Claude’s Christmas Adventure: The must-read Christmas dog book of 2018!

Claude’s Christmas Adventure: The must-read Christmas dog book of 2018! Sophie Pembroke This Christmas a little dog is in for a BIG adventure…Meet Claude. He’s a loveable, big-eared, permanently hungry French Bulldog, who loves his humans – the McCawley family of number 11 Maple Drive to be precise.When Daisy and Oliver McCawley start using new words like, ‘ferry’, ‘chateau’ and ‘France’, Claude realises they won’t be spending this Christmas at home. Only, when he finds himself on the street, as the family car pulls away, Claude realises he is ALONE. And more importantly, he is without all the yummy treats he knows the festive season brings…Cue the start of Claude’s Christmas Adventure. It all begins with a belly-flop through next door’s catflap, where he finds newly single and craft-a-holic Holly, Jack the ex-army postman, his arch nemesis Perdita the cat … and serious amounts of gingerbread.Maple Drive’s cutest resident is about to bring the street together for Christmas, in ways no-one could have imagined …A heart-warming and uplifting tale, perfect for fans of A Street Cat Named Bob, A Pug Like Percy and Home Alone. CLAUDE’S CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE Sophie Pembroke Copyright (#u97c510a8-a05a-5660-931e-e943faef4635) AVON HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk) First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2016 Copyright © Sophie Pembroke 2016 Cover image © Shutterstock 2016 Cover design © Headdesign 2016 Sophie Pembroke asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780008202057 Ebook Edition © October 2016 ISBN: 9780008202064 Version: 2016-08-22 Dedication (#u97c510a8-a05a-5660-931e-e943faef4635) For Sam, You are all my Christmases at once Contents Cover (#u132c715e-8ae5-552a-afcd-8f120acf9f5b) Title Page (#u5bd06bc5-9611-590c-9a1d-58c4198d84c1) Copyright Dedication Chapter One (#uece83dcb-963e-51b8-9ca8-4477bd476f74) Claude (#u59d360c6-689b-5f2c-8cda-4a7944ad4430) Daisy (#u192dec17-6573-5493-9e64-2d5b40ce7636) Jack (#u2a872b26-939d-5e8d-a521-247b29b425a2) Chapter Two (#u288719e9-4b77-56cb-9679-c9973fef5a05) Claude (#udf7f156b-f9f0-5bb4-b07b-c66cd4a57d5a) Daisy (#u1f0777ff-458d-5e8d-8a24-1dce352557b0) Holly (#u2f0c0021-3132-503b-b885-354342afee9e) Chapter Three (#u5bf84b12-76ca-57a6-bb13-2a548f962f5c) Claude (#ue7061b3f-3235-5b2f-81af-10a2a3070e94) Daisy (#u17c0e46a-8bd8-5bfb-af1b-015574831ccc) Jack (#u77d4d666-5420-5cf3-8d3a-4a6229845394) Chapter Four (#udb1ad57e-84b5-5ded-abd1-ff6280f78180) Claude (#u697b7a2e-7349-562c-8bd0-e450116b05ee) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Holly (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Jack (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Holly (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Jack (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Holly (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Jack (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Holly (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Jack (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Jack (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Holly (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Holly (#litres_trial_promo) Jack (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Jack (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Holly (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Daisy (#litres_trial_promo) Jack (#litres_trial_promo) Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo) Claude (#litres_trial_promo) Acknowledgements About the Author About the Publisher (#ulink_35ecdd4f-aa33-5a2d-9bab-3e65170f9232) (#ulink_ac66e70f-8a86-58cf-a6f9-38e72d885901) The box on the table was filled with interesting smells. And, I guessed, interesting food that was causing the interesting smells. I snuffled around the base of the kitchen table, wiggling my rear against the tiled floor, my tiny tail moving with it. Magnificent though I am, in dog terms, I’m just not all that tall, and try as I might I couldn’t even see the box from close up, let alone reach it. I eyed the kitchen chairs. A more energetic dog might attempt to jump up, I supposed, but my legs weren’t long enough to make it, and I didn’t fancy the indignity of falling flat on my snout on the kitchen floor if I tried. I did fancy the interesting smells, though. They smelt delicious. I’d just sat back on my haunches to consider my options, when a foot collided with my side. I scampered back with a whine. ‘Oh!’ Daisy, one of my people, cried out as she stumbled, dropping the stack of presents she was carrying so they scattered across the table. And the floor. And one of the chairs. There was red and gold shiny paper everywhere. Glitter rained down from above, sparkly and shiny (but not good to eat. I’d checked). ‘Claude! What are you doing there? Honestly, how do you always seem to know exactly the wrong place to sit? Oliver!’ Daisy sounded cross. Daisy didn’t often sound cross, so I made a point of listening carefully. Usually, Daisy sounded fun, and full of laughter, and like she might give me treats at any moment just for managing not to drool on her new shoes (that happened last week). But not today. Today, I didn’t think Daisy was in the mood to give me any treats at all. And definitely not any of the food that was making the interesting smells in the box. This was not good. Oliver, Daisy’s husband, appeared in the doorway. He didn’t look in much of a better mood than Daisy. ‘What?’ ‘Put Claude in his crate in the car, will you? He’s being such a nuisance.’ Personally, I’d argue that the person who came into the kitchen, kicked me by accident and threw presents and glitter everywhere was much more of a nuisance. I gave a sharp bark to show my disagreement, but Daisy just glared at me. ‘At least if he’s in his crate he’s ready to go, and it’s one less thing for me to trip over in this bloody house.’ I do not like my crate. Well, it’s okay for a while, I suppose. But it’s not nearly as comfortable as my basket. I turned big eyes and ears on Oliver, and hoped he was feeling sympathetic. ‘Already? Shouldn’t we wait until we’re ready to go?’ Good man, Oliver. ‘We are ready,’ Daisy snapped. Oliver gave the presents littering the kitchen a pointed look. ‘Or we would be, if I wasn’t the only one doing the packing.’ ‘I’ll put Claude in the car,’ Oliver said quickly, self-defence obviously winning out over sympathy. I couldn’t really blame him. And actually, with Daisy in this mood, maybe I’d be safer out there anyway. I’d be glad when all this Christmas chaos was over and Daisy could go back to being the lovely human I knew she was. A lovely human with doggy treats, preferably. As much fun as Christmas was – with all the presents and interesting smells and lights on the tree – I didn’t like how grumpy it made Daisy. ‘Good. Then come back for the Christmas hamper.’ Daisy waved a hand at the box of interesting smells. ‘And don’t forget the twins’ special present! I’ll get the rest of the gifts in the car, then we can round up the kids and get them loaded up too.’ ‘If there’s still room for them,’ Oliver muttered, under his breath. I hoped he was joking. My ears had perked up a little at the mention of the kids. As much as I loved Daisy and Oliver, their children were far more fun. Especially Jay who, now he was six, had stopped trying to ride me and could play some really good games. The twins were too little to do anything much yet, but I was looking forward to watching them grow up. I hoped they’d be as much fun as Jay. Bella was older, but liked to take me for a walk sometimes – usually when she wanted to get away from her parents. She talked to me occasionally, too, curled up on the sofa when her family weren’t looking. I think she liked having someone who could only bark back. But still, I have to admit, Jay is my favourite person ever. ‘Come on, Claude old boy.’ Oliver hauled me into his arms and headed outside. As we passed the lounge, I saw the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, and heard the faint sounds of the twins’ favourite toy making the same noises over and over again. That was probably Jay playing with it, not them. At five months old, the twins weren’t all that interested in their toys, but Jay thought they were marvellous. I’d tried chewing on one or two of them, but Oliver or Daisy always took them away. That was okay. They didn’t taste all that good anyway. Outside, it turned out, was a lot chillier than the kitchen. The front door clattered shut behind us, the circle of leaves and berries that Daisy had hung on it thudding against the wood. The car stood on the driveway, doors wide open and the boot door up high too. It was a bigger car than most on our street, I’d realised a while ago. I supposed because we had so many more people than most of the houses on Maple Drive. My crate sat in the boot, behind the seats where Jay and Bella sat, which in turn were behind the row with the baby seats, which were behind Oliver and Daisy’s chairs. My red blanket covered the floor of the crate, and there was a chew toy or two to keep me entertained. I wondered how far we were going today. It was Christmas, and that usually meant a few days at Granny and Grandad’s house by the seaside. I liked it there – the sand was funny-feeling under my paws, and chasing the waves was always fun, even if I’d never caught them yet. But this year things felt different. Less fun, for a start. I’d been listening, while Daisy had been getting things ready for our trip, but some of the words she’d used hadn’t made much sense. Ferry. France. Chateau. They were new words to me. I had heard them talking about Granny and Grandad too, though, so that was good. It wouldn’t be Christmas without them. They always had doggy treats for me, and their dog, Petal, was good at sharing her toys. And her people. I didn’t really like to share my people at all, but Jay loved me more than any other dog anyway, so that was all right. I settled down in my crate as Oliver swung the door closed, and prepared to wait for the rest of the family to join me. Preferably with snacks. It didn’t take long. ‘Claude!’ Jay whispered my name, louder than most people would shout. I jumped up at the sound of his voice. ‘I’m sorry you’re stuck in your crate. I’ve brought you something to keep you company on the drive.’ He fumbled with the door of the crate, then pushed his stuffed toy inside. I huffed my gratitude. It wasn’t just any stuffed toy – it was the special French Bulldog toy that Granny and Grandad had bought him because they said it looked just like me. I couldn’t see it, myself. My black and white colouring was far more elegant. ‘Jay!’ Daisy yelled from inside the house, her voice sharp and impatient, and the little boy’s eyes widened. ‘See you later, Claude!’ He slammed the crate door shut again, running off before he could realise the latch hadn’t caught properly. Interesting. Still, there was nowhere I really needed to go, so I settled back down with the cuddly toy for company, and watched as the family came and went, loading boxes and bags into the car, and the bigger container on the roof. Oliver staggered out with a huge gift wrapped box, bigger than my crate, and jammed it into the boot beside me. The wrapping paper had pictures of red and white striped candy canes, and golden people shaped things with sweets for buttons that looked delicious. ‘Not for eating,’ Oliver reminded me, as he headed back to the house for the next box. ‘If you eat the wrapping paper off the twins’ first Christmas present, there’ll be hell to pay.’ As if I’d be so stupid. Besides, I’d tried it last month at Jay’s birthday. Wrapping paper tasted only marginally better than glitter. Every time the door opened, there was a blast of screaming from the twins. Suddenly, I was rather glad to be waiting in the car, even if no one had brought me a mid-morning snack yet. Oliver balanced the box of interesting smells beside my crate for a moment, then placed it on the back seat instead. ‘Just in case,’ he said, looking at me meaningfully. I huffed and turned around in my crate, facing away from him. No need to be insulting. But then I spotted someone else outside the car. Someone definitely not family. Perdita. The ridiculously fluffy, unnecessarily haughty, cat from across the road at number 12. And she was sniffing. ‘What’s that interesting smell?’ she meowed, padding closer. ‘Oh, sorry, you wouldn’t know, of course. You’re stuck in that crate.’ Like she never had to travel in a crate to go to the vet or whatever. Cats. They always think they’re better than everyone else. ‘I know that whatever it is, it’s not yours,’ I growled back. Perdita sprang up into the car boot, delicately climbing the mountain of suitcases and presents to reach the back seat. ‘Smells like fish. Maybe smoked salmon …’ She batted the box of interesting smells with one paw. That was a paw too far for this dog. Without warning, I burst through the open crate door and barked at Perdita, making her yowl. She jumped backwards, away from the box, scrambling against the twins’ Christmas present as she slid down out of the car. I growled in satisfaction, and she hissed back at me. Actually hissed. Well. A dog has his pride, right? I couldn’t just let her get away with that. I leapt down onto the pavement behind her, chasing her back down the street, away from my territory. My family. We didn’t need no stupid cats hanging around here. I didn’t intend to actually catch her, which was just as well, as Perdita positively flew across the street, up over the fence at number 12, and away. Still, I think I’d made my point. Slowing to a stop beside a comfortable-looking patch of grass in the shelter of an evergreen hedge, I lay down to recover from my exertions. Running is not one of my favourite activities. Actually, walking is a bit much too. I like to think I was made for warming a person’s feet by a fire, and eating. Puffing a little, I tried to catch my breath. I’d just rest for a moment, then I’d head back to the car. After all, I was excited to discover what ferry, France and chateau meant. But then I heard the slamming of car doors, and the unmistakeable sound of an engine starting. And that was the moment my adventure really began. (#ulink_0633836d-e87a-5cbb-8710-060a5da7a11c) ‘Right. Is that everything?’ Daisy buckled Lara into her car seat, ignoring her baby daughter’s indignant wails drowning out the Christmas music she’d put on the car stereo, as Oliver did the same with Luca on the other side. Five months old and they already hated everything Daisy tried to do. Surely it had taken longer for that sort of objection to set in with Bella and Jay? Maybe it was because there were two of them this time. Double trouble, Oliver called them, and not without good reason. In the row behind, Jay was trying to fasten his own seatbelt over his booster seat. Beside him, Bella rolled her eyes with the kind of disdain only a fourteen-year-old could manage, and took over, clipping it in with ease. How had it come to this? Inside, Daisy couldn’t help but feel that she was barely older than her eldest child. But out in the real world, she had four kids, a needy dog, a ridiculously large car, and a trip to make across the channel the day before Christmas Eve. Not to mention a husband who looked exhausted and grumpy before the whole adventure had even begun. It was Christmas. A time for family, fun and celebrating, surely. Not stress eating smoked salmon from the packet and fantasising about a gin and tonic on the ferry at eleven in the morning. ‘Suitcases are packed. Claude’s in his crate.’ Oliver ticked the items off on his fingers as he recounted the list, raising his voice to be heard over the twins’ escalating cries and the sound of Slade announcing the arrival of Christmas. Still, at least the babies tended to pass out the moment the car was in motion. They just had to get on the road. Quickly. ‘We have nappies, presents, snacks and passports. Anything else?’ ‘What about the hamper?’ The same question her mother had been asking every time she’d called that morning from France to check if they were on their way yet. ‘Wedged in the back seat between Bella and Jay. I figured it was safer than leaving it with Claude.’ ‘Good call.’ Claude almost certainly wouldn’t like smoked salmon, or any of the other contents of the M&S hamper, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try them, just to make sure. He’d eaten a whole bowl of cashew nuts the week before, plus a slice of cheesecake from her plate the week before that. She’d just nipped upstairs to check on the twins and when she got back – gone. The blasted dog was ruled by his stomach. ‘Remind me why your parents couldn’t just buy food in France?’ Oliver asked, as he slid into the passenger seat, scowling at the fairy lights flashing on the dashboard. So she was driving then. Right. ‘Apparently it’s not the same.’ Which Daisy would have thought was rather the point. Why move to France in the first place if you really only wanted M&S food in a slightly sunnier climate? Maybe it was for the wine. That would make sense. ‘I still don’t understand why we have to go at all,’ Oliver grumbled, and Daisy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from responding that he was the one who said what a brilliant idea it was when her parents first suggested spending Christmas with them in their new house in Normandy. If she’d answered the phone that night they could be eating mince pies in the peace of their own home right now. Or possibly not. Her father could be very hard to say no to when he had an idea in his head, and as their only child she did feel a certain obligation to them. But at least she would have tried. Who asked their daughter to traipse across the Channel two days before Christmas with four kids and a dog in tow? Daisy took a deep breath. It would all be fine. It would be a lovely, family Christmas. They’d all be together, playing board games, or maybe charades. She and Mum would cook a wonderful Christmas roast, and they’d all eat too much pudding. Claude and Petal would beg for turkey scraps, Jay would pull everyone’s crackers for them, and the twins would sleep through the night finally. Well, maybe not that last one. Even the season of miracles had its limits. But the important thing was they would all be together, having precious family time. Daisy smiled to herself. There. Everything felt much calmer now she’d focused on what really mattered. She kissed the twins in turn. They scowled back. ‘Right, kids, everyone okay back there?’ she called, back through the seats. No response. ‘Bella?’ Daisy peered further back. Of course. Bella had her phone out and was staring intently at the screen, her headphones clamped over her ears. Jay was already deep into some game or another on his tablet. She glanced at Oliver for some parental support. Oliver was playing Candy Crush on his phone. Another deep breath. This one didn’t help nearly so much. ‘Right!’ she snapped, reaching between the front seats and whipping Oliver’s phone from his hand. ‘Hey!’ ‘Hand them over.’ She held out a hand for Bella and Jay’s devices, and they both stared at her in horror. ‘This is a family holiday. Time for us to reconnect as a family unit. To talk, share our thoughts, play together. Not stare at individual screens for the next three days then go home again.’ ‘So, what? You’re going to lock up our phones?’ Bella raised her eyebrows. ‘Seriously?’ ‘If that’s what it takes.’ Did she even have somewhere to lock them? Daisy cast her gaze around the car and spotted her mother’s old vanity case that had been turned into a first aid kit, sitting on the floor of the back seat. That would do. ‘But I’ll miss everything!’ Bella wailed. ‘How will I know what’s going on at home, with my friends?’ ‘You can ask them when you get back,’ Daisy said. Leaning across the twins’ car seats, ignoring the squeaks from the babies, she plucked the tablet and phone from Bella and Jay. Then she flipped open the vanity case and dropped them and Oliver’s phone on top of the half full packets of plasters and some antiseptic cream that had gone green around the lid. ‘What about your phone, then?’ Bella’s face was thunderous. ‘I mean, if we’re not allowed ours …’ ‘Fine!’ Daisy pulled her own phone from her pocket and added it to the pile. She rifled around in the pocket inside the lid of the vanity case to find the key, shut the box and turned the key in the lock. ‘There.’ She decided to ignore the rebellious mutterings from the back seat. ‘Now, is everyone strapped in?’ A downbeat chorus of agreement followed. Daisy manoeuvred herself out of the back of the car, uttering a silent prayer that the twins wouldn’t choose today not to sleep in the car. Or that they would at least stop wailing sometime soon. It was so hard to think with that constant howl of noise. Shoving the tiny silver key in her jeans pocket, Daisy checked her watch as she reached up with her other hand to slam the car boot, blocking the noise for a moment at least. Damn, they were running late now. Portsmouth was an hour or more’s drive from their leafy Surrey suburb, and the ferry wouldn’t wait for them. She’d have to put her foot down to make it. Belatedly, she glanced at Claude’s black and white coat through the grimy rear windscreen, small beside the absurdly huge gift she’d wrapped for the twins. What had she been thinking? Well, actually, she knew the answer to that. It had been October, and she’d still been thinking she’d be spending Christmas at home for once, instead of traipsing around the country visiting family. She’d thought that, just for once, they could have a peaceful family Christmas, just the six of them. Well, seven if you counted Claude. She hadn’t been expecting her parents’ phone call with their demand that they all cross the Channel to spend Christmas in France. Daisy sighed. It would be fine. Claude seemed to be sleeping, at least. She just hoped he didn’t need a toilet stop before they reached Portsmouth … ‘Are we going then?’ Oliver called from the passenger seat. From his tone, Daisy surmised that he was not best pleased to have lost his own entertainment. Well, tough. ‘We are,’ she said, as cheerily as she could manage. Buckling herself into the driver’s seat, she started the engine and turned up the volume on the Christmas CD. ‘Right. Which way do I go?’ Beside her, Oliver shrugged. ‘How should I know? The sat nav is on my phone. Which you locked up.’ God, he was more petulant than Bella, and Daisy hadn’t honestly believed that was possible. But she was not going to let it get to her. She wasn’t. Daisy reached into the tray under her seat and pulled out the ancient road atlas they hadn’t used since Bella was a baby. ‘We’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way then, won’t we?’ she said, smiling sweetly at Oliver as she passed it to him. ‘Now, who wants to play a word game while we drive? I’ll start. I spy with my little eye, something beginning with M.’ ‘Muh! Muh! Muh!’ Luca called desperately, and Lara began to wail in response. ‘Misery,’ guessed Bella. ‘My tablet,’ Jay said, sadly. ‘Many, many miles of this,’ Oliver muttered. Daisy decided a few more deep breaths might be in order between Maple Drive and Portsmouth. Not to mention a very large gin and tonic once they got on the bloody ferry. (#ulink_f7d2d8c5-0b2d-5f37-bbd4-07291b93dc79) Maple Drive might possibly be the least festive place on his post route, Jack decided, as he took in the sad, token sprig of holly tied to the door knocker of number 13. It was as if they’d all forgotten about Christmas until the last moment, then decided it wasn’t really worth the bother. There was the odd wreath, a glimpse of a fake Christmas tree through a couple of windows, but that was it. Well, apart from the tasteful string of icicle lights hanging along the bedroom windowsill at number 12. And even those looked a little forlorn in the grey, pale, winter sunlight. It wasn’t that Jack thought that every house needed a light-up Santa on the roof, along with eight creepy glow-in-the-dark reindeer. Still, a little festive cheer wouldn’t go amiss. He’d even taken to humming Christmas carols on his rounds, just to try and raise the street’s spirits. But apparently Maple Drive was the wrong place to be looking for cheer, festive or otherwise. ‘And will you look at that travesty of a decoration across at number 12? Makes the place look like a red light zone.’ Mrs Templeton, grey haired and sternly disapproving, shook her head. She reminded Jack of a head teacher he’d had when he was five, who had been scarier than all his superiors in the army put together. Who knew that returning to civilian life after ten years in the forces would still hold such opportunities to quake in his boots? Mrs Templeton pointed forcibly towards number 12 and Jack felt obliged to look, if he had any hope of her signing for her parcel. All he could see was the delicate icicle lights under the windowsill. A small patch of brightness in the dark, winter day. ‘I quite like them, actually,’ he said mildly, earning himself a glare from Mrs Templeton. ‘Well. I suppose you would.’ She looked him up and down, and Jack wondered what she saw. Mild-mannered postman or ex-Corporal Tyler? Some days, he wasn’t sure which one he was any more, either. Mrs Templeton sniffed. ‘She’s pretty enough, I suppose. In a blowsy, overblown sort of way.’ Ah. That was what she was thinking. Well, she was right, to a point. The occupant of number 12 Maple Drive was pretty. Very pretty, in fact. But in a sad, lonely way, Jack had always thought. And given the number of parcels he’d delivered to her house over the past few months, he’d had plenty of time to develop that opinion. Holly Starr, 12 Maple Drive, Surrey, seemed to order her entire life online, as far as Jack could tell. ‘And that cat of hers! Look, there it goes now, racing about all over the place!’ Jack turned to look, and saw a fluffy black and white streak flying across the road. Then, falling behind, a small, black and white dog scampering after it, his oversized ears flapping in the breeze. ‘Oh, and don’t get me started on the dogs on this street—’ Mrs Templeton said, as the dog gave up the chase and slunk back to the pavement and, Jack assumed, home. ‘If I could just get you to sign here …’ Jack interrupted, proffering his electronic pad again, and holding in a sigh when Mrs Templeton sniffed at the very sight of it. ‘Modern gadgets.’ She took the plastic stylus gingerly between two fingers. ‘I don’t know what was wrong with a pen and paper, personally.’ Jack gave her what he hoped was a patient smile. Unfortunately she seemed to take it as encouragement. ‘That’s what’s wrong these days. Too much reliance on electronics. Especially the children. Even my grandson Zach is glued to his computer thing … but that’s because his mother doesn’t know how to control him. He never plays on that device in my house.’ She pointed the stylus at him, somewhat menacingly. ‘I remember when there was none of that. Children listened and played outside in the street and they didn’t act up if they knew what was good for them. And there was none of this gaudy … Americanisation of Christmas.’ The stylus waved towards the icicle lights again. ‘Really. Lights. On the outside of the house!’ Jack couldn’t resist. ‘You should see the houses on Cedar Avenue,’ he said, in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘One of them has a full set of Snow White and the seven dwarves lit up on their roof.’ Mrs Templeton gasped with predictable horror. ‘But … that’s not even festive!’ Jack shrugged. ‘Well, there’s also one with the Nativity. Maybe you’d like that one more.’ ‘I sincerely doubt it.’ So did Jack. ‘Anyway …’ He glanced meaningfully at the stylus, still punctuating Mrs Templeton’s every thought. ‘If you could just …’ He shook the electronic pad again. ‘Humph.’ Mrs Templeton scrawled a few lines across the screen, and Jack decided that was good enough. He handed her the parcel, along with a few Christmas card-sized envelopes on the top. She scowled at them. ‘And look at these stamps! What happened to a good, old-fashioned Nativity scene for a Christmas stamp? I ask you.’ Jack quite liked the cartoon Santas, but Mrs Templeton had already shut the door before he could say so. ‘Merry Christmas, Mrs Templeton,’ he called, through the closed door. ‘You miserable old bat,’ he added under his breath. This wasn’t what he’d expected when he’d moved to Maple Drive. Fresh out of the army, he’d taken a job as a postman and, when he was assigned to an area of the suburbs with nice, neat houses, friendly looking front doors and well-kept lawns, he’d thought he’d stumbled onto exactly what he’d been looking for. Somewhere peaceful, friendly, and properly British. The sort of place he might get invited in for the occasional cup of tea or a biscuit. Or, at least, somewhere he might make new friends, and find a new community to replace the family he’d left behind when he left the forces. He was so sure this was what he was looking for, he’d even rented one of the smaller terrace houses on the edge of the estate, just at the corner of Maple Drive. It hadn’t taken long for the illusion to be shattered. Maple Drive might look like friendly, community-spirited suburbia, but those neighbourhood watch signs and hedges trimmed into animal shapes were misleading. The street was filled with curtain-twitchers, busy workers who left post-it notes asking him to leave their parcels in strange hiding places, and Mrs Templeton. In three months, he could count the number of actual conversations he’d had with his neighbours on one hand – and most of them had been to do with the declining standards of the postal service. He doubted anyone on Maple Drive even realised that he actually lived there too. With a sigh, Jack trudged back along the street, away from Mrs Templeton’s house at the top of the cul-de-sac. He dropped a few cards through the letterbox at number 11, the McCawleys’, and was about to cross the street to deliver the small parcel in his bag for Holly Starr at number 12 – her of the icicles – when he spotted something shining on the driveway. Frowning, he bent down to pick it up. He held the small, silver key between two fingers and considered it. It looked like the sort of key that might open one of those padlocks that came in Christmas crackers, or maybe a secret journal or something. Probably nothing important, but still … Turning, he pushed it through number 11’s letterbox to