Lost Christmas (14 page)

‘You going to open it?' asked Goose, intrigued now to find out what was inside.

‘She said she'd left it for me,' said Dr Clarence. ‘I didn't believe her. I should have tried to find her.'

‘Maybe you shouldn't open it,' said Anthony.

Dr Clarence looked up fiercely, but he saw, in Anthony's face, that the suggestion was borne out of compassion and nothing else. He relaxed and considered Anthony's words. He knew the man was probably right. No good would come from opening that letter. If his wife was telling him how much she despised him, then the hurt of forty years ago would come to life once again. If she was telling him that she loved him and wanted him to come to her, then the regrets of a wasted life would be almost too much to bear. But Dr Clarence knew he had no choice but to read the letter.

‘There is a kind of system, believe it or not, Frank. Your book will be in the hallway by the mirror.'

Frank nodded. ‘Thank you.' Frank, Goose and Anthony knew it was time to leave. They started to edge out of the room. Anthony was the last to go. Dr Clarence looked up at him.

‘Who are you?' he asked.

Anthony shrugged. ‘Wish I knew.' And, with that, Anthony left.

Frank and Goose were scanning the spines of all the books near the mirror in the hallway. There were a lot. Easily a thousand. Neither could see
The Happy Prince
anywhere. Anthony caught up to them and he joined in the search. He stood at a distance so he could see all the books before him and scanned back and forth, assessing them.

‘They're chronological, and alphabetical by author,' he said.

‘Your Dr Clarence has way too much time on his hands,' muttered Goose.

Frank smiled.

‘That antiques programme said it was published seven years after the original, which was 1888,' said Anthony, studying the books. ‘So that makes it 1895.' Anthony moved towards the end of the section, to the Ws. He plucked out Frank's book and handed it to him. ‘There you go.'

Frank was brimming with gratitude. ‘Mate, I just don't know what to say,' he said.

‘You don't have to say anything,' said Anthony, and he headed to the front door.

Frank followed but Goose loitered, looking back through the open kitchen door, watching Dr Clarence as he
opened the envelope and started reading the letter. Goose watched the old man dissolve into tears.

Goose followed Frank and Anthony outside. As he came down the steps, he was shaking his head. He looked at Anthony.

‘I … He didn't … He didn't even know,' he said, stuttering to find the right words. ‘How did you … ? You couldn't have known.' And in that moment, Goose believed. ‘So if I give the bangle back, then I get Mutt back, right?'

Anthony shrugged. ‘I don't know. Maybe.'

Goose considered these words. They made some sort of twisted sense in his head. ‘Yeah.' He nodded. ‘I give the bangle back, then I get Mutt back.' He was certain of it.

‘Did you know, in France, it's illegal to call a pig Napoleon,' said Anthony as he and Goose and Frank were walking. Frank and Goose turned to look at him. He hadn't doled out an interesting fact for a while now and it took them both by surprise. Also, it seemed to have very little relevance to anything they had been talking about. He wasn't finished there. ‘And in Texas you can't graffiti on someone else's cow. I suppose that means it's okay to graffiti on your own cow, but don't take my word for it.'

‘I'll be sure to check that before I graffiti on any cow
next time I'm in Texas,' said Frank with a smirk. He was walking on air. After living through the worst year of his life (the canal, losing his best friend, the breakdown, losing his job and Alice and Jemma, and now about to lose them permanently to the other side of the world) he was finally starting to feel that his luck was changing. After all, he had the book back. Everything would be fine now.

‘Actually, you know what? I've always wanted to go to Texas. Well, you know, America generally. Never been. Maybe I'll book us a holiday.'

Anthony scratched behind his ear. ‘I'm not sure I've got a passport. No idea where it could be if I do.'

‘Not us, you muppet!
Us!
Me and Alice and Jem.'

‘But they're off to Australia, aren't they?' asked Anthony innocently.

Frank chuckled and shook his head. He prodded Goose. ‘He's not really paying attention, this one, is he?'

Goose chortled back, but wasn't altogether sure if he had missed something. ‘But I thought they were going to Australia,' Goose said.

Frank stopped, which meant Goose and Anthony had to stop too. ‘Bloody hell, you two. I've got this now, haven't I?' said Frank, pulling back one side of his coat to reveal
The Happy Prince
tucked securely into an inside pocket. Just the top of it was peeking out. ‘Why
d'you think I've been running around like a headless blue-arsed fly looking fer it? This gives me the upper hand.'

‘What does that mean?' asked Goose.

‘It means, I'll go see Alice in a few days and patch things up with her. Forty grand's a nice amount of money. We can start again. It'll be good for us.'

‘So you're going to Australia too?' asked Goose, a little confused.

‘No! No one's going to Australia. They're staying right here.'

‘Okay,' said Goose, certain he had missed something crucial in this conversation. ‘Why a few days? Why not now?'

‘Well,' said Frank. ‘Right now, it's just a book, innit? I know a bloke who knows a bloke who'll probably buy it. Cold hard cash, that's what'll make Alice sit up and take notice.'

‘Hmmm,' said Anthony and Goose simultaneously, and instantly Frank felt less sure of himself. He was aware of it, mindful of the fact that it had taken very little to shake his confidence.

‘What's that supposed to mean?' he asked.

Anthony shrugged. ‘Doesn't mean anything.'

‘Well, it means something. Definitely means something. Person doesn't go “Hmmm” just for the sake of it. And
in bloody stereo too.' Frank was becoming increasingly defensive.

‘Well …' said Goose, looking at Anthony, who gestured for him to carry on. ‘If it was me and I had a chance to get my family back, I'm not sure I'd be mucking about.'

‘Mucking about?' said Frank. ‘I'm not mucking about. I just want to do it right.'

