‘Not in the house, love, no. Can’t get much of a phone signal down here, either, although sometimes I can pick one up in the bedrooms.’
‘I’ll have to use roaming on my phone, then,’ Bella said, obviously bracing herself for objections from her parents. Daisy elbowed Oliver as he groaned.
‘Of course you can, love,’ Daisy said. ‘Especially if it’s for Claude.’
Bella rolled her eyes, but headed off to try and find a signal.
‘Ready for a glass, Daisy?’ Dad asked, and she nodded. Enthusiastically.
Searching for a black and white furred dog in the dark of a winter evening was not easy, Jack was finding. Every flash of movement drew his eye, but more often than not it was another cat, or just the wind in the trees, or once, a startled looking fox.
‘Claude!’ Jack called again, but there was no sign of the absurd creature.
Sighing, Jack sank down to sit on the bus shelter bench again. How had his day reached this point? All he’d wanted to do was flirt innocently with the pretty blonde at number 12. Now they were spending Christmas together – along with her elderly neighbour – and he was spending his free evening searching for a dog that wasn’t even his.
He blamed Claude for everything. If he hadn’t broken into Holly’s through the cat flap, or escaped into Kathleen’s house in search of gingerbread … if he just hadn’t run away.
Why had he run? Jack knew that dogs could be intelligent creatures, but it seemed a bit farfetched to imagine that he’d heard them talk about calling the pound and actually understood what that meant. More likely, he’d heard Perdita coming downstairs, or smelled something more interesting to eat than cat food outside and gone off in search of it.
The little dog seemed incapable of acting independently from the whims of his stomach.
Jack’s own stomach growled, and he realised it had been quite a while since Kathleen’s mince pies. He needed to go home, eat dinner and get ready for the next day. But how could he, knowing that Claude was still out there somewhere?
Number 11, the McCawleys’ house, remained in darkness, although Jack had tried hammering on the door a few times just in case. The car was still missing, too. More and more it looked like they had gone away for Christmas – but Jack couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t have made suitable arrangements for Claude before they left. Mrs McCawley had seemed a little, well, scatty when he’d delivered parcels there before, but she certainly hadn’t seemed cruel.
He couldn’t help but think something must have gone very wrong, somewhere.
And how was he going to explain to them that he’d lost their dog, just after rescuing him? He’d put a note through their door on his rounds earlier, explaining the situation and leaving his phone number, just in case they returned while he was delivering mail to another street. So they’d know exactly who to come to when Claude wasn’t there when they got home.
What would he tell them? And what would he tell Holly? She’d seemed distraught at the idea of Claude out there alone in the night, too.
If only he hadn’t run for it. Jack was sure he’d have been able to come up with something, even if it meant smuggling the little dog into his house for the night and hoping his landlord never found out. It wasn’t like he’d actually have let Claude go to the pound anyway. As soon as Holly had said it he’d known it wasn’t an option. He’d have called the council, if that was the rule. But he wouldn’t have let anyone take Claude away from Maple Drive.
Not that it mattered now. Not if Jack couldn’t find him.
Jack resumed his search, starting in the front gardens of Holly’s neighbours. There was no sign of Claude at Kathleen’s, or at number 7 or 5. When he reached number 3, the front door opened, and he jumped.
‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ A big, burly man stood in the doorway. With the light behind him, Jack could only make out his silhouette, not his expression, but he could make a pretty good guess at how unhappy it was anyway. Jack tried to remember if anyone had been home at this house when he stopped by with Claude earlier, but he thought probably not.
He straightened, pulling himself up to his full height but trying to smile in a non-threatening manner. The last thing he needed was to get into a domestic with one of his neighbours. Then he really would have to get that transfer in the new year.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. I was just looking for a lost dog.’
The man stepped out into the garden and the street lamp light shone on his face as he frowned. ‘A dog? I haven’t seen one around. What does he look like?’
‘He’s a French Bulldog,’ Jack explained. ‘Short, stocky. Mostly white with ridiculous black ears.’
‘Like the one they have across the road?’ the man asked.
‘That’s the one. I’m … looking after him as a favour.’
‘Not very well, by the look of things.’ The man motioned him towards the house. ‘Come on. You might as well check the back garden while you’re here.’
‘Thanks.’ Jack followed, trying not to sigh. This could be a very long night if he had to check every garden in the neighbourhood.
On the other hand, at least he was finally talking to his neighbours. That had to count for something, right?
‘Are you looking for Claude?’ A red-headed teenager girl appeared on the stairs as Jack passed through the hallway, dressed in a jumper covered in sequinned baubles. ‘I heard you say you were looking for a dog.’
