Goose, stepping into the room.
‘Awright there, Sir Gooseby?’ said his dad. ‘What are you doing up so early?’ It was just as it had been. Goose was wearing the biggest grin of his life. He ran to them and threw his arms around them, hugging them tightly. Please still be here when I open my eyes, Goose thought to himself. Please still be here.
He opened his eyes and his mum, dad and nan were still very much there, but looking at him curiously.
‘You all right, love?’ asked his mum. ‘You have a bad dream or something?’
‘No,’ said Goose. ‘Good dream. Don’t want it to end.’ Just then there was another yip and Goose remembered Mutt. He would get to see his dog one more time as well. He dropped to the floor. ‘Come here, Mutt,’ he called, and the puppy scampered out from behind his parents and started to slobber all over him. Goose was crying.
‘You got a name for him already then?’ asked Dad, clearly surprised.
‘Yeah, Mutt. He’s called Mutt.’
‘That’s a nice name, dear,’ said Nan. ‘Is it me, or is it a bit dark in here?’ Nan crossed to the lamp in the corner and turned it on. It was one of those energy-saving bulbs that comes on dim and takes several seconds to brighten. Goose frowned. A thought started to bloom in his mind. It took a moment to become real and he thought back to the lucid-dreaming workshop once again. You can’t turn on a light in a dream, he thought. His mind raced. What did that mean? It meant this wasn’t a dream. This was real. This was last Christmas. He looked up at his parents and his nan. ‘I’m not dreaming, am I?’
They all smiled and shook their heads. ‘Good present?’ asked Dad.
‘We were going to hide him till tomorrow,’ explained his mum, ‘but he doesn’t seem to want to play along with that plan. Happy Christmas, sweetheart.’
Goose wasn’t really listening. A billion thoughts were raging around his head. This was real! His dad crouched next to him and smiled. ‘He’s had all his shots. Wanna take him out?’ Goose started to cry but with happiness. There was a massive smile plastered on his face. Paul and Linda looked on with concern.
‘Are you okay, love?’ asked Linda. Goose nodded. The grin on his face couldn’t be contained. It was threatening to go all the way around to the back of his head and meet up.
‘This is real!’ he said again.
‘So you want to take him out then?’ said his dad.
‘No!’ said Goose abruptly. ‘You’ve got to go to work.’
Paul shook his head. ‘Not today I don’t. I’m not on call.’
‘Yeah, today,’ Goose said firmly. ‘You’ve got to.’ Paul opened his mouth to speak again, but before he had a chance the phone rang. Linda went out in the hall to answer it.
‘Paul,’ she called, holding out the phone, ‘it’s the station. Jamie’s broken a finger, had to go to A&E.’ Paul looked apologetically at Goose.
Goose smiled bigger than ever. ‘It’s all right, Dad. We’ll take him out later.’ Paul strode out into the hallway and took the phone from his wife. As he was speaking Goose looked around and saw his dad’s car keys sitting on the coffee table. He snatched them up just as Paul dashed back into the room.
‘Goose, mate, have you seen my—’ But before he had even finished the sentence Goose was holding out his car keys.
‘Here you go.’
Paul took the keys from Goose, shocked at how well his son was taking his departure. He had been sure there would be sulking at the very least.
‘Thanks,’ said Paul, and with that he hurried away.
Goose crossed to the window and watched his father go. His mum came up behind him and put her hand through his hair. Goose closed his eyes and savoured the touch of her skin.
‘Don’t be upset, love. You know he didn’t want to go.’
Goose turned to her, grinning like a fool. He shook his head. ‘I’m not upset, Mum. He’s going to save her.’ With that, he threw his arms around his mother’s waist and hugged her tightly. ‘I’m going to get dressed,’ he said, and dashed out of the room, calling over his shoulder, ‘Come on, Mutt.’ The puppy jumped up and raced after his master.
Linda watched them go, frowning. ‘Save who?’ she said to herself.
Paul was driving his jeep. He turned on the radio and ‘Wonderful Christmas Time’ by Tom McRae was playing.
