Lost Christmas (5 page)

For the majority of the year, Beech Road Park was a small oasis of greenery in the Chorlton area of Manchester. It was surrounded on all sides by houses and was a favourite place for the neighbourhood kids to congregate. They had been there all morning and thick snow had been sculpted into an army of snowmen of varying sizes. Most of the kids had gone now – off home for a snack or an early lunch – but they'd be back.

Darryl Craig and Carl Mills, Millsy to his friends, were sixteen and seventeen respectively. Darryl was tall and skinny, while Millsy was taller and flabby. They had been friends since they were three years old and had moved
in opposite one another on the Joshua Tree Estate. They had no idea why it was called that. Darryl had looked up the Joshua Tree once, and beyond it being the name of an album by U2 and a plant that grew in the Mojave Desert in America, he had no clue why someone had chosen to name their estate after it.

They walked through the park karate-kicking the snowmen. In their heads they were ninja assassins fighting the evil forces of the Supreme Overlord, battling his warriors, making their way to him. There was one snowman right in the centre of the park that was larger than all the rest. This was the Supreme Overlord. Millsy and Darryl reached him, having defeated his minions, and now had to face their greatest foe. Unfortunately their joint imaginations didn't really extend beyond giving the snowman a right good kicking, and pretty soon the Supreme Overlord was just a pile of snow in the midst of other piles of snow, and Millsy and Darryl were cold and bored.

They sat on a concrete plinth that used to sport a memorial to Queen Victoria, but it had been defaced and vandalized so often that the council removed it. They were trying to ignore the cold. This was easier for Millsy, who had a heavy army-surplus trench coat. Darryl was wearing a thin Adidas hoodie, because that was all he had.

They saw a figure walking across their battlefield,
turning in circles, looking lost. It was Anthony. Millsy and Darryl watched him approaching.

‘What's this numpty about?' said Darryl, sticking out his chin in Anthony's direction and making sure to keep his hands in his pockets.

‘Nice jacket,' replied Millsy with a smile out of one side of his mouth. ‘Looks like a right perv.'

Anthony saw the two youths ahead of him. He had seen them from the moment he entered the park. He was careful to keep them in sight but not project a defensive air. He knew it didn't pay to provoke people looking for trouble, and the world was full of them. At the same time maybe he was being unfair. Just because they looked like a pair of ASBO-collecting yobs, it didn't mean they were. He planned to walk past, but then one of them called out to him.

‘You all right there, pal?' called Darryl. ‘You look a little lost.'

Anthony didn't make eye contact, but he was subtle about it. He shook his head. ‘It's not right. Something's not right.'

‘I can tell you something that's not right,' said Millsy with a smile directed at Darryl, who returned it.

‘This is Manchester,' said Anthony.

‘Yeah,' agreed Millsy.

‘I wasn't here, but now I am.' Anthony was talking
as much to himself as to Millsy and Darryl. The two boys exchanged a look.

‘Don't worry about it, pal,' said Darryl. ‘It's Christmas. It's okay to get a little merry at Christmas.'

Anthony frowned as he thought about it. He held his hand to his mouth and breathed into his palm. His breath wasn't great, smelled a bit medicinal and there was something else. Peanuts. Dry-roasted. But no odour of alcohol.

‘No, I haven't been drinking,' said Anthony. ‘But I have been eating dry-roasted peanuts, which are an ingredient in dynamite.' Why did he say that? Where had it come from? It just came out. He thought about it. Couldn't remember how he knew it, but he was pretty sure it was true.

Millsy and Darryl looked at one another, both thinking the same thing:
Is this guy a nutter or can we have some fun with him?

‘That's interesting, isn't it, Millsy?' said Darryl.

‘Millsy,' said Anthony. He could feel his brain starting to function independently of the rest of him. It was if an exterior force was controlling him. He knew he was about to say something, but he wasn't sure what. ‘Mills. Windmills. Always turn anticlockwise.' The two boys were staring at him. He understood. He would have been staring too if he was where they were. ‘Except in Ireland.' He felt like he was finished for now.

‘Why's that?' asked Millsy.

Anthony shrugged. ‘No idea.'

‘Live round here, do you?' Darryl asked.

‘No.' Anthony blinked. ‘I don't think I do.'

‘You saying you don't know where you live?' asked Millsy. But before Anthony could answer a sly thought sprang into his head and he added, ‘Check your wallet.' Darryl and Millsy glanced at each other. In that instant the plan was set:
drunk bloke gets out his wallet, we grab it and scarper
.

‘Wallet!' exclaimed Anthony. What a brilliant idea. Why hadn't he thought of it? Everything in his head was very mixed up. He started patting his pockets. He had many. Eight in his baggy cargo pants alone. He looked glum and shook his head. ‘No wallet.'

Darryl and Millsy were disappointed. ‘Mobile?' asked Darryl. It was better than nothing.

Anthony checked his pockets again, this time pulling out the contents. It was mostly worthless junk.

‘Biro, blue. Box of matches. Another box of matches. A sock.' Anthony paused to give the sock a quick sniff. It reeked so he shoved it back in his pocket, but he could still smell it. The smell was lodged in his nose. He knew it would creep slowly into the back of his throat and then he'd be able to taste it too. Yeah, there it was. He stuck out his tongue, breathing out to try to expel the bitter sting of
old sock. He continued to itemize his possessions. ‘Another box of matches. God! I must smoke a lot. A poker chip. Hmm, interesting.' Anthony couldn't remember being in a casino, though he ran through the rules of blackjack in his head and was surprised to discover that he did know how to play. He carried on searching. He pulled out a Pez dispenser in the shape of Scooby-Doo. ‘Ooh! Pez.' He took one, popped it in his mouth to combat the taste of the sock and held it out to Millsy and Darryl. ‘Pez?' he offered.

