Lost Christmas by David Logan Read Free Book Online
Authors: David Logan
the path of the dog, barring his entry.
âIâve told you before, Goose: I donât wanâ him in âere.â
âAh, come on, Frank. Look, heâs shivering.â They bothlooked down at Mutt, who wasnât shivering in the slightest, but, almost as if he could understand what Goose was saying, he started quaking and looking pathetic. He even let out a sad little whine.
âDonât push it, Goose. Iâve got the worst bloody hangover,â growled Frank.
âYeah, you do look grey,â said Goose, staring at Frankâs bloodshot eyes and lifeless complexion. He turned to Mutt. âStay here, Mutt. I wonât be long.â Mutt lay down on the doormat and curled up into a little ball to wait as Goose headed inside and Frank closed the door.
Goose followed Frank into the darkened living room. Frank drew back the curtains and immediately wished he hadnât. The sunlight reflected off the snow outside, blinding him. His hangover throbbed angrily behind his eyes. Frank redrew one side of the curtains and slumped down on his sofa.
Beer cans, bottles, pizza boxes and takeaway cartons were everywhere. Packing cases were stacked along one wall. Frank had been living here for the best part of a year, but he still hadnât really unpacked. He wasnât sure heâd ever get around to it, but that was mostly because, even after all this time, he still hadnât come to terms with being here and not there. There being home with his wife, Alice, and their daughter, Jemma.
He saw Goose looking at some photo albums openon the coffee table. Inside were pictures of Frank and his estranged family. Goose didnât need to say anything. He knew that Frank had been wallowing in his own misery the night before. Same as he did every night. Frank reddened with embarrassment, but then he noticed that Goose was only looking at one of the photos. It showed Frank in mid-flight alongside his best friend as the two of them bombed into a swimming pool on holiday in Corfu when they were in their early twenties. Frankâs best friend had been Paul, Gooseâs dad. He and Frank had known one another since their school days. Goose was Frankâs godson. A thought flitted through Frankâs mind: would Paul approve of what he and Goose were doing? Frank told himself that he was doing it for the right reasons. Goose would be doing this with or without him. This way Frank could keep an eye on him and make sure he didnât get hurt. Frank quickly shut the albums and moved them aside. Goose looked away and noticed an ugly brown stain on the carpet. He didnât want to know what had made that.
âWhatâve you got then?â Frank asked.
Goose started emptying his pockets: various pieces of jewellery, iPods, a couple of mobile phones, a glass eyeball and the cobra bangle. Goose thought for a moment and then quickly pocketed the eyeball again.
Frank leaned forward and rooted through the pile of swag with a finger, looking at it all somewhat dismissively.Then, almost against his will, his hand was drawn towards the bangle. He held it up to the light and for a moment seemed mesmerized by its beauty.
âNice, eh?â said Goose, looking for approval.
Realizing he was tipping his hand, Frank chastised himself silently. He had just broken the first rule in the fenceâs handbook. He tossed the bangle back on the pile and shrugged indifferently.
ââSâall right. Nothing special. You can pick that sort of thing up all over the shop.â
Goose rankled. âYeah? Not that Iâve seen.â
Frank sifted through the loot, separating everything into two piles. The last item he allocated was the bangle and he made a pantomime of choosing where it should go. This pile? That pile? This pile? That pile? Finally he tossed it unceremoniously on to the right-hand pile.
âThis stuff â¦â said Frank, pointing to the pile on the right, âitâs not
âIâve told you before, Goose: I donât wanâ him in âere.â
âAh, come on, Frank. Look, heâs shivering.â They bothlooked down at Mutt, who wasnât shivering in the slightest, but, almost as if he could understand what Goose was saying, he started quaking and looking pathetic. He even let out a sad little whine.
âDonât push it, Goose. Iâve got the worst bloody hangover,â growled Frank.
âYeah, you do look grey,â said Goose, staring at Frankâs bloodshot eyes and lifeless complexion. He turned to Mutt. âStay here, Mutt. I wonât be long.â Mutt lay down on the doormat and curled up into a little ball to wait as Goose headed inside and Frank closed the door.
Goose followed Frank into the darkened living room. Frank drew back the curtains and immediately wished he hadnât. The sunlight reflected off the snow outside, blinding him. His hangover throbbed angrily behind his eyes. Frank redrew one side of the curtains and slumped down on his sofa.
Beer cans, bottles, pizza boxes and takeaway cartons were everywhere. Packing cases were stacked along one wall. Frank had been living here for the best part of a year, but he still hadnât really unpacked. He wasnât sure heâd ever get around to it, but that was mostly because, even after all this time, he still hadnât come to terms with being here and not there. There being home with his wife, Alice, and their daughter, Jemma.
He saw Goose looking at some photo albums openon the coffee table. Inside were pictures of Frank and his estranged family. Goose didnât need to say anything. He knew that Frank had been wallowing in his own misery the night before. Same as he did every night. Frank reddened with embarrassment, but then he noticed that Goose was only looking at one of the photos. It showed Frank in mid-flight alongside his best friend as the two of them bombed into a swimming pool on holiday in Corfu when they were in their early twenties. Frankâs best friend had been Paul, Gooseâs dad. He and Frank had known one another since their school days. Goose was Frankâs godson. A thought flitted through Frankâs mind: would Paul approve of what he and Goose were doing? Frank told himself that he was doing it for the right reasons. Goose would be doing this with or without him. This way Frank could keep an eye on him and make sure he didnât get hurt. Frank quickly shut the albums and moved them aside. Goose looked away and noticed an ugly brown stain on the carpet. He didnât want to know what had made that.
âWhatâve you got then?â Frank asked.
Goose started emptying his pockets: various pieces of jewellery, iPods, a couple of mobile phones, a glass eyeball and the cobra bangle. Goose thought for a moment and then quickly pocketed the eyeball again.
Frank leaned forward and rooted through the pile of swag with a finger, looking at it all somewhat dismissively.Then, almost against his will, his hand was drawn towards the bangle. He held it up to the light and for a moment seemed mesmerized by its beauty.
âNice, eh?â said Goose, looking for approval.
Realizing he was tipping his hand, Frank chastised himself silently. He had just broken the first rule in the fenceâs handbook. He tossed the bangle back on the pile and shrugged indifferently.
ââSâall right. Nothing special. You can pick that sort of thing up all over the shop.â
Goose rankled. âYeah? Not that Iâve seen.â
Frank sifted through the loot, separating everything into two piles. The last item he allocated was the bangle and he made a pantomime of choosing where it should go. This pile? That pile? This pile? That pile? Finally he tossed it unceremoniously on to the right-hand pile.
âThis stuff â¦â said Frank, pointing to the pile on the right, âitâs not
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