‘Oh, haven’t heard this for ages,’ he said to himself and started to hum along, slightly out of time. He took a right turn, going a different way to the route Linda took. Paul and his Jeep were nowhere to be seen when Eric Cutty in his red LDV Convoy van fell asleep at the wheel and crashed. This time instead of crashing into Paul and Linda, Eric hit a tree. No one was hurt. Not even him. The van was a right-off, but he told the insurance that he swerved to miss a cat and they believed him. Four months later, Eric was able to buy himself a brand-new van.
The Mercedes fire-rescue truck skidded to a stop on the towpath and two firemen scrambled out: Paul and Frank. Paul was the lead and Frank his support. The gathered neighbours and general rubberneckers who had come to see the drama unfold watched as Paul stripped off his helmet, boots and jacket and, swapping places with Henry, descended on to the cracking ice to try to save Milly.
‘Morning, miss,’ said Paul with a smile. ‘This is scary, isn’t it?’ He made the word ‘scary’ sound bright and exciting, like ‘scary’ was a good thing. ‘But don’t you worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.’ Paul sounded so confident that his confidence infected Milly. She believed him and she nodded just a little.
Paul took a step towards her and the ice crackled as it broke up beneath him. He froze on the spot and quickly made a decision.
‘Hmmm, I don’t think this ice is going to hold. What about you?’ Milly was suitably distracted by Paul’s conversational tone. She shook her head, agreeing with his assessment of the ice but forgetting to be terrified by such a thought. ‘That means the next bit’s going to be a bit tricky. Do you trust me?’
Milly was breathing hard, but she looked into Paul’s eyes and he made her feel strangely calm. She nodded.
‘Frank?’ called Paul.
Frank stepped up to the edge of the canal. Henry and Helen were whimpering with fear. ‘I’m here,’ called Frank.
‘Ice isn’t going to hold,’ Paul explained. Helen let out an almost animalistic howl of distress when she heard this. Henry’s legs gave out under him and he dropped to the ground. Paul ignored their histrionics and carried on. ‘You’re going to have to bring us up quickly.’
‘Understood,’ said Frank. ‘Ready when you are.’ And he hurried back to the winch controls on the front of the truck.
Paul looked at Milly. ‘Ready, Milly?’
Milly was shaking with fear. The honest answer was she wasn’t ready and never would be, but she jiggled her head in a vague approximation of an affirmative nod. It was the best she could manage.
‘Good girl. We’ll go on three, okay?’
‘What do I have to do?’ she asked in a tiny voice.
‘You just stand right where you are and let me do the rest.’ Mi
lly nodded. Paul smiled. She was clearly terrified, but she wasn’t complaining or crying. He liked this little girl. She had spirit. ‘When I tell you, I want you to take a really big deep breath and hold it. Can you do that?’
‘Yeah,’ whispered Milly.
Paul smiled. ‘Good girl. Ready?’
‘Ready.’
‘One,’ said Paul.
‘One,’ repeated Milly.
‘Two,’ said Paul.
‘Two,’ said Milly.
‘Deep breath.’ Milly gulped down as much air as she could. ‘Three!’
On three Paul leaped forward, sailing through the air, landed hard on the ice and grabbed Milly. The ice exploded around them and the pair of them vanished from view, plunging beneath the freezing water. Helen screamed and Henry covered his face, unable to watch. Frank kicked the winch into action. It seemed to wind in agonizingly slowly. It inched up from under the ice. Seconds felt like minutes. Helen was staring down at the shattered surface of the canal, gnawing at the knuckles on her right hand. It was the only thing stopping her from screaming. Then she saw something dark emerging. It was Paul’s head. His black hair was peppered with splinters of ice. As his mouth broke the surface he guzzled air and let out a cry of protest against the freezing temperature below. He was shaking violently from the cold.