They shook their heads, both becoming a little impatient. This guy was clearly just an old tramp and they wouldn't get anything worthwhile from him.

‘Ooh, hello. What's this?' said Anthony, ferreting deep down into a pocket somewhere around his knee. He drew out his hand and opened it to reveal a gold cigarette lighter. Millsy and Darryl perked up: at last something worthwhile. They knew a bloke in the open market who would buy anything gold. No questions asked. Probably wouldn't give them what it was worth, but it'd be better than nothing.

‘That real gold?' asked Millsy.

‘I think so,' replied Anthony.

All three of them looked down at the lighter sitting in the palm of Anthony's hand for a few moments and then suddenly Darryl's hand shot out, like a rattlesnake in one of those BBC documentaries launching itself at an unsuspecting rodent. Darryl's hand was a blur of movement, but by the
time it reached Anthony's palm the lighter wasn't there any more. It had vanished before their very eyes.

Anthony opened his other hand to reveal the cigarette lighter. He looked like a bemused magician.

‘How'd I do that?' he asked aloud.

‘Give us it 'ere!' snapped Darryl, anger rising in him as he suspected Anthony was making fun of him. He threw himself at Anthony's other hand, grabbed his wrist and prised open his fingers. The lighter had vanished once more.

Anthony shook his head. ‘I really don't know how I'm doing that,' he said.

Millsy jumped into the fray to help his friend. What happened next was confusing for all involved. Anthony twisted his body and whirled around Millsy, who stumbled forward. He ended up in the arms of his friend. They looked as if they were about to kiss. The two boys jerked back from one another only to discover that Anthony had somehow managed to loop their watchstraps together.

‘Hey!' cried Darryl.

‘How'd you do that?' Millsy asked Anthony.

Anthony shrugged. ‘Honestly, no idea.'

‘Don't pull, you idiot. You'll break it!' Darryl snapped at his friend. They took a moment to unhook themselves.

Anthony started to wander away, not remotely concerned by these two young thugs, even though they
were clearly riled up now. Darryl and Millsy swaggered after him.

‘You looking for a slap, pal?' asked Darryl through gritted teeth.

‘No,' replied Anthony. ‘I remember the sea.'

This threw Millsy and Darryl a little. What did the sea have to do with anything?

‘Get him!' barked Darryl, and he and Millsy pounced on Anthony. Anthony shifted his weight and, almost like a dancer, spun out of their path. In one swift movement, he grabbed the hem at the back of Millsy's thick woollen coat and pulled it up and over the boy's head. The coat twisted inside out and stretched across Millsy's chest, incapacitating him as if he was entwined in a strange sort of straitjacket.

Darryl threw a punch, but Anthony caught his fist easily and twisted his arm, spinning Darryl around. The teenager cried out in pain.

‘You're a nutter!' he shouted.

‘Very possibly,' said Anthony calmly. He let go of Darryl's wrist and the boy started running. Millsy watched his friend deserting him.

‘Darryl!' he cried, but Darryl didn't stop or look back. Millsy struggled to escape from his own coat and the moment he was free he ran too, leaving the coat lying in the snow behind him. Anthony picked it up.

‘Hey!' he called. ‘You left your coat.' But Darryl was
long gone and he saw Millsy vanish through some bushes. Anthony waited for a few moments, but it didn't look like the boys were coming back. He shrugged and threw the coat on over his maroon and yellow jacket.
Waste not, want not
, he thought. It fitted perfectly, and he walked away.

Frank lay entwined in his duvet, wearing only a mangy pair of Y-fronts and his prized David Bowie
Aladdin Sane
T-shirt. His head was tilted backwards, his mouth hung open and a deep, sonorous roar drifted up from the depths of his throat. Somewhere he could hear banging:
bang bang bangbangbang bangbangbangbang bang bang!
It replayed over and over again.
Bang bang bangbangbang bangbangbangbang bang bang!

‘Sharrup!' Frank managed to croak.

Bang bang bangbangbang bangbangbangbang bang bang!

This time it got through to the meat of Frank's brain and he lifted his head off the pillow and managed to open one eye almost all the way.

*

Frank flung open the bedroom door and stomped out, trying to wrap a brown towelling dressing gown around himself as he headed along the narrow hallway to his front door.

Bang bang bangbangbang bangbangbangbang bang bang!

‘All right! All right! Knock it off, will ya? I'm coming,' Frank shouted. The banging stopped. ‘Who is it?' he asked.

He heard Goose's voice on the other side of the door. ‘Hurry up, will ya, Frank? It's bloody freezin' out 'ere.' Frank gave his face a rub in some half-arsed attempt to get the blood flowing and unlocked the door. Goose and Mutt were standing on his doorstep.

‘It snowed,' said Goose, jabbing a finger over his shoulder at the frozen view from the walkway outside Frank's eighth-floor council flat.

‘Yeah, I know,' said Frank, as the events of the previous night started to come back to him. He remembered the strange man in the maroon-and-yellow jacket lying in the road. He wondered for a moment if that had been a dream. He didn't think so but wasn't a hundred per cent.

Goose stepped inside and Mutt started to follow. Frank quickly put his bare foot in the path of the dog, barring his entry.