Lost Christmas (19 page)

‘I'm sorry,' said Frank, and he closed his eyes, choking back the tears …

Anthony's eyes rolled back into his head so only the whites were showing and he pitched backwards, landing hard, spreadeagled on the altar. Every muscle in his body was convulsing as if he was in the grip of an epileptic seizure. Helen looked on in horror. To her this had all happened in less than a second. She had turned, this strange-looking man was standing behind her, he had steadied her as she stumbled and then he had collapsed.

She sensed movement from the corner of her eye and twisted her head just as Goose appeared. He dropped to Anthony's side.

‘Anthony? Can you hear me?' he said. ‘Anthony?'

‘Is this your father?' asked Helen. Goose looked
up at her and shook his head. ‘What's wrong with him?'

‘He should be okay in a minute,' said Goose, quietly praying to a God he had long ago stopped believing in.

Gradually Anthony's spasms lessened until it seemed he was just asleep. His breathing took a little longer to even out. His lips parted and riding on the tip of a breath he uttered a single word: ‘Milly'.

Helen felt a chill pass right through her. ‘What did he say?' she asked, but she knew exactly what he had said. ‘What do you … ?' She paused, running everything through in her head. Something wasn't right. She felt a sudden surge of anger blister inside her. ‘Who are you two? Where have I seen you?' In her mind she whirled back through the day. She didn't have to go very far. She remembered where she had seen them: back in the cemetery, but before that outside the bookshop. She had bumped into Anthony as she ran for the bus. ‘Is this some sort of sick joke?'

Goose looked up at her again. He didn't know what to do. His concern for Anthony was distracting.

‘The bangle,' said Goose, and Helen stepped back and put a protective hand on her bag. ‘It wasn't Noel's to sell.'

‘How do you know about the bangle?' asked Helen. Her mind raced to put the pieces together. There was only
one explanation that made sense. ‘You've been following me.'

‘Yes, but—'

Helen scrambled through her bag and pulled out her mobile phone. Goose stood up and Helen took a nervous step backwards.

‘You stay where you are,' she said, holding up a finger. ‘I'm calling the police.'

‘Please don't,' said Goose. ‘It's not what you think.' Goose couldn't find the right words to explain himself. ‘I know who you are. When I saw the grave. Milly's grave.' An involuntary shudder ran through Helen as Goose said her daughter's name. ‘It's all my fault, you see. It was my fault she died.'

Strong words. Helen's head was a mess. She let the hand holding the phone drop to her side.

‘What are you talking about?' she said quietly.

‘It should have been my dad who came to you that day. He would have saved her. My dad could have saved anyone. But I hid his keys, you see.'

Helen didn't know what Goose was talking about, but there was something about him that made her believe he was telling the truth.

Just then, Anthony groaned as he started to regain consciousness. Goose looked down at him, then turned back to Helen.

‘He's bringing everything together again.' Goose paused to wipe his nose on his sleeve. ‘So he can make it right. He is. If I hadn't hidden the keys, my dad would have driven himself, and he would've gone some other way or something else would have happened and he and Mum wouldn't have died. I didn't mean for them to die. I didn't mean for anyone to die.' He looked soulfully at Helen.

The anger within her evaporated as she saw Goose's pain. She reached out to him.

‘It's all right,' she said. ‘It wasn't your fault.'

‘It was,' said Goose in an almost inaudible voice.

Helen shook her head. ‘No.
No
. I should know. I forgot to lock the gate, you see. We always locked the gate. Accidents happen.' She didn't really believe what she'd said. Not as far as she was concerned, at least. Her mind drifted to her room of recrimination: a place she went to often. It was a cold and inhospitable place. A place where she could punish herself.
WHY hadn't she heard her daughter getting up? WHY hadn't she heard her going down the stairs and outside? WHY did they live in such a big house where she couldn't hear the back door being unlocked? WHY had she left the key in the door? WHY hadn't she padlocked the back gate? Why? WHY?
WHY?
For a year now, these questions and a hundred more just like them would torment her morning, noon and night. Sometimes she couldn't sleep because the questions were being asked so loudly and aggressively.
She would try to dull the questions with wine, but that didn't always work. The buzz from the alcohol would wear off in the early hours and she would be awake at four in the morning with her husband snoring next to her and those incessant questions for company. And four in the morning was the loneliest time of all. That was when she would dig her fingernails into the flesh of her forearm and tear at her skin until she bled. The pain was fleeting, but it was the only thing that took her mind elsewhere. She hadn't worn short sleeves all year. Henry hadn't noticed.

Helen realized she had drifted into her thoughts when she caught Goose staring at her.

‘The bangle,' he said, struggling to find the right words. ‘I-it wasn't Noel's to sell. It was …' The word stuck in his throat, but he knew he had to say it. ‘Stolen.'

He saw Helen react to that the way honest people should react to discovering something they have is stolen. He saw a mixture of alarm, disgust and confusion play across her face. Goose knew there was no way he could get through this without telling her the whole story, but he so didn't want to. There was something about Helen that reminded him of his mum. Not the way she looked or sounded, but there was a warmth to her that made him feel safe. He wished he could give in to that, let her envelop him in her arms, stroke his hair and tell him everything
was going to be okay. That's what his mum used to do when he had a bad dream. Sometimes he used to pretend that he'd had a nightmare and cry out in the night so she'd come running. He didn't do it often. Just once or twice when he was awake in the night and needed that feeling of security, his mother's reassurance.

But he knew that wasn't going to happen. He had to finish what he'd started. He had to tell Helen the rest. He felt confident that she wouldn't scold him when he told her. He was more afraid of seeing a look of disappointment in her expressive eyes.

