Lost Christmas

by David Logan

  Milly took a tentative step forward and the grass crunched beneath her large colourful slippers. Anthony raised himself up on to all fours and looked down the length of the garden. At the end, he saw what had attracted Milly’s attention: a door in the high fence stood ajar, creaking softly back and forth, calling out to her.

  ‘Don’t go,’ said Anthony, but of course she couldn’t hear him. She sped up, running now. Anthony followed.

  Milly emerged from the door in the high fence and looked out with a sense of wonder. The Taylors’ house stood by a canal. There was no one around, and as Milly tiptoed forward she came to the edge of the canal and looked down. It was frozen solid. Milly looked in both directions. The canal was white and looked like something out of a fairy tale.

  The low early-morning sun shone down and glinted on something metal embedded in the frozen water. The glinting caught Milly’s eye and she squinted to try to make out what it was. Anthony came and stood next to her as she looked around and saw a smooth brown stone about the size of an egg nestled in the overgrown border of the path running alongside the canal. She picked it up and held it out over the edge, letting it drop. It landed with a deep, reverberating thud. It sounded to her like the canal was firm.

  Anthony shook his head. He didn’t want to see this. There was nothing he could do to stop what was about to happen. He wasn’t really there. He knew that.

  ‘Don’t go down there,’ he said, even though he knew it was futile. Milly trotted past him to a rusty old ladder fixed to the wall of the canal, disappearing beneath the water level. Anthony stood at the top of it, impotent, as Milly turned round and stepped back on to the first rung. The old ladder shifted a little under her weight. The brackets holding it to the wall were worn. One of these days it would just come away. It rained rusty dandruff down on to the ice. She lowered her foot to the second rung and brought her other foot to meet it. The ladder groaned some more but it didn’t buckle.

  Anthony couldn’t stay still. He knew Milly was about to die, but he didn’t know how or when exactly. Every next step could be her last. Watching her was torturous.

  The little girl climbed slowly but confidently down the nine rungs until finally she was able to place a tentative fluffy pink toe on to the frozen water. She applied pressure little by little, still keeping a firm grip on the rails of the ladder just in case. Her second foot came down and joined the first. Now she was standing on the ice.

  ‘One. Two. Three,’ she counted under her breath, and then she let go of the ladder. Nothing happened. She hopped once, landing as lightly as she could. Everything felt secure beneath her so she jumped again, more vigorously this time. The ice felt thick.

  Anthony watched from above as Milly turned and looked out across the frozen canal. She saw the glinting metal again. It was only about two metres away from her, but because the sun was shining on it she still couldn’t work out what it was. She took a half-step forward. Planting her foot, heel to toe, slowly, still testing the validity of the ice. Then another step. And another. The canal continued to feel safe.

  At about the halfway point between the ladder and the glinting object the ice started to thin. Unfortunately, because of her hefty slippers, Milly couldn’t feel the cracks that were starting to spread out beneath her weight. A spider’s web of fissures extended underneath every footfall. The tiny cracks moved quickly and met up with their neighbours, at which point the cracks would double in size.

  Anthony looked away. He brought his hands up to his face, desperate to shield himself from seeing what was about to happen.

  Milly took another step forward and she was standing over the metal treasure. She reached down and discovered it was just a bottle top. She wrenched it out of the ice and looked at it, frowning with disappointment. She tossed it away and turned to head back to the ladder. As she took her first step, there was an almighty crack, like the sound of a bullwhip. The noise echoed through her and around her. Milly screamed and stood perfectly still.

  She looked down and could see how thin the ice now was beneath her feet. It was just millimetres deep and there was fluid water below. Like an army of small, scurrying insects the cracks spread out rapidly, emanating from her. Milly was paralysed with fear …

  Anthony found himself standing at the foot of Henry and Helen’s bed just as Helen Taylor woke with a start, as if from a bad dream. She couldn’t remember any of it if it was a dream, but she was left feeling anxious so she knew it must have been a bad one.

  ‘Milly’s in trouble. You have to get up,’ said Anthony breathlessly, but of course Helen couldn’t hear him.

