What Happens At Christmas.... T Williams A
Читать онлайн книгу.
really, to be honest. In fact, with your mechanical knowledge, you’re probably better qualified than I am.’
She smiled at him, nodding towards his book. ‘Don’t worry. I can see you’re busy. A couple of candles would be great and maybe if you know of an electrician? My phone’s still working, so I can call from home.’
‘Best if I make the call. We have the good luck to have an electrician living here in Brookford, but he’s in great demand and he might not come out for somebody he doesn’t know. As it happens, he owes me a few favours so, let me call him.’ He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘It probably won’t be till tomorrow now. Is that all right with you?’
Holly nodded. ‘Whenever he can.’ She listened as Jack Nelson made the call. The conversation only lasted a few seconds, but the upshot was that the electrician would come round first thing in the morning. Jack put the phone down and went off to find the candles. Curious, Holly took a quick look at the book on the table. It was a fairly hefty tome dealing with the history of the twentieth century, and it was very well thumbed. She looked up hastily as he returned with a packet of candles and a large household box of matches.
‘Here, you can hang onto these for future emergencies. I always keep a stock of them. Two winters ago we had a sort of mini tornado out here and a load of trees were blown down on the power lines. There was no electricity for almost a week and, since then, I always keep some in the house. By the way, your heating won’t work without electricity, but you should find a supply of logs in the store just outside your back door. Anyway, if it gets too cold or if you need anything at all, just come round. Your dad and I got on very well and next door is sort of a second home to me.’ He grinned. ‘And Stirling’s always been my best buddy.’ Holly and the dog stood up. For the first time she noticed that Stirling had positioned himself on the floor beside her. That felt rather good and she gave him a pat on the back. Jack accompanied her to the door, waved away her thanks and repeated to her not to hesitate if she needed anything.
Back home, she lit a few of the candles and set them on old jam jar lids around the kitchen, her mind still on her rather nice neighbour. Although different from her usual choice of man, there was something about him – and not just the fact that he kept a stock of matches and candles for damsels in distress. She opened the wood-burner and piled in some newspapers and kindling from the basket alongside the stove. She added some logs and, before long, had a good fire burning. The room rapidly started to warm up. She looked at her watch. It was only a quarter to ten, but she was beginning to feel really tired. She glanced down at the dog. ‘I suppose it would be too much to ask for me not to have to take you out for a walk?’
The dog’s word recognition skills extended only as far as the final word. He was jumping around in an instant.
‘Bugger.’
She pulled on her jacket, dug out a woolly hat and opened the door. In her pocket, she could feel the packet of little black bags Mrs Edworthy had given her for Stirling’s ‘offerings’, and rather hoped she wouldn’t need to use them. As it turned out, she needed two of them. Clearly, looking after a big, handsome pedigree dog wasn’t all glamour.
Saturday
All in all, Holly had a reasonable night’s sleep. The only interruption came at around three o’clock in the morning, when she was woken by a noise. By this time, moonlight was flooding into the room and she got the shock of her life when she saw the bedroom door swing open. She was already backing away to the far side of the bed, looking for a weapon of any description, when the dog’s head appeared.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Stirling…’
The dog must have interpreted her use of his name as an invitation, as he proceeded to climb up onto the bed, where he dropped on top of her with a sigh. She had to struggle for a few moments to push him off her and down onto the floor again. ‘No, Stirling. Bad dog.’ He sat down beside the bed and stared at her. She could see two little moons reflected back at her in his big eyes. ‘Go downstairs, Stirling.’ He didn’t move. ‘Oh, for crying out loud please go back to your bed, would you? I want to go to sleep.’ She closed her eyes and lay back down again, hoping that he would take the hint. She counted silently up to sixty and then risked opening her eyes a fraction. His face was still there, his gaze unblinkingly fixed on her.
‘Oh, God…’ She swung out of bed and reached for a pair of shoes. It was cold in the room, although the thick feather duvet had kept her warm in bed. She retrieved her jumper from the chair and led the dog down the stairs. In the kitchen, it was warmer, but the stove was now cool enough to touch. She went over to the table, lit one of the candles and looked down at the dog, who was still staring at her impassively.
‘Listen Stirling, we are not going out for a w… W, A, L, K. Got it? It’s the middle of the night and we both should be asleep. Go in your basket.’ She had to repeat it a few times and add a few gestures, but finally he got the message and climbed into his bed. He slumped down, but his eyes were looking so mournful that eventully she grabbed a cushion and settled on the cold stone floor beside him. She stroked his head and he stretched out a huge paw and pressed it against her. She caught hold of it in her other hand and they stayed like that for some minutes, as his eyes gradually closed and he settled down.
As she sat there, looking at him, she reflected that only a few months ago, her father might have been here, doing the same thing. Maybe that was what was disturbing Stirling. She looked around the room, but there were few personal objects on display. Her dad’s jacket still hung on the back of the door, a strong pair of walking boots peeked out of the broom cupboard and a cricket bat leant against the window seat. She closed her eyes and conjured up the image of his face from the photo beside his bed. Seeing it had brought back so many memories; from a sandy beach holiday, to a trip to the hospital when they thought she had broken her arm. Her dad’s loving, comforting face had been there with her on those occasions and so many others and then, just like that, he had disappeared from her life, forever.
She wondered, as she had done for much of the past week, what he had meant in his letter about having tried unsuccessfully to contact her on one occasion. Surely he would have left a message or even a note if he had missed her. Could it be that he had spoken to her mother, but that her mother had chosen not to tell her? If Holly hadn’t had the comforting presence of the dog beside her – the closest remaining link she had to her father – she would have cried again, but she didn’t. Instead, she leant forward and kissed the dog softly on his head, then she relinquished her hold on him, stood up and snuffed out the candle.
She woke up at seven o’clock next morning with somebody trying to strangle her. A heavy weight was pinning her to the pillow, while a muscular arm pressed down upon her windpipe. She opened her eyes, but it was still pitch dark in the house. As the panic began to build, a long, warm tongue began to lick her cheek.
‘Oh, God, Stirling, stop that, will you. And your breath stinks. Get off this minute. Please, Stirling.’ With difficulty she managed to dislodge the dog from her throat and tip him over the edge of the bed onto the floor. He landed with a thud. Staying under the duvet, she shimmied across to the edge of the bed to check that he hadn’t hurt himself. She peered down into the dark. A large back nose appeared right in front of her and he would have licked her again if she hadn’t retreated. She lay there for another five minutes, conscious of the dog’s staring eyes, before accepting the inevitable. She pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed. Reaching for the matches, she lit the candle and looked down at the dog.
‘You’re a pain in the backside. You know that, don’t you?’ Delighted to hear her talking to him, he jumped to his feet and started wagging his tail. ‘God, it’s bloody cold.’ She pulled her jeans and jumper on over the top of her pyjamas and slipped on her warmest shoes; a gorgeous pair of Jimmy Choo ankle boots she had found in the Harvey Nicks sale last January, at less than half price. She took the candle and followed the now very excited dog downstairs into the kitchen. It was equally cold in there, so she put the candle down on the table and set about lighting the stove.
Once