‘Okay,' said Goose, shrugging.

Frank could see he was far from convinced. ‘Look. I know what I'm doing, all right?' he said.

‘If you say so,' said Goose.

‘I do. I do say so. You're just a kid. I don't even know why I'm having this conversation.' With that, Frank stuffed his hands into his pockets and marched ahead. Goose and Anthony let him walk on for a dozen paces, watching him.

‘It's not the right thing to do, is it?' asked Goose quietly.

‘Maybe he's scared.'

‘Scared?' Goose frowned.

‘Scared of what?'

‘Of the book not making any difference.'

‘But it will. Course it will. It has to.'

‘I don't know, Goose. We don't know what's gone on between Frank and his wife. Maybe it's gone too far to repair.' Anthony looked wistful for a moment. ‘Come on.' Anthony gestured with a nod of his head and he started walking after Frank.

Goose let both of them walk on. He chewed at the inside of his cheek and tried to work out exactly what he thought of what Anthony had said. Could that be true? Was Frank clutching at straws? Desperately looking for the book because it gave him something to do? It was a horrible feeling to have no hope. He knew what that felt like. The difference was that there was absolutely no chance his family would ever come back on account of being dead. But Frank's … they were here … in Manchester … In fact, just a dozen or so streets away. If it was him, he'd go straight there. It made him think about the time he'd learned to ride his bike. He'd got a new bike for his sixth birthday: jet black with a flaming skull on a plastic shield attached to the handlebars, two wheels, no stabilizers. A proper bike. His first. Everyone had tried to teach him how to ride: his mum, his dad, Uncle Frank, even Jemma, who was the same age as him but had been riding a two-wheeler since she was four. Thing is, it didn't work. He couldn't do it. He was scared. More than scared. Terrified. All he could think about was all the things that could go wrong. If he fell over, he'd hurt himself. If he went too fast, he'd fall over and hurt himself. If he stopped too abruptly, he'd fall over and hurt himself. Take a corner too fast and he'd fall over and hurt himself. One by one they all gave up trying to teach him. He was a lost cause.

Then one day his dad took him to the park with the
bike. Maybe one last try. He didn't attempt to tell him what to do. He didn't hold on to the back and run along with him. Instead, he went and sat on a bench and read a book. He said to Goose: ‘Look, thing is, you know
how
to ride a bike. You know how to make it go, you know how to make it stop and all the bits in between. Now the only thing stopping you from riding it is you. So I'm going to sit here and you go off and you teach yourself. All you have to do is get your head round it.'

With that, his dad had smiled and turned to his book. Goose had pushed the bike away, thinking about what his dad had said. At first, all his usual concerns were at the forefront of his mind, but then when he thought about it he realized his dad was right. All his friends could ride a bike, he thought. He would miss out on so much if he didn't do this. All he had to do was push off and get a fair amount of speed going. Without giving it too much more thought, he kicked the pedal round so it was at the right angle and stepped up on it, pushing down, bringing his other foot up on to the other pedal and pushing down on that one. Suddenly, he realized he was doing it. He was riding his bike. He rode about three times as far as he had planned to and came to a gentle, controlled stop. He lost his balance and tipped to the left but caught himself. He had done it.

He shunted the bike around in a tight circle and rode
back the way he had come. This time he cycled all the way to the end of the path where he had intended to stop, but he was enjoying himself and took the corner, not too fast, but steadily, and carried on. Twenty minutes later he rode past his dad.

‘Awright, Dad?' he called as he went past. His dad smiled. Goose had done it. He had taught himself to ride his bike. All he had needed was someone to push him in the right direction. That's what his dad had done for him that day, Goose realized. He had given him an opportunity to do what he really wanted to do. In that instant, Goose knew what he had to do for Frank.

Frank was still marching ahead. Anthony was a short distance behind him, closer to Frank than he was to Goose. Goose slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. He went to his contacts and found Jemma. He dialled her number.

Across town, Jemma and Alice were in Sainsbury's doing some last-minute food shopping. Their trolley was half full. While Alice wandered off to grab some Brussels, Jemma's phone rang. She was surprised to see Goose's number come up.

‘Hello, Goose. Everything all right?'

‘Where are you?' asked Goose. ‘You with your mum?'

‘Err … yeah. We're in Sainsbury's. Why?' asked Jemma.

‘How quick can you get home?'

‘Well, Mum wants to go into town after this so we'll probably be a while.'

‘No, that won't do. Can you get back in ten minutes?' asked Goose.

‘What?' asked Jemma. ‘I don't know. Why?' Then, as Jemma listened, Goose laid out all the relevant details of what was going on. A dozen different emotions played out over Jemma's face. She saw her mum coming back, carrying Brussels sprouts and a cauliflower.

‘Mum's coming back,' she said into her phone. ‘Gotta go.' She hung up quickly and shoved her phone back into her pocket.

‘Who was that?' asked Alice as she placed the veggies into the trolley.

‘No one,' said Jemma. ‘Just Molly.'

Alice looked at her daughter and frowned. Jemma's face was pale. ‘Are you okay, darling?' she asked.

Jemma shook her head. She spoke without being entirely sure what she was about to say. ‘I think I'm going to be sick, Mum. Can we go home?'

‘What? Sick how?'

‘Please, Mum. Can we just go?'

‘There's a toilet in here somewhere,' said Alice, putting a hand to Jemma's forehead and looking around.

‘I don't want to go in a public toilet. Please, Mum. Can we just go home?'

Usually Alice wouldn't entertain such a preposterous request, but there was something about the look on her daughter's face that convinced her that she really did need to go home right away. Alice nodded. ‘All right, come on.' With that, Alice pushed her trolley to one side and led Jemma out of the shop.