land on the cards. At least that way, they’d find it in case they needed it. With a satisfied nod, he marched across the street to number 12. After all, it was Christmas. And the pleasure of delivering presents to Holly Starr was basically the only present he expected to get this year. Maybe he’d even tell her he liked her icicles. (#ulink_2e542c90-67f4-5f59-9f4c-970d49c9548d) (#ulink_bde52005-e1e1-5490-848a-421bf5410fca) I scampered after the car, but being a dog of little legs, I stood about as much chance of catching it as I did of catching Perdita. Although, cars couldn’t climb fences, so maybe a slightly better chance … Either way, by the time I got home, the car – and my family – were gone. Off to ferry, France and chateau. Leaving me behind. Alone. This, I decided, was simply not how things were meant to be. Ever since I was a tiny, squirming puppy, I’d always been with people. To start with, there were my litter mates, my mum, and my mum’s people. Then, soon enough, there was Daisy and Oliver and Bella, and tiny Jay in his buggy. They took me home to Maple Drive, and I knew I’d never be really alone again. Oh, maybe a couple of hours when they were all out but, to be honest, in a house with so many people the occasional hour to doze away by myself wasn’t a hardship. And most of the time, there was always someone around to scratch my ears, rub my belly, or refill my food bowl. But not now. They’d packed up everything – even the box of interesting smells – and taken it with them. That meant they weren’t coming back, not for a while, anyway. It was just like when we went away camping (even my fluffy dog bed couldn’t keep me warm that week. Jay ended up sleeping in it with me) or when we used to visit Granny and Grandad down by the seaside. They’d meant to take me with them, I knew. But how had they not noticed I wasn’t there? How could they have left me behind? Me! Claude! Their beloved pet! I hunkered down beside the bush at the end of our driveway, feeling mightily sorry for myself. I was cold and lonely and I wanted Jay. Even the twins would be welcome company right now. Then my tummy rumbled, and I realised the situation was even more dire than I’d first thought. I wasn’t just alone, I was hungry. And since I wasn’t meant to be there, Daisy and Oliver wouldn’t have left me any food out! I jumped to my paws and scampered up the driveway, bouncing up the three steps to the front door. I pawed at the wood and whimpered, hoping against hope that Daisy might have forgotten to lock it again and it might swing open under my paws. No such luck. Maybe the back door, though … I rushed around the side of the house, but the solid wood back door wouldn’t budge either. The patio doors were locked tight too and, even if I could see an open window, I couldn’t jump high enough to get through them. The house might as well have been a fortress, like the big wooden one Jay played with sometimes in his room. (I was usually cast as his noble, handsome steed. I wasn’t sure what a steed was, but the noble and handsome part sounded about right.) I sat on the back step and looked out at the garden. There was the treehouse, if I could climb the ladder. I’d tried once or twice before, when Perdita had hidden up there, but hadn’t had much luck. Wait. Perdita. This was all her fault. I would never have left the car if she hadn’t been snooping around, trying to get into the box of interesting smells. Everything was definitely Perdita’s fault. Which meant it was up to Perdita to put it right. Or at least get me some food. Daisy and Oliver and the others would be back soon, I was sure. The moment they noticed I was missing they would rush back to find me. We were family, after all, and that’s what you did for family. They wouldn’t leave me alone for Christmas. They’d be back in no time, probably with extra treats to make it up to me. Like the stocking they gave me last Christmas, filled with chewy treats. Yes, of course they’d be back. I just had to be patient. And find something to eat to keep me going in the meantime. I padded back round to the street, shivering a little in the winter air. Times like this, I almost thought Daisy had a point when she’d bought me that tartan coat. Oliver had laughed, though, so she only got it out of the coat cupboard when he wasn’t looking. Across the road stood number 12 – home of my furry nemesis. I’d never been there before, but I knew a little bit about it from previous encounters with Perdita. For instance, she’d bragged once that she had a special little door, around the back, through which she could come and go as she pleased. No waiting around to be let in or out when she needed to find a nice patch of dirt to take care of business. No waiting for her person to take her for a walk, or to tell her she had to stay inside. Cats had the sort of freedom us dogs could only dream of. But I couldn’t help thinking that they missed out on the connection we had with our people. What human really wanted a pet that didn’t need them, anyway? Usually, the fact that Perdita could come and go as she pleased, even into my garden, annoyed me. But today I was glad of Perdita’s independence. Today, I intended to turn it to my advantage, by using her little door myself. I wasn’t all that much bigger than her, and I was sure I could squeeze through if I tried. And once I made it inside … Well, how different from dog food could cat food really be? (#ulink_e288f612-099b-5093-9d05-4083935e87f7) Daisy let out a long breath of relief as the official gave a sharp nod, after too many minutes considering their paperwork, and let her drive through onto the ferry. Really, they were only a few seconds late. Well, maybe minutes. Certainly less than half an hour. Oh, who was she kidding? She’d never been on time for anything since the moment Bella was born. It was as if having kids had robbed her of the ability to tell the time. Or at least to accurately estimate how long anything took. Although, to be fair, it was hard to predict exactly how many times the twins would need their nappies changing, or how long it would take to find whichever toy Jay had lost and desperately needed to take with him, or even how much time Bella would spend arguing about having to go out at all. She could estimate based on past experience, but somehow, whenever she thought she had a handle on it, the kids upped their game. ‘Well, we made it,’ Oliver said. Why did he always have to state the obvious? They could all see they’d made it. They were on the bloody boat. Funny to think that when they’d met, back at university, he’d been the one to open her eyes to all sorts of things, with his unusual way of seeing the world. The way he spotted things around them that other people would have missed. But these days … ‘We’re on the ferry.’ More deep breaths, Daisy. Peace and joy for the season would be a lot easier if the M25 hadn’t been such a nightmare. Of course, it always was, and she’d known, somewhere at the back of her mind, that it would be worse today, so close to Christmas. She’d even realised, a few weeks ago, that they’d need to allow extra time for the journey because of it. But somewhere during the preparations for their trip that information had got lost in a fog of present wrapping, the scramble to write cards for all the people she’d forgotten, and the late night piecing together of a shepherd’s outfit for Jay’s Nativity play the following day. Peace and joy had been in sadly short supply at number 11 Maple Drive for the last month. ‘Can I have my phone back now?’ Bella asked from the back seat – the first thing she’d said since losing at Twenty Questions forty minutes earlier. ‘No.’ Daisy didn’t even think before she answered, and regretted it when the inevitable follow-up question came. ‘Why not?’ Yes, Daisy. Why? Why on earth are you making this even more difficult on yourself? She sighed. Because she wanted it to be perfect. She wanted her family to enjoy being around each other. Just for once, she wanted the stress and the constant merry-go-round of school and activities and work and nappies and emails and screens to stop. She wanted them to all just have Christmas, the way it used to be, when she was child. Except in some decrepit chateau in France that her parents had fallen in love with and bought, for some reason. Some reason that probably wasn’t ‘to make Daisy’s life more difficult’ but felt like it, sometimes. Most of the time, actually. Who really bought a chateau on a whim, anyway? Only her parents. And since they’d only moved in a few weeks ago, they’d be lucky if there were actual beds to sleep in when they got there. God only knew what sort of a state the place was in. This whole Christmas had ‘disaster’ stamped on it from beginning to end. Or it would, if Daisy wasn’t so damned determined to drag it back from the brink of awful towards ‘perfect family Christmas.’ She wouldn’t mind a little help with that, though. ‘Because we’re going to go and have dinner together on the ferry,’ Daisy said, as calmly as she could manage. ‘And it’s going to be lovely.’ Bella gave a heavy, exaggerated sigh. Beside Daisy, Oliver gave a smaller one. ‘What about Claude?’ Jay piped up. ‘Can he come?’ ‘Of course he can,’ Oliver answered. ‘He’s part of the family, too. Right?’ ‘Right,’ Daisy answered, wondering if the restaurant allowed dogs. That was probably something else she should have checked when planning the trip. In fact, she probably should have booked them a table. She’d thought about it, then forgotten. Apparently fourteen years of baby brain had rendered her incapable of following a thought from beginning to— ‘Urgh!’ Bella wrinkled up her nose. ‘Do you smell that? Is that Luca or Lara?’ Oliver grimaced. ‘Both, by the stink of it. Where did you pack the change bag, Daze?’ ‘The change bag?’ What had she been thinking about? Something to do with dinner, maybe. Well, it was gone now. ‘I thought you packed that?’ ‘Did I?’ Oliver looked puzzled. ‘Maybe it’s in the boot with Claude, under the twins’ present.’ The epically large, noisy mistake of a present. Every time they’d gone over a bump the damn thing had started singing ‘Old McDonald’. Why? Daisy wanted to ask. Why put the one thing we’re most likely to need to get to in the most inaccessible place? Did husbands get baby brain too? She was starting to think they might. Oliver showed no signs of hunting down the errant change bag, so Daisy unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door to inspect the boot. The on-board shops would probably sell nappies and wipes anyway, right? And they had changes of clothes for the twins in the suitcase, at least. This wasn’t a disaster. Calm. Peace and joy. Those were her watchwords. She wasn’t going to let a little something like a missing change bag derail her festive plans. Even if it did have the twins’ favourite teething rings in. And actually, possibly her purse. No. It would be fine. It would be in the boot. Oliver was a bit rubbish sometimes, and she might not always be the most on-top-of-everything mum on the block, but between them surely they’d managed to pack a bloody change bag. Right? Holding her breath, Daisy popped open the boot. She blew out with relief and grinned. One change bag, fully packed, sat right next to Claude’s crate, only half under the Old McDonald monstrosity. See? Not so rubbish. It was all fine. ‘Come on then, Claude,’ she said. ‘I bet you’re busting for a wee, too.’ She moved to unlatch the crate door, and realised it was already open. Daisy rolled her eyes. Typical Claude. Too lazy to even bother escaping when he had the option. Even now she could see through the bars that he was still sleeping! She reached in to poke him. ‘Time to wake—’ Her finger sank into the soft, plush, close cropped fur and stuffing. She blinked, gulped, and felt heat and blood racing to her head as the world started to pulse in time with her heartbeat. She needed to sit down. Or run. Or down a gin and tonic. Or all three at once, if that were even possible. ‘Up,’ she whispered, as the horrible truth sank in. That wasn’t Claude. The dog in the crate wasn’t their beloved family pet. It was Jay’s stupid bloody soft toy! Panic began to spread through her veins. Suddenly, nothing else mattered – not Oliver sulking, not the twins’ stupid present, not Bella’s teenage strops, not Jay whining about his tablet, not even the ridiculous chateau in France they had to trek out to for Christmas. Never mind the bloody change bag. This was a disaster. They had to get back to Maple Drive, to Claude. Immediately. (#ulink_11086d21-117b-5754-90c4-1ce797d87800) Thirty-three hours and fourteen minutes until Christmas Day. Holly totted up the time left in her head, and ignored the small voice at the back of her brain that added that in that case there were only fifty-seven hours until the whole thing was over for another year, and she could go back to her ordinary life, instead of the excessively jolly, Pinterest worthy, craft and baking haze of caster sugar and spray glue she’d been living in for the last month. She didn’t want Christmas to be over. Of course she didn’t. She loved Christmas – always had, ever since she was tiny. She hadn’t lost that festive feeling even when she was a sulky teenager, or declared that ‘Christmas isn’t as fun as it used to be’ when she became a cynical twenty-something. Nothing had ever dimmed her love of Christmas in the last twenty-seven years, and she wasn’t about to let Sebastian bloody Reynolds ruin this one, even if it meant she had to make every single cake, biscuit, decoration and gift she had pinned on her ‘Creative Christmas!’ Pinterest board. Okay, so this wasn’t exactly how she’d expected to spend the first Christmas in her new home, here on Maple Drive. Back in February, when Sebastian proposed, she’d expected to be hosting family and friends for Christmas nibbles and drinks, not to mention her parents and in-laws for the big day lunch itself. She’d imagined her whole house decorated in tasteful red-and-white Scandi style, with hints of silver here and there for a little sparkle. There’d be perfectly coordinated wrapped presents under the tree. She, Sebastian and Perdita would each have their stocking hanging by the fireplace, and there’d be a personally painted family plate on the hearth ready to hold Santa’s mince pie and sherry. Greenery would twine up the bannisters, twinkling with tiny fairy lights. And she and Sebastian would curl up on the sofa to watch It’s A Wonderful Life, or The Muppet’s Christmas Carol, and sip nice wines and eat fancy finger food and be ecstatically happy and, oh yes, married. Instead, her home looked like an explosion in a kids’ craft room. In a desperate effort to regain her Christmas spirit, even if she was single and alone this December, she’d thrown herself into crafting a homemade Christmas. Sebastian had always hated her hobbies – he far preferred to spend his money on the most expensive, most talked about items, and couldn’t understand why Holly would even want to make things herself. Sometimes, she suspected that Sebastian had never understood her. Holly smashed the staple gun against the ‘Santa Stop Here!’ sign she was making, so hard that the staple buckled and went pinging across the kitchen. She sighed. She’d have to go and retrieve it before Perdita stabbed her paw on it. Her precious – but admittedly rather entitled – cat would never forgive her. Perdita had never really liked Sebastian. Turned out, Perdita had a point. A knock on the door distracted her from her staple retrieval and, brushing glitter from her festively red skirt, Holly headed through to the hall to answer it, pausing only briefly to enjoy the fairy lights in the green garland on the stairs, and the tiny red felt stockings hanging from it in lieu of berries. She didn’t need a husband to have a perfectly decorated Christmas, anyway. It might not be minimalist, or magazine-worthy Scandi style, but her decorations were definitely unique. And all hers. It was, of course, the postman. Holly couldn’t remember the last time anyone other than her parents and the postman had knocked on her door. And since her parents were currently cruising their way around the Caribbean, that only left one option. And as the postman was kind of hot, in a broad, dark and brooding way, she didn’t mind nearly as much as she might otherwise have done. ‘Another parcel for you, Miss Starr.’ The postman gave her a warm smile, so at odds with the slight shadows Holly always saw in his eyes. Maybe she was imagining them. Sebastian had always said she made up stories, imagined things that weren’t there. Like him being in love with her. Except he’d proposed. She hadn’t imagined that. He’d just changed his mind, four months later. ‘Thanks.’ She took the parcel from his hands and tried not to blush. Not because he was gorgeous, but because he’d been lugging at least one parcel a day to her front door for over a month now. He probably thought she was ordering them just to give her an excuse to see him. Mind you, she could think of worse reasons. Like, I’m trying to craft the perfect Christmas to avoid thinking about how alone I am. Yeah, she really didn’t want to share that one with the postman. Although if he got a glimpse of more than her hallway, there’d be no hiding it. ‘And please. It’s Holly.’ ‘Holly,’ he repeated, and her name didn’t sound spiky and prickly in his mouth. It sounded warm and soft. She liked it that way. ‘I’m Jack.’ Jack. A good, strong, reliable name. And he was very reliable – as a postman. Which suited Holly perfectly. An attractive man she could admire daily as he reliably delivered her craft supplies and Christmas decorations, without her ever needing to risk anything beyond a little doorstep flirting. No disappointment, no heartbreak. Just a gentle flirtation. Perfect. ‘Hi, Jack.’ Holly even risked a small smile. He’d certainly earned it. Especially after last week’s order of air drying clay. She’d only meant to order five small packets, but somehow ended up with five packs of twenty. They had been heavy. Of course, now she had no idea what to say next. They’d exchanged names, she’d got her parcel … what next? Did she just shut the door? Say, see you tomorrow? Make a flirty little joke? She’d never been good at this. Oh, good grief, she couldn’t even manage a tiny bit of flirting with the postman. What hope was there for her ever getting back out there on the dating scene? None, that’s what. Maybe she could craft herself a boyfriend out of air drying clay and felt. ‘I like your lights, by the way,’ he said, and she blinked at him in confusion until he waved a hand towards her bedroom window. Right. The icicles. She’d been a little uncertain about putting them up – no one else on Maple Drive seemed to have any – but she’d always had Christmas lights. Lots of them. The icicles felt like a compromise – a tiny, token demonstration of her love of all things festive. ‘Um, thanks.’ Now what? Did she compliment him on his postbag? What would a normal, non-craft crazy loner, do? Holly could do normal, she was almost certain. Look at the icicles! The awkward moment stretched out between them, as Holly tried to figure out how to break eye contact. Until a sudden crash in the kitchen startled her into spinning around. ‘What on earth …?’ Leaving the door open, Holly dashed towards the kitchen. Maybe Perdita had found that blasted staple already. Except she hadn’t heard a yowl. Perdita had a very distinctive yowl … ‘Careful,’ Jack said sharply, and when she glanced back Holly realised he’d followed her in. His post bag was slung over his back, and his fists were up, as if he were spoiling for a fight. ‘It could be a—’ They reached the kitchen, and stared at the unlikely sight before them. ‘Dog?’ Jack finished. ‘Dog,’ Holly agreed. Not just any dog. A compact, bat-eared dog that was sprawled on her kitchen floor, looking up at her with very sad and sorry eyes. The bulk of his body was white, but those oversized ears, the patches over his eyes and one or two spots over his back were black. ‘He must have wriggled through the cat flap.’ ‘Tight squeeze,’ Jack commented, eyeing the dog, then the cat flap. ‘Especially with those shoulders. And that stomach.’ ‘And the ears …’ They stood straight up, adding a good couple of inches to the dog’s height, lined in a pale, velvety pink. ‘What sort of dog is he, do you think?’ With his wrinkled face, non-existent tail, and powerful legs, he looked like no dog Holly had ever seen before. Except, now that she thought about it … didn’t the house across the road have some sort of dog? She’d never really paid much attention. She was, after all, a firmly declared cat person. Still, she was sure she’d seen the husband or the daughter walking a smallish dog from her front window, from time to time. She’d just never studied the details. Like the ears … ‘French Bulldog, I think.’ Jack crouched down in front of the creature, who was returning Holly’s stare with equal bafflement. ‘Hang on. He’s wearing a collar. Hey there, boy.’ That last was to the dog, Holly assumed, as Jack reached out, slowly, cautiously, and lifted the tag hanging from the animal’s collar. ‘Claude, apparently. What a name.’ ‘Claude,’ Holly repeated. ‘He doesn’t look like a Claude.’ ‘He looks like a thug,’ Jack agreed. ‘Except for the ears.’ ‘And the eyes.’ Holly frowned a little as she looked closer. ‘His eyes are … gentle. And a bit sad.’ With almost the same shadows she saw in Jack’s actually. The poor creature seemed to vibrate with a sense of misery. Of loneliness. Holly could sympathise with that. Maybe she could crochet Claude a Christmas hat, or something. ‘Is there an address? Or a phone number?’ she asked, shaking off the strange connection with the dog. ‘The McCawleys, at number 11.’ Jack let the tag fall and stood up. ‘So, just across the road. I think they’re out though. Do you have a number for them?’ Holly shook her head. She didn’t have numbers for any of her neighbours, now she thought about it. Really, they were right there, next door. That was sort of the point of them. Why would she need their phone numbers? Besides, when she’d moved in with Sebastian, shortly after they’d decided to ‘merge their lives’ as he put it, she’d been too loved up and deep in their new engagement to worry about other people. There’d been decorating to do, and wedding planning, and dreaming about her future and … and she wasn’t thinking about Sebastian. Not at all. Even if tomorrow was supposed to be her wedding day. No. Back to the dog. ‘I guess we could put a note through their door?’ Holly said. What was the proper etiquette for dealing with house-breaking dogs, anyway? ‘As long as they’re not away over Christmas.’ Jack straightened up and stood, leaving Claude staring up at him pleadingly. ‘Do you think he’s hungry?’ That might explain the oversized eyes. He looked like a creature in a Disney movie. ‘Do French Bulldogs like cat food, do you think? It’s all I have.’ Jack shrugged. ‘It’s worth a try. I get the feeling this guy might eat anything you put in front of him.’ Holly got that idea too, although she couldn’t imagine where from. It wasn’t like she was a dog whisperer, or anything. In her experience, animals had as much a mind of their own as humans. And God knew she’d never had much luck getting her own species to do what she wanted. Still, she dug out a spare food bowl from Perdita’s cupboard and tipped some dry food into it, laying it on the floor in front of Claude. Then, as an afterthought, she added a bowl of water. When she stepped back she realised that not only was the postman still standing in her kitchen, he was also surveying her kitchen table. Or, at least, what used to be her kitchen table. These days it was more like Christmas Craft Central. ‘You’ve been busy,’ he observed, reaching out to touch a string of red, gold and green bunting lying across the end of the table. The fabric shifted slightly, pulling the strings buried under the rest of the stuff on the table. Holly held her breath, waiting to see if the tower of decorations, the tangle of fairy lights or the cooling racks laden with the pieces of her gingerbread house, waiting to be assembled, would topple over at his touch. Thankfully they didn’t. That was all she needed – to bury the postman in biscuits and sequins in her kitchen. ‘Is this what’s in all the parcels, then? Craft stuff?’ ‘Mostly,’ Holly admitted. ‘I like, well, making things. And keeping busy. Christmas is sort of the season for homemade stuff, don’t you think?’ ‘I’d never really thought about it.’ Jack tilted his head slightly as he looked at her, and Holly got the uncomfortable feeling that he was taking this new information and adding it to what he already knew about her. She just wished she knew what conclusions he was drawing. Talented amateur crafts-person or crazy Pinterest addict? Was it too much to want to know which? ‘So, what was today’s order? Fabric? Sequins? At least I know it wasn’t more of that incredibly heavy stuff you had last week.’ ‘Air drying clay. Sorry.’ Holly felt her cheeks warm up and knew she was blushing. ‘Actually, today’s wasn’t craft stuff. I suspect it’s Perdita’s Christmas jumper.’ ‘Perdita?’ Jack’s eyebrows were raised so high they’d almost disappeared under the short, dark hair just starting to curl over his forehead. ‘My cat.’ Great. With two words she’d crystallised his opinion of her as a crazy cat lady. So much for trying to appear normal. Too late now, though. Holly opened the package and held up the fluffy red outfit, with brown pompoms sewn on to look like Christmas puddings. ‘Ah.’ Jack stared at the jumper for a moment then averted his gaze, apparently horrified. ‘And does she, uh, like dressing up?’ ‘Not particularly.’ Holly looked down at Claude, who was wolfing his way through Perdita’s cat food. She wondered if he might like a Christmas sweater. ‘But I feed and house her, so she has to go along with my whims.’ ‘Fair enough,’ Jack said. ‘I don’t suppose Perdita is a big dog fan?’ ‘Not at all, I’m afraid.’ They both stared at Claude who, apparently sensing the attention, sat back from the now empty bowl and stared back. ‘I don’t think she’d much like coming home to find Claude here. It might be a bit Goldilocks for her. You know, “Who’s that eating my cat food?’’’ Jack sighed. ‘In that case, it looks like you’re coming with me, boy.’ He reached down and scooped Claude up. The dog looked even smaller, his ears even more absurd, in Jack’s strong arms. At least, Holly assumed they were strong. They looked strong. And they’d managed the air drying clay no problem. She might be obsessing about his arms a little bit. ‘I can ask around the neighbourhood while I’m doing my rounds, see if anyone has a number for the McCawleys,’ Jack went on. ‘I just wish I had a lead for him. Maybe I could borrow some ribbon?’ Holly stopped staring at Jack’s arms and lurched towards Perdita’s cupboard instead. ‘Even better. You can borrow Perdita’s lead. It just clips onto the collar.’ She turned to hand it to him to find Jack staring at her, for a change. ‘You have a lead for your … cat?’ Blood hit her cheeks again. Dammit, she’d blushed more this afternoon than in the past five years. ‘Yes. When we moved here, she was a bit skittish. And Sebastian said … anyway, it doesn’t matter. Here you go.’ No need to explain that Sebastian had said that if she couldn’t control the damn animal, she’d have to get rid of it. Holly had chosen the lead as a way to try and keep Perdita comfortable and close until she settled in. She proffered the lead again, and this time Jack took it. ‘Sebastian?’ he asked, as he clipped it onto Claude’s collar. ‘My ex,’ Holly said shortly. ‘Ah. Right.’ Was that pity in his eyes now? Or … maybe, just maybe, was it something else? Holly really hoped so. She was sick of pity. And perhaps it was past time for something else. ‘Good luck,’ she said, as Jack headed for the door. ‘I mean, with Claude.’ ‘Thanks.’ Jack flashed her a smile. ‘I’ll drop by later, if you like? Let you know how I get on? And return the lead, of course.’ ‘Of course.’ Holly returned the grin. ‘That would be … nice.’ ‘Nice,’ Jack echoed. And then they were doing the staring competition thing again, and that wasn’t getting either of them anywhere. ‘I’ll see you later, then,’ Holly said, her hand on the door. She couldn’t stand around here flirting all day. She had a dozen mince pies to bake, a gingerbread house to assemble and decorate, and another lot of bunting to make. As Jack led Claude away up the street, he turned and waved, and Holly felt that warm rush fill her again. He was coming back. She wondered if Jack liked eggnog. (#ulink_907f987a-c6f2-5d0b-8a45-7dffc5db3621) (#ulink_3fe93920-d9ee-503b-a68b-557579f48b0e) There is a certain indignity to being led around on a cat lead, even if no one except you and the person holding the lead knows it is one. Still, Jack the Postman didn’t seem to mind the ridiculousness, so I decided I could probably bear it too. It had to be better than wearing the hideous outfit that Holly had apparently bought for Perdita. I gave a satisfied huff. Nice to know that my nemesis cat would be facing some punishment after all. Actually, meeting Holly had made me think that perhaps Perdita didn’t have it quite as free and easy as she suggested. The evil fluffy cat liked to lord it over me because she could go anywhere, do anything, and was answerable to no one. But it seemed to me like Holly was rather invested in her cat – and if Perdita put up with things like Christmas jumpers, and being taken out on a lead, then maybe she was more committed to her person than she liked to admit. It didn’t make me like Perdita any more, but I was starting to believe that we were more alike than she’d been letting on. Plus I got to eat her cat food. It wasn’t as good as mine, of course, but abandoned dogs had to take what they could get. Abandoned. What a horrible word. I knew what happened to abandoned dogs. Other dogs didn’t like to talk about it much but, sometimes, in the park or out for a walk, you’d hear whispers. A new dog would appear on the scene, looking haunted and nervous, for instance. And someone would overhear a human muttering about owners who didn’t deserve pets. Owners who beat their dogs, or starved them, or just left them somewhere, alone and scared. How this one had been lucky to find a new home. But they didn’t look lucky, not straight off. To start with, they just looked terrified that it would happen again. Over time, if they were really one of the lucky ones, they’d start to lose that haunted, hunted look. But sometimes they’d just disappear, and we’d never know their experiences. And sometimes, those dogs who lasted, would talk about what happened to them. I didn’t like to listen to those stories. And I really didn’t like to think that it might be happening to me, right now. No. I shook my head, my ears catching the wind as I trotted along Maple Drive beside Jack. I wasn’t an abandoned dog. Daisy and Oliver hadn’t meant to leave me behind, I was sure of that. I just didn’t understand why they hadn’t come back yet. Surely they must have realised I wasn’t with them by now? ‘Well, old boy,’ Jack said, and I stopped my fretting to listen. It’s easy enough to understand humans if you’re paying attention, but it’s like trying to understand a squirrel or a cat. Not quite the automatic sense that other dogs make. Well, it wouldn’t be, would it? Everyone knows that dogs are the most intelligent of animals. ‘Let’s see if we can find someone who knows where your family are,’ Jack went on, but he didn’t sound like he had much hope. I didn’t blame him. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Daisy or Oliver talking to any of our neighbours. I talked to Perdita more than they’d ever spoken to Holly, I knew that for a fact. Maple Drive just wasn’t that sort of place; I didn’t even know the names of some of the pets on the street. And besides, my family were always dashing here, there and everywhere, often dragging me along behind them. When would they have had time to tell anyone where they were going? I must have looked despondent, because Jack rubbed my ears and said, ‘Cheer up, Claude. I’m sure they’ll be back soon, anyway. Definitely by the time I’ve finished my rounds, I reckon. They probably thought you were in the house when they left, right?’ I knew he was trying to cheer me up, but his words only left me more depressed. What if they weren’t planning on coming back at all? They were off on their ferry, France and chateau adventure, probably having all sorts of fun without me. Maybe Daisy and Oliver hadn’t meant to leave me behind, but I was starting to worry that they hadn’t missed me since they left. And what did that say about my place in the family? The McCawleys were my pack. But to them, I was only a pet. In which case … I looked up at Jack, who was whistling a tune I recognised from Daisy’s Christmas CD. If I needed to find a new family, I could do a lot worse than Jack. He’d been kind so far, and he was helping me – even if he had put me on a lead. He and Holly had fed me, and they were trying to find my family for me. Yes, Jack and Holly were good people. Perhaps I’d adopt them. After all, why should it always be the humans who got to choose their pets? I’d bet they’d love a handsome dog like me for Christmas. Suddenly, I felt a lot better about my day, and about Christmas as a whole. All I had to do was show Jack and Holly that they were my humans now. At least until Daisy and Oliver came home, anyway. That shouldn’t be too hard. Right? (#ulink_6eab7ed7-6cb0-57fe-a52b-021703a4ded9) ‘I don’t think you understand,’ Daisy ground out, mentally cursing the man behind the ferry information desk. Boils in very uncomfortable places. Or maybe the tinsel that lined the desk could rise up and strangle him … ‘We need to get back to England. Immediately.’ Jay’s thin arms were wrapped around her waist, clinging on for dear life, and Daisy’s tunic felt damp around the middle from his tears. This was a disaster. How could they possibly have forgotten Claude? ‘Madam, I am sure that you understand that we cannot simply “turn the boat around” as you say.’ The official followed his words with an insincere smile that made Daisy wish for worse than boils for him. Maybe verrucas all over his face … Jay let out another wail, and Daisy decided to forgo the creative cursing and try begging instead. ‘Please.’ She looked down at his name badge. ‘Henri. It’s our dog, you see. He got left behind. He’s all alone back there. We have to get back to him.’ Henri’s face twisted up in disgust. ‘A dog? Madam, these are wild creatures. They know how to take care of themselves. Really, you shouldn’t worry.’ He waved a hand dismissively, then selected a postcard from his clear plastic rack and passed it to Daisy. ‘Here. Go treat yourselves to a free drink in our bar. Soon you will be enjoying your journey with us so much that you will forget all about your animal.’ Daisy glared at the ferry official as she took the voucher. As if a free drink could make them forget that Claude was at home, alone, scared and probably – knowing Claude – hungry. Still, no point turning down a free G&T. ‘What if it was emergency? A matter of life and death? Would you turn the boat around then?’ It had to be worth a try. In fact, Daisy thought there wasn’t much she wouldn’t try right now. One way or another, they had to get home to Claude. It wouldn’t be Christmas without the furriest member of their family there to share it. ‘That depends,’ Henri said, rather too knowingly. ‘On whether the life and death in question was human or canine. Now, if you’ll excuse me …’ He turned away and beckoned the next person in what Daisy now realised was a rather lengthy queue to the desk. She sighed. Plan A was an abject failure. Time for Plan B. Grabbing another few voucher postcards from the rack when the official wasn’t looking, Daisy headed off to find the rest of the family, dragging Jay along behind her. Oliver was waiting in the bar with Bella and the twins. He already had a pint in front of him, which Daisy took as a sign he wasn’t planning on driving when they reached the continent. Mind you, there were another five hours before they got there. As long as he didn’t have too many more, maybe she could talk him into it. Surely it had to be his turn to take charge for a change. She tossed the vouchers onto the table, and sank into the plush velvet of the bench seat, Jay beside her, arms still clamped around her middle. ‘Restaurant was full. But we have crisps here.’ Oliver held out a packet. Daisy ignored it. ‘No luck getting the boat turned around?’ he asked, eyebrows raised. Daisy’s shoulders tensed. ‘Feel free to say I told you so.’ ‘It was worth a try,’ Oliver said, with a gentle shrug. She supposed even oblivious husbands had to realise eventually that there was only so far their wives could be pushed. Even if she knew he was thinking it inside. He’d made it quite clear how ridiculous he thought the idea of asking them to stop the ferry was. But she’d had to do something. Jay had been staring up at her with big wet eyes, the twins were wailing, and even Bella looked sad instead of sardonic. And just thinking about Claude … all alone, shivering in the cold, dreaming about doggy treats. It just broke her heart. ‘So, what do we do now?’ Bella asked. Daisy studied her daughter. Was there a hint of enthusiasm around her edges? It had been so long since she’d seen Bella enthusiastic about anything, she couldn’t be sure. ‘I mean, we have to go back, right? Spend Christmas at Maple Drive?’ No, that was definitely enthusiasm. But what for? Going home? Daisy could understand not wanting to go to France for Christmas – Bella had made her opinions on that idea very clear. But what was it about Maple Drive that made Bella want to be there particularly? Because heaven knew she had complained enough about home over the last year too. There was definitely something going on with her daughter, and Daisy was determined to find out what it was. Just as soon as she’d disentangled the still sobbing Jay, fed the twins, and figured out what to do about Claude. ‘But I guess that will still take a while, right?’ Bella went on. ‘We need to do something in the meantime. Like … a social media campaign! Yeah, we need to start a Find Claude campaign! We could put his photo up on the internet, and get people to share it and everyone in Britain can watch out for him and report in sightings and—’ ‘I sincerely doubt that Claude has wandered any further than Maple Drive,’ Oliver said, drily. ‘In fact, he’s probably still sitting on the front steps of our house.’ Bella deflated at her father’s words, and Daisy glared at him. ‘It’s a brilliant idea,’ she said, patting her daughter’s hand. Bella perked up again. ‘Great! Then I can have my phone back? To start Find Claude?’ Her phone. Of course. That explained everything. ‘First things first.’ Daisy picked up the vouchers and handed two to Bella. ‘Get me a Diet Coke, and an apple juice for Jay, please?’ The gin and tonic would have to wait, unfortunately. Bella rolled her eyes, but at least did as she was asked. Daisy decided that this was progress. ‘So,’ Oliver said, handing Jay a napkin to wipe his nose on. ‘What do we do now? Put out some sort of tear jerker video through the major news outlets, telling Claude that we’re not angry, we just want to know that he’s safe?’ Daisy ignored his sarcastic tone. ‘We do need to make sure that Claude is safe,’ Daisy said, thinking aloud. ‘She’s right about that. Perhaps we could call home to one of our neighbours? Ask them to look out for him?’ ‘Do we even have any of our neighbours’ numbers?’ Oliver frowned. ‘Honestly, I can’t even remember most of their names.’ ‘Well … I think I might have Mrs Templeton’s in my phone somewhere. From that neighbourhood watch thing she tried to rope us into.’ Obviously, it would be better if she had someone else’s number – anyone else’s number – but this was an emergency. ‘Do you really think that Mrs Templeton is going to go out hunting for Claude then feed him dog biscuits until Boxing Day, just because we asked? She’s not exactly Claude’s biggest fan, you know.’ ‘Or ours.’ Somehow, Mrs Templeton always seemed to be around when Claude or one of the kids was doing something they shouldn’t be. Daisy half thought that the old bat spent her days peeking around her curtains waiting to catch them in the act. She sighed. ‘I don’t see that we’ve got much choice. We don’t know anyone else, and we can’t leave Claude all alone there. Maybe if we explain that we’re going to head back as soon as we can, she might agree to help us out?’ ‘Are we?’ Oliver asked. ‘So we’re canning the whole idea of Christmas at your parents’ new “chateau”?’ He put air quotes around the last word. Daisy had a feeling he wasn’t expecting much from his in-laws’ latest property purchase. Not that she blamed him. She was expecting mice and potentially crumbling masonry. ‘I think we have to, don’t you?’ Daisy said. ‘We can try to get seats on the first ferry back. I’ll call Mum and Dad and explain. I’m sure they’ll understand.’ Oliver looked rather less convinced, but really, what else could they do? ‘Okay then, so the first thing is to retrieve the phones. Give me the key?’ That, at least, Oliver seemed pleased about. Even Jay perked up for a moment at the prospect of getting his tablet back. ‘Fine,’ Daisy huffed. Reaching into her jeans pocket, she felt around for the tiny silver key she knew she’d put there. Nothing. As Oliver watched with a look of mounting horror, Daisy pulled out a stack of used tissues, a rogue dummy, a receipt from the petrol station, two jelly babies and a glittery green bow from the top of a present. But no little silver key. ‘Maybe there’s a pay phone?’ she said, hopefully, as Oliver’s forehead clunked against the table. (#ulink_4ce9bb54-f730-58eb-b8d5-2a94d59f664a) Jack couldn’t remember the last time he walked a dog. When he was growing up, they’d had dogs as family pets – usually something of a decent size, like a Labrador or a Border Collie. Never anything as small as Claude. But the last dog had passed away not long before his dad followed his mum up to heaven, just after Jack enlisted, and since then … well, the army lifestyle hadn’t been very conducive to pet ownership. He glanced down at Claude, trotting along beside him at the end of the sparkly pink lead, his oversized black ears perked up and listening to the world around them. Maybe he’d check if his rental agreement could be amended to allow pets. He knew at the moment they were forbidden, but perhaps that could be fixed. Or if he moved … He’d already put an email in to his boss to see if it might be possible to get a transfer. Maple Drive hadn’t lived up to his expectations at all. No point hanging around to see if things changed; they never did, in his experience. No, it was time to move on and start looking elsewhere. But in the meantime, maybe a dog would give him the companionship he craved. A proper dog, though. One with a decent tail for wagging, and less obtrusive ears. ‘Well, I guess we’d better see if anyone around here knows where your owners are, boy.’ Great, now he was even talking to the dog. That’s how hard up for human connection he was. Except … he’d connected with Holly. At least, he thought he had. It had been a while since he’d felt that sort of connection with, well, anyone. Perhaps he’d been imagining it. Perhaps she’d just been thinking ‘Who is this strange man in my house?’ As well as ‘Who is this strange dog?’ All in all, it had been a strange encounter all around. Although that didn’t mean he wasn’t already humming with the anticipation of seeing her again later. But first he had to finish his round. And find something to do with Claude, who was sticking very close as he trotted alongside. ‘I just hope someone in one of these houses knows how to get in touch with Mr and Mrs McCawley.’ Who knew what he’d have to do with Claude otherwise. Claude moved a little closer again, almost tripping Jack over, as if he had the exact same fears. Maybe he did, Jack allowed, as he did a little hop-jump to avoid getting tangled in Claude’s lead. Nobody liked to be left alone, after all. Jack knew that feeling. Except he hadn’t been left, exactly. He’d chosen to leave. He had to remember that. The first couple of houses they came to were dark. Jack knocked on the doors anyway, as he pushed their Christmas cards and bills through the letterbox, but there was no answer. The next door was opened by a harried-looking young woman with a baby in her arms, and Jack brightened. This house had to be a better shot. After all, if the mum was home with the baby, surely she’d have more contact with the rest of the community. ‘Hi, I was wondering if you could help me. I’m trying to get hold of this little guy’s owners. The McCawleys. At number 11.’ Jack kept a friendly smile on his face throughout, but it didn’t seem to register. The woman shook her head, grabbing the small pile of post from his hand without even glancing at Claude. ‘No thanks,’ she mumbled, as she shut the door. Jack sighed. He’d known that finding someone who knew the McCawleys well enough to be able to fill him in on their movements was a long shot, but he hadn’t expected it to be so hard to even find someone willing to listen to him. As he trudged back up the driveway, grateful for his winter coat in the bitter December cold, his phone rang. Jack fished it out from his pocket, while Claude danced around his feet, wrapping the lead around his ankles. ‘Hello?’ Jack said, carefully stepping out from the tangle of lead again. ‘Jack? It’s Bill.’ His boss. Jack tensed. Even though he knew this probably had to do with the email he’d sent Bill last night, there was always the chance that it was something worse. But then Bill said, ‘About this email,’ and Jack let himself relax, just enough to head to the bus shelter at the end of Maple Drive and sit down while they talked. Claude entertained himself sniffing around the base of the bench legs, before curling up on Jack’s boots. ‘Yeah. What do you think? Is it possible?’ ‘A transfer? Yeah, I guess so. Probably. It might take a while, but … to be honest, Jack, I’m more interested in why you want one.’ Bill sounded personally affronted. Maybe he should have gone and talked to the guy in person, instead of just emailing. It was just that it had been late, he’d been frustrated, and he’d wanted to do something – anything – to feel like he was moving forward again. ‘It’s nothing to do with you, or the job,’ Jack said quickly. ‘Honestly, I’m happy working here. Very happy.’ ‘Except for the part where you want to leave,’ Bill commented. ‘So again, I have to ask … why?’ Jack sighed. How to explain it? ‘I guess … you know when you have an idea of how things are going to be? What your life will be like when you reach a certain point, a certain place?’ ‘Yeah. Sure.’ ‘Well, I thought being here, living on Maple Drive would be … different.’ ‘Different how?’ Bill asked. That, Jack knew he couldn’t explain. Maybe to someone else – someone like Holly, perhaps. But not to Bill – gruff, contented Bill. Bill had lived in the local area all his life, he’d told Jack proudly on his first day, and worked for the post office since he left school. Bill had his children, his grandchildren, his siblings, his nieces and nephews, his cousins, and every school friend that ever mattered to him, all living within a twenty mile radius. Bill didn’t just live here. He belonged. And Jack hadn’t belonged anywhere since he left the army. But he was determined that he would. It just seemed that Maple Drive wasn’t the place for belonging. Nobody wanted anything to do with each other, as far as he could tell. And that wasn’t the sort of place that Jack wanted to call home. ‘I thought I could make this place my home,’ he said, at last. ‘But I think maybe I’d have better luck somewhere else. I think it’s time for me to leave. Move on, you know?’ At his feet Claude looked up, his eyes huge and his oversized ears strangely droopy, as if he understood every word Jack was saying and didn’t like it one bit. Bill sighed down the line. ‘Son, I’ve not known you all that long, and I wouldn’t presume to try and guess your life story. But I know you were in the army, and I reckon that probably meant moving around a lot, right?’ ‘Right,’ Jack said, wondering where the older man was going with this. ‘And now you’re looking to put down roots,’ Bill went on. ‘But the thing is, roots take time to grow. They need to settle in, get comfy like, before they can stretch out and really take hold in the dirt. It’s like the weeds in my allotment. If I get hold of them quick, when they’ve just arrived, they come up easy as anything. But if I let them stay too long …’ ‘They take root,’ Jack finished for him. Was that what he needed to do? Take root? Maybe … but not in Maple Drive. ‘Exactly. But it does take time. And if you just up and leave every time something doesn’t seem quite like you expected, well, you might never get those deep, strong roots you’re looking for.’ ‘So you’re saying no to the transfer.’ Maybe Bill had a point. But as Jack looked around Maple Drive – at the darkened windows, the empty driveways, the locked front doors – he couldn’t help but think that none of the other people living on the street had real roots either, no matter how long they’d lived there. Why would he be any different? ‘I’m saying think about it some more, that’s all,’ Bill said. ‘It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, son. At least give it until the New Year.’ That was fair, Jack supposed. After all, he’d already been there for months. What was another couple of weeks? ‘Okay. But if I still want to leave then?’ Which, as far as Jack was concerned, was a dead cert. Claude shook his little head and got back up on all fours, padding over to the edge of the bus shelter, pulling his lead taut. ‘Then I’ll fast track your transfer myself,’ Bill promised. ‘Deal?’ ‘Deal.’ ‘Good. Now get on with your round.’ The phone line went dead, and Jack smiled as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. Bill was right; he had deliveries still to make. And a dog’s family to find – even if it already seemed like the McCawleys were another family that didn’t have roots here in Maple Drive, he still had to try. ‘Come on, Claude,’ he said, tugging the dog away from the corner of the bus shelter, where he’d found something very smelly to investigate. ‘We’re not done here yet.’ (#ulink_31f2ddfc-d041-5344-ba65-7f06d2ccded0) (#ulink_77ccb73f-059e-5f6f-8e91-6009ccc8558d) The afternoon was fading into evening before Jack had finished making his rounds. Turned out, he didn’t just deliver post on our street, but all Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/sophie-pembroke/claude-s-christmas-adventure-the-must-read-christmas-dog-b/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. 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