Helen craned her neck, looking for any sign of her precious daughter as Paul rose up from the water, but she couldn’t see her. A wounded wailing noise was just starting to build up in her throat when, as Paul’s body swivelled slightly, she saw he had Milly clutched in his arms and was holding on to her for dear life.
‘Milly!’ Helen shouted. The relief in her voice was all too apparent.
Henry opened his eyes for the first time in near enough a minute and rose up to catch a glimpse of his daughter. He was crying with elation.
Milly raised her head in order to take a huge breath. That quickly transformed into tears. She was coughing and sobbing with a mixture of fear, relief and a reaction to the cold.
The gathered crowd cheered in celebration.
Frank hoisted Paul and Milly up on to dry land, shut off the winch and quickly wrapped the pair of them in blankets. Helen and Henry gathered Milly up into their arms and rained kisses down on her.
‘Thank you. Thank you so much,’ said Helen to Paul. She was weeping with joy. Henry pumped Paul’s and Frank’s hands.
‘How was it?’ asked Frank with a grin.
‘Bracing,’ said Paul. ‘You should give it a go.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Frank.
That night Goose went to sleep with his parents in their bedroom along the hall. It was the best night’s sleep of his life.
The next day, Christmas Day, Frank was up early, opening presents with Jemma and Alice. Nat King Cole and Dean Martin took it in turns to sing Christmas songs on the stereo. There was a knock at the door. Frank went to answer it and was surprised to see Goose.
‘Goose? What you doing here? And this must be Mutt,’ said Frank, looking down at the puppy sitting by Goose’s feet at the end of a lead. Mutt jumped up, excited to meet someone new. He ran through Goose’s legs, tangling him up in the lead as he tried to get to Frank. Frank gave him a good stroke. ‘You want to come in?’
No, can’t stop. Got a couple of errands to run,’ said Goose. ‘Just thought I’d let you know, I saw a thing on telly about The Happy Prince.’
‘What’s that?’ said Frank, looking blank.
‘You know, the book.’
‘Oh yeah, course. Think I’ve got a copy somewhere. Used to read it to Jem when she was little.’
‘Yeah, that’s right. I saw it on your bookshelf once, I think. Anyway on the telly they said it was worth an absolute packet. Like forty grand or something.’
‘Yeah? Probably not our one though,’ said Frank.
Goose shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Looked just the same. You should go and get it valued. You never know.’
‘Yeah, right, maybe I will. Sure you won’t come in?’
Goose shook his head. ‘Merry Christmas, Uncle Frank,’ he said. And with that he and Mutt hurried away.
Frank closed the door and headed back into the lounge, where Nat King Cole was singing ‘O Tannenbaum’.
‘Who was that?’ asked Alice.
‘It was Goose,’ said Frank, crossing to the bookcase and scanning the shelves.
‘Is he not coming in?’
‘Had some errands to run, he said.’ Frank looked through all the books and couldn’t see The Happy Prince anywhere, but his bookcase was deep and there were three rows of books to every shelf. He searched back and back and finally found it tucked away. ‘How on earth did he ever see it there?’ said Frank to himself.
‘What’s that?’ asked Alice.
‘It’s what Goose came over for. Said he saw on telly that this is worth forty grand.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Alice, coming over to look. ‘We should get it valued.’
‘Yeah, we should,’ said Frank, but then he tossed the book aside, took his wife in his arms and kissed her passionately. She kissed him back. Jemma looked on, rolled her eyes and smiled.
Goose and Mutt ran along a street of large detached Victorian houses until they reached Dr Clarence’s imposing gothic monstrosity. Goose slipped through the gate, ran up to the front door and pulled the knob. He heard the sound of the old bell clanging somewhere deep in the bowels of the house and after a few moments he heard someone shuffling towards the door. He saw Dr Clarence’s suspicious, beady eye peer out through the grubby stained-glass window. The old man frowned when he saw Goose and Mutt on his doorstep. He unlocked the door and yanked it open, a deep scowl etched on his face.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’ he snapped.
Goose smiled. ‘You don’t know me, but I thought you might want to look under the floorboard directly in front of your fridge. Has a big, you know, circle-y thing in it.’
