Lost Christmas by David Logan Read Free Book Online Page A

bad. Not great, but not bad. This stuff …’ the left-hand pile, ‘cack!’
    â€˜What’re you talkin’ about?’ said Goose indignantly. ‘What about them phones? And that iPod; nothin’ wrong wi’ that!’
    Frank sighed, forcing the paternal patience of his voice, making sure that Goose didn’t miss his point.
    â€˜I’ve told you before, Goose, no one wants straight mobiles these days. I couldn’t give ’em away … ’less itwas as a free gift with an iPhone!’ Goose looked deflated. Frank smiled sympathetically. ‘I’ll tell ya what, seeing as it’s Christmas, I’ll give you fifty for the lot.’
    Goose frowned. ‘Fifty! You havin’ a laugh?’
    â€˜It’s a fair price,’ said Frank.
    Goose’s brow furrowed some more and he sat looking at Frank, breathing heavily, his anger rising. ‘No, it’s not!’ Seething, he started to gather everything together, jamming it all back into his pockets. ‘Don’t do me no favours, yeah, Frank. You don’t wan’ it, I’ll just go see what Kermit’ll give us for it.’
    Suddenly Frank became deadly serious and grabbed Goose’s wrist. He held him a little too hard. ‘I’ve told you before about that Kermit. Stay away from him. He’s a right headcase.’
    â€˜You can’t tell me what to do, Frank; you’re not me dad!’
    Frank’s jaw tensed. He tightened his grip on Goose’s arm and his mind raced as he debated how to deal with this. It was more than he could handle: Christmas Eve morning, and with a marching band playing vuvuzelas passing through his head. He let go of Goose’s arm and nodded.
    â€˜Fair enough, Goose. I’ll give you seventy.’
    â€˜Hundred,’ said Goose without missing a beat.
    â€˜Okay, eighty. Final offer.’
    â€˜Hundred,’ said Goose again. He was now angryenough to actually take this stuff to Kermit. He wasn’t going to back down. Fortunately, he didn’t have to.
    Frank shook his head. ‘‘Aven’t quite got hagglin’ yet, have ya? All right, hundred it is. But you promise me you won’t have nothin’ to do with that Kermit and his lot. Promise me, Goose.’
    Goose couldn’t remember Frank being so passionate about anything before, but he still wasn’t quite ready to back down. He stalled for time by running the back of his hand under his nose. The move from the cold air outside to the warmer air had made his nose run.
    â€˜You promise me on your dad’s memory.’ Frank stared Goose in the eye. He’d never used that before, and evoking his dad’s name made the fight bleed out of Goose. Goose nodded.
    â€˜Yeah, okay, Frank. I promise.’
    Frank followed Goose along the hallway towards the front door. Goose was counting through the money Frank had just given him.
    â€˜God’s sake, Goose, it’s all there,’ said Frank, clearly put out.
    â€˜You’re the one always said count it.’
    â€˜I didn’t mean from me though, did I?’
    Goose stopped counting and shoved the wad of tenners into a pocket. They reached the front door and Goose wentto pull back the lock but he stopped. He turned back to Frank, but couldn’t quite look at him. ‘What you doin’ tomorrow?’ he asked.
    Frank looked uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet. ‘I’m not sure yet. I might have to see a man about some stuff.’
    Goose nodded, awkwardly. ‘If you want, you could come over to our place. Can’t guarantee turkey’ll be cooked, but it’ll probably be clean.’ Goose smiled to himself, but Frank didn’t get it.
    Frank nodded. ‘Yeah, maybe. I’ll see.’
    Goose unlocked the door. He was about to step outside when Frank said: ‘But thanks.’ And Goose knew he meant it. Goose left, closing the door behind him.
    The shock of the