‘You know Claude?’ Jack asked, blinking as the Christmas tree lights flashed off the sequins.
‘Not personally. But I’ve been sharing the Find Claude page with all my friends, and they’re all looking out for him now too.’ She held up a tablet computer as if to demonstrate.
‘The … What Find Claude page?’ Jack glanced over at the girl’s father, but he just shrugged.
‘I have no idea of half the things Jessica does on that device,’ he admitted. ‘Her mother tells me it’s all fine, though.’
‘Bella McCawley set it up,’ Jessica explained. ‘They’re over in France for Christmas, but Claude escaped from his crate in the boot before they left. They’ve been trying to get back ever since they realised, once they got on the ferry, but all the boats are cancelled. So she’s mobilising social media to help find and look after Claude until they get here. It’s pretty clever, actually.’
Claude had escaped. They hadn’t abandoned him, or forgotten him. That made far more sense. Jack could just see Claude slipping out and following his nose, just like he’d done tonight.
‘Can you get a message to the McCawleys?’ he asked, and Jessica nodded. ‘Tell them … tell them Claude was fine when I last saw him, about half an hour ago. He’s still in Maple Drive somewhere, I think. And I will find him, and look after him. Tell them that?’
Jessica nodded. ‘Sure. And … who are you?’
‘I’m Jack, the postman,’ Jack said. ‘I live here on Maple Drive.’
‘Cool.’ Jessica turned and ran back up the stairs, hopefully to pass on his message. And Jack realised he’d just taken another step towards belonging.
I watched Jack as he traipsed in and out of the gardens and houses of Maple Drive, calling my name. I should have felt bad about making him search the neighbourhood, but he had wanted to send me to the pound. He didn’t deserve my sympathy.
It was simple enough to stay out of his way; once he’d gone down one side of the street and switched to the other, I just hung out in the gardens he’d already searched for a while. Eventually, I saw him disappear back down to the end of the road, his shoulders hunched. He’d given up.
I tried to be pleased. That was what I wanted, right? Except now I really was alone. I supposed I could go and squeeze through Perdita’s cat flap again if I had to, but that was a path straight to the pound. No, I couldn’t risk it. I’d just have to go it alone.
It seemed you couldn’t force a family – couldn’t force people to belong together, make them a home just by wishing. You
had to all want to be together. And as much as I wanted to be with Daisy and Oliver and the kids, or even with Jack and Holly and Kathleen, none of them wanted me. And that made my heart ache more than my poor, cold paws.
Standing up and shaking off a few loose leaves from the bush I’d been hiding under, I tried to encourage myself. This was a challenge. A chance to prove that I was more than just a home dog. More than just a pet. I was Claude, intrepid adventurer, capable of surviving the harshest winters, of making my own way in the world, no humans required.
I just wished one of them had left some food out for me. A piece of gingerbread or two, maybe. Just in case this intrepid adventurer got a little peckish.
Someone opened the front door leading out to the garden where I was hiding, and I decided it was time to get adventuring, just in case they spotted me and called Jack. I couldn’t let anybody see me, I realised. Jack had spoken to everyone, and the moment anyone saw me they would contact him, and I’d be on my way to the pound. I had to stay hidden, at least until Daisy and Oliver came home.
Staying in the shadows, I trotted along the side of the road, looking for a friendly garden to hide in. It was getting later, and most of the houses were closed up for the night, warm looking lights shining behind their windows. But we intrepid adventurers didn’t need indoors, anyway.
We didn’t need family.
Right?
Mum showed Bella and Jay to their rooms, while Daisy and Oliver got the travel cots set up in their assigned bedroom. It was huge, at least, with plenty of space for the cots, and Mum had put a small, potted Christmas tree on the windowsill, where it moved gently in the breeze from the ill-fitting glass. The four poster bed was strangely shabby, with its moth eaten velvet coverings, and the flat, hard cushions where pillows should be.
Everywhere felt as if it had been half emptied, then abandoned. Daisy wrinkled her nose at the smell of the sheets, and hoped that Jay’s room was slightly less Transylvanian gothic, or they were going to find him piled into bed with them in the middle of the night, as well as at least one of the twins.
‘What on earth were they thinking, buying this place?’ Oliver asked, as he struggled to set up the first travel cot. Daisy crossed the room to take over.
‘You find the sheets. I think they’re in that bag.’ She pointed at the largest case. ‘Or possibly that one, actually. And I don’t know what they were thinking. I just got a call one day a couple of months ago saying that they’d sold the house and bought this place.’
‘Do you think it’s some sort of three-quarter life crisis?’ Oliver mused. ‘Like, a last ditch attempt to live out their fantasies?’