‘Knot?’ asked Dr Clarence.
‘That’s it,’ said Goose. ‘Looks like Queen Victoria.’
‘Is this a joke?’
‘No. No joke. Look under the floorboards and you’ll find a letter.’
Dr Clarence had had enough. Clearly this was some sort of irritating prank. He leaned out and looked up and down the street, wondering where Goose’s friends were. He knew someone must be watching nearby and sniggering.
‘Grow up, you little tit!’ snapped Dr Clarence. ‘You come round here again and you’ll regret it, boy.’
Goose just smiled and started down the steps. ‘The floorboard. Trust me. The letter’s from your wife.’
Dr Clarence gasped involuntarily at the mention of his wife. He was about to lose his temper, but Goose turned and hurried away with Mutt scampering after him.
Dr Clarence slammed the door closed and stalked into his book-filled hallway. He looked ahead to the kitchen. For a few moments he contemplated what to do, then with a dismissive ‘Pah!’ he shook his head and went back into his study, slamming the door after him.
A minute passed and then another. The only sound was the tick-tock-tick-tock of the grandfather clock. Then the door to the study was wrenched open and Dr Clarence marched out, muttering angrily under his breath, annoyed with himself that he was falling for this childish nonsense.
He stomped into the kitchen and went straight to the fridge. He looked down and found the floorboard with the knot on it. It did look just like Queen Victoria. How strange he had never noticed that before.
He crossed to the drawer and took out his large flat-head screwdriver. Then, crouching down, he pushed the tip of the screwdriver through the crack in the floorboards and prised one up. Ancient nails protested as they were forced from their beds. Raising the board far enough to get his fingertips underneath, he then wrenched the board free and looked down into the cavity beneath. He saw the envelope, yellowed with age, addressed to ‘Rafe’, and once again Dr Clarence let out a tiny, strangled cry. He reached down and picked up the letter.
>
He put it on the table and sat down, staring at it. He would stare at it for the next nine minutes before he could bring himself to open it.
*
Goose took the long way home and passed by the house of Helen, Henry and Milly Taylor. He had made his dad tell him the whole of Milly’s miraculous rescue over and over again until Paul had to actually refuse to repeat it any more and Goose’s mum had to point out that his dad had had something of a hectic day and Goose should give him a rest. Goose pointed out that his dad had had an amazing day. He had saved a girl’s life. Paul had to agree.
Now Goose needed to see them: the Taylors. He had to see Milly alive and well and the family happy to believe that it was all true.
Goose had tried to get the exact address out of his dad but, when his father wasn’t forthcoming, he couldn’t press the issue without raising suspicions. He did however glean that the house was just past the old lock.
Goose went to the canal and walked along. He found the hole in the ice. A neighbour of the Taylors, out walking his dog, was talking to some gore-hounds, who had come to see where the drama of the day before had unfolded. Goose eavesdropped as the neighbour pointed out which house belonged to the Taylors.
Goose walked around to the street side. The house was double-fronted with a semi-circular gravel drive. The curtains were open and, from the pavement, he could see a large plasma-screen TV playing in the lounge. He knew he had to be cautious. The crunch of the gravel underfoot could easily give him away.
He crept up to the window and peered in. He saw Henry, Helen and Milly all curled up together on an expansive L-shaped sofa, a bottle of port and two small glasses on the coffee table in front of them. They were watching Scrooge on their big TV. Alastair Sim’s Ebenezer had just woken up after his momentous night and was giddy with delight at the prospect of Christmas.
The Taylors were oblivious to Goose’s presence and, as he watched, Goose reflected on how he would never have to get to know Henry Taylor now. No more bi-weekly appointments. But now Henry wouldn’t be as bitter and unpleasant as the man Goose had known. After all, Goose had met him shortly after his daughter had died, and as Goose watched them, saw Milly drifting off to sleep between her parents, and Helen and Henry exchanging a loving kiss, he realized that person would never exist.
