Lost Christmas (16 page)

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 approaching 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.

‘Awright, keep your hair on,' said Goose with a smirk. Anger flashed across Noel's eyes once more and he literally had to bite his tongue to keep his cool. ‘Now we both know not everything in this place is a hundred per cent legal.'

‘Nonsense!' spat Noel, doing his very best to appear insulted by the implied smudge on his character. ‘I have receipts for everything.'

‘Not everything,' said Goose. ‘Not that clock over there, you don't.' He jabbed his chin in the direction of a large domed carriage clock. Below the clock face two gold-plated bears, dressed in lederhosen, danced round a fish that seemed to be leaping out of the sea. It was both ugly and ridiculous. ‘I nicked that out of a house on Ashford Road for yer.'

‘Get out!' barked Noel. ‘Get out now!'

‘Or that music box.' Goose turned his head, looking around the shop. ‘Or that pocket watch. You want me to go on or shall I just make a whatchamacallit call to the police?'

‘Anonymous,' said Anthony helpfully.

‘Yeah, one of them,' said Goose.

‘All right! All right!' said Noel, admitting defeat. There were just too many things in the shop that weren't entirely kosher for him to be able to clear them out in time if Goose did call the cops. ‘I sold it.'

‘You what?' Goose felt like crying. He had thought he was close to the end, close to getting Mutt back, but now he was moving further away. ‘I don't believe you!'

‘Believe me or not,' said Noel, shrugging, ‘it's the truth. Of course …' Noel paused for maximum effect, the corners of his mouth flicking up in a reptilian smile, ‘I might be able to recall who I sold it to …' One more pause. ‘For the right price.'

Goose sighed. He was not surprised by this turn of events. Noel was only interested in money. It was always the bottom line with him. Goose took out the roll of cash, pulled off the rubber band holding it in place and peeled off two ten-pound notes and held them out. Noel shook his head.

‘I don't remember for that much,' he said. Goose peeled off two more tenners and then two more. He held them out to Noel, who still shook his head. ‘I remember for
that much,' he said, indicating all of the money from the roll.

‘That's a hundred and fifty quid!' said Goose. ‘That's taking the—'

Noel cut him off. ‘Take it or leave it.'

Goose knew he had no choice. He rolled the money up, reapplied the rubber band and handed the entire roll to Noel. ‘There!' said Goose, barely able to rein in his anger. ‘Now, who'd you sell it to?'

Noel tucked the money into a small pocket at the front of his waistcoat. He smiled, but only with his mouth. ‘I sold it to … a woman carrying a bunch of red flowers.'

‘That's it?' snapped Goose. ‘For a hundred and fifty quid, that's all I get?'

‘That's all I've got. She paid cash. You only just missed her. About ten minutes ago maybe.'

Goose looked as if he was about to hurl himself on to Noel and beat him senseless. Anthony intervened.

‘It's all right. I know who she is,' he said.

Goose frowned at him. ‘You know who she is? How do you know who she is?' he asked.

Noel didn't look happy. It wasn't so much of a victory if they knew who she was. As he was dealing with his disappointment, Anthony held out a gloved hand. His right.

‘Mr Noble, thank you very much.' Instinctively Noel
went to take Anthony's offered hand. At the last second Anthony switched hands, offering his left instead. Without thinking, Noel switched hands too, but then Anthony switched back. Noel switched back. This odd little dance went on for several seconds longer. Goose looked on with curiosity. He thought of two people meeting in a doorway and both continuously trying to move out of the other's path but both repeatedly stepping in the same direction. Finally it came to an end and they shook awkwardly. ‘Come on, Goose,' said Anthony. ‘We'd better hurry.'

Goose and Anthony dashed out of the shop, leaving Noel all alone. He reached into the small pocket at the front of his waistcoat, but instead of the roll of cash he pulled out Anthony's smelly rolled-up sock. He dropped it quickly in disgust. He patted his other pockets, looking for the money. It took him several moments to realize it was gone.

Anthony and Goose strode quickly away from Noel's shop. Anthony opened his hand to Goose, revealing the roll of money. Goose couldn't believe it.

‘Wicked!' he said. ‘Is that what all that hand-shaking was about? Where'd you learn to do that?'

Anthony shrugged. He didn't have an answer. ‘Don't know. Must've picked it up somewhere.'

‘Like all the fascinating facts?'

‘Yeah, I guess so.' Anthony stopped at the kerb and looked back along the road. The traffic was heavy.

‘So who's the woman with the flowers?' asked Goose.

‘No idea.'

‘What?' Goose couldn't believe it. ‘But you said—'

‘Well, I don't know her name, but we saw her. She was the one who bumped into me. Red coat. Big bunch of flowers.'

Goose thought back to earlier and remembered the incident, but he hadn't paid the woman much attention at the time so couldn't recall very much about her. ‘How does that help? She could be anywhere by now.'

‘She got on a bus. Number forty-seven.'

‘Right.' Goose still didn't see how they were going to find her.

‘Ah, here it is,' said Anthony. Goose followed his gaze and saw another number forty-seven bus approaching. ‘I say we get on and see where the route takes us.'

Goose wasn't sure, but as he looked behind him he saw Noel coming out of his shop with a face the same shade as an aubergine. It seemed like a good time to leave.

Goose and Anthony sat on the top deck of the bus, at the front, each with their own seat, one either side of the aisle. They watched the world outside go by as the sun was beginning to set.

‘It's Christmas; she could have been going anywhere,' said Goose, feeling very much like his glass was not so much half empty as someone had come along and thrown his glass on to the floor, smashed it and danced about in its remains singing, ‘Na-na-na-na-na!'

‘People don't go just anywhere with flowers,' said Anthony, pushing the positivity in his voice in an attempt to combat Goose's negativity. It didn't work.

‘At Christmas they do,' said Goose sullenly.

‘Maybe we'll get lucky,' said Anthony.

‘And maybe we won't,' said Goose. ‘This goes everywhere.' He meant the bus.

‘Then we'll go everywhere with it,' said Anthony.

Goose slumped back in his seat and huffed. Then he leaned forward, wiped the condensation from the window in front of him with his sleeve and slumped back into position once more, also huffing again for good measure.

They travelled like that in silence for several minutes. Gradually Goose's icy mood started to thaw and soon he forgot he had the hump. A question had been flitting about his head for a while now. He looked at Anthony out of the corner of his eye, wondering whether or not he should ask it. In the end, he decided he should.

‘Can I ask a question?' said Goose.

‘Well, you just did, so clearly the answer is yes, you can.'

‘Right.' Goose wasn't sure if Anthony was making fun of him or if he was now cross.