Goose took a deep breath and summoned the strength to say just six little words, but they were the hardest six words he could remember having to say for a long time.

‘It was me who stole it.'

Goose looked down at his feet after that, studying the weave of his laces. Considering the aglets. That actually made him smile, but not strongly enough to show on the outside.

‘Oh,' said Helen. The suspense was torturous. Goose had to look at her to see if she hated him now. His neck muscles didn't seem to want to comply as he slowly raised his head. He looked at her. He didn't see reproach in her face. He wasn't sure what he saw. It might have been understanding, maybe even acceptance. Goose wanted to touch her. He wanted her hand to surround his protectively.
His hand started to jerk forward but it only moved a fraction before he stopped and brought it back. It was too much to expect.

‘I have to give it back, you see. Belongs to an old lady and it's very special to her. I shouldn't have taken it. I know it was wrong, and I have to make it right.'

He considered what he had said and he was happy with it. He had said everything he needed to and had said it well enough. Then an afterthought occurred to him and he dug into his pocket. ‘Here! I have money. I'll buy it off ya.'

‘She doesn't want money, Goose.' Anthony's tired voice came from behind him and startled both of them. They turned to see that he was standing now. Neither had noticed him getting up. He was silhouetted against the dying light coming through the windows and, in his long coat, he had something of the air of an angel about him. ‘She bought it for Milly,' Anthony said as he stepped forward into the light. Helen felt a surge of adrenalin flow through her at the sight of him. He made her heart beat faster. Not in some hokey romantic way. She didn't know what it meant. She had to look away.

‘It was so silly, I know, but she kept asking for one. Her friend had one like it. Not really. Not nearly as nice. I saw it in the window and just went in and bought it.' Helen had to pause to shift the build-up of emotion that she could feel coming. It passed and she went on: ‘It was only when I left
the shop that I remembered or realized. I was a year too late. See. Very silly.'

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small green box. She opened it up, parted the white tissue paper inside and revealed the bangle. The glimmering light of the lit candles on the side altar coruscated over the cobras and their eyes shone.

‘Most people would think I'm mad but … here.' She took the bangle out of the box and held it out to Goose.

‘I will give it back. I promise,' he said.

Helen smiled and nodded. ‘I know you will.' Goose could tell she truly believed him and wasn't just humouring him. That made him feel happy. And with Helen's endorsement still ringing in his ears he reached out to take the bangle.

‘STOP RIGHT THERE!'

Henry Taylor's voice bellowed through the chapel, taking everyone by surprise. They froze on the spot, turning only their heads towards the door where they saw Henry framed in the entrance. He strode forward, marching down the aisle towards them.

‘What the hell is going on?' he demanded. ‘I don't know what sob story this little yob has told you, Helen, but I guarantee one hundred per cent it's not true.'

Helen's mind raced to try to catch up. She frowned at her husband. Did he know this boy?

‘Mr Taylor?' Goose's mind was reeling too. What was his probation officer doing here? Had he tracked him down? Goose remembered now that he had missed an appointment earlier. It had completely slipped his mind. Then Goose realized that Mr Taylor had called Helen by her name. He turned to her. ‘How do you know Mr Taylor?'

‘He's my husband,' Helen managed to say. Goose couldn't believe it. He turned to Henry. He had never realized after all this time. ‘You're Milly's dad?' he said.

Fury flashed across Henry's face and he lurched towards Goose. ‘Don't you ever say her name!'

Helen and Anthony stepped forward to protect Goose, but Henry pulled back. He didn't understand what was going on. He had spent half his day chasing around the city looking for this kid, which caused him to be late meeting his wife to visit their daughter's grave, and now here he was.

Henry turned to Helen. ‘This is who I was supposed to be seeing this morning, except – surprise, surprise – he never showed.'

‘I lost Mutt,' protested Goose. ‘I had to get him back.'

‘Now I demand to know what is going on here!' said Henry. He looked down and saw the bangle, which was still in Helen's hand. Henry held out his hand and clicked his fingers. ‘Come on. Give that to me.'

Helen bristled with indignation. ‘Henry, don't speak to me like a child,' she said through clenched teeth. ‘Now
maybe you do know …' She stopped as she realized she didn't know Goose's name.

‘Goose,' said Goose.

‘Maybe you do know Goose, but have you ever actually listened to what he has to say?'

‘Helen, I talk to him all the time,' said Henry, trying to keep his composure.

‘That's not what I asked,' said Helen. ‘I'm sure you do talk to him, but have you ever listened to him?'

‘I'm not having this conversation in front of this little toerag. Now please give me that.' Henry held out his hand for the bangle. He didn't know the relevance of it, but clearly it was integral to whatever was going on here.

Goose looked from Henry to Helen and could see she was struggling to know what to do. Goose panicked, thinking that the bangle was about to be taken away from him. He knew he would never get it from Mr Taylor so he jumped forward and snatched it from Helen's hand.

‘I'm sorry,' he said, and with that he turned and ran. He jumped up and over the first few pews, stumbled as he landed, but was on his feet instantly and headed towards the door.

‘Come back here!' barked Henry as he pushed past Helen in pursuit of Goose.

‘Henry! Leave him be,' shouted Helen, but Henry wasn't listening.

*

Goose ripped open the tall doors and tore out of the chapel. He jumped down the two wide steps at the front and started running towards the angel gates.

Henry was right behind him and gaining. In much the same way that Helen would drink when the pain of losing Milly became too much, Henry would run. Sometimes he would run three, four times in the same day. He would always take the most punishing routes and push himself to his limit, to the point when he felt as if his feet were bleeding, his muscles were cramping and he was about to throw up. Then he would push himself further. He would keep going until his feet were bleeding and his muscles were cramping, until he was vomiting by the side of the road.