  Helen looked at Henry snoring softly next to her and then pulled back the heavy duvet and swung her legs out. She reached down and grabbed her fat, cushioned slipper boots and pulled them on.

  She padded along the hallway with Anthony following her and stopped at Milly’s room. The door was wide open and Helen poked her head in. She was surprised to discover that Milly’s bed was empty.

  ‘She’s not there,’ said Anthony. ‘She’s gone downstairs. Outside. On the canal.’

  Helen stepped back out on to the landing and moved towards a frosted glass door at the end of the corridor. She pushed the door open and looked into the white-and-green tiled bathroom. It was empty too.

  ‘No!’ Anthony howled with frustration.

  Helen stopped and listened to the sounds of the house. It was silent. It was as if Milly didn’t exist. A shiver ran down Helen’s spine.

  ‘Mills?’ she called, but there was no answer. She headed downstairs, hastening her gait a little as she went …

  Helen reached the expansive entrance hall at the bottom of the stairs. Anthony was already there, standing next to a towering Christmas tree.

  ‘Milly?’ called Helen, sticking her head into the empty lounge, hoping to see Milly sprawled on the sofa reading a book or on the floor playing with her dolls. But the room was empty.

  ‘Go to the kitchen,’ Anthony pleaded.

  Helen stepped back into the hallway and looked along to the kitchen at the end. She felt a draught snaking around her ankles.

  ‘Milly?’ she said quietly and moved swiftly towards the kitchen …

  Finding the back door open, Helen stepped out into the garden. Anthony was there already. The first thing Helen saw was the trail of Milly’s footprints leading down the frosty grass. She looked and saw the gate at the end of the garden swinging back and forth in the early-morning breeze.

  ‘Oh God! MILLY?’ she called as she ran down the garden. ‘HENRY!’ She turned and screamed back at the top of her lungs. Anthony watched her go. Even though he knew this had already happened and couldn’t be changed, he still hoped for a miracle …

  A Mercedes fire-rescue truck skidded to a stop on the towpath and two firemen scrambled out. Anthony walked amongst the gathered neighbours and general rubberneckers who had come to watch the drama unfold. He immediately recognized the first fireman. It was Frank. He looked more robust than Anthony was used to seeing him. His hair was tidier and his skin looked healthier. It wasn’t yet addled by alcohol.

  ‘Hello, Frank,’ said Anthony, even though he knew Frank couldn’t hear him.

  Frank reached the edge of the canal and stopped next to Helen at the top of the ladder. He looked down and saw Henry in his dressing gown and slippered feet down on the ice, holding on to the ladder with one hand and reaching out to tiny, terrified Milly with the other. Milly hadn’t moved. She stood statue-like in the middle of the frozen water surrounded by a rapidly expanding web of cracks and fissures. Every little movement Milly made caused the ice to splinter more. She was so scared but held back the tears for fear that the motion of sobbing would rupture the ice still further.

  A wave of relief washed over Helen as she saw Frank and his partner approaching. ‘Oh thank God,’ she said, grasping Frank by the arm and holding the material of his sleeve tightly. ‘Please help her!’

  Frank smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine
.’ Frank turned and looked down the ladder at Henry. ‘Come back up, please, sir. I can handle this.’ The confidence in Frank’s voice buoyed Henry and he nodded up to Frank. He turned to Milly.

  ‘It’s okay now, poppet. This nice fireman’s come to help you.’

  ‘Daddy, don’t go!’ whimpered Milly, still not moving.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Henry, his voice choking a little. ‘It’ll all be fine.’

  ‘Come on, please, sir,’ called Frank. Time was of the essence. He didn’t know how much longer that ice would hold. It was a miracle that it’d held together this long. Henry nodded to Milly and then turned and climbed the ladder. Milly let out a little whine and followed with her eyes only as her father reached the top of the ladder and was helped up by Frank. She saw Frank stripping off all unnecessary clothing. He discarded his helmet, jacket and boots in order to make himself as light as possible. Then he climbed on to the ladder. His partner came up behind him and attached a steel cable from the truck to the back of his belt. Frank descended facing forward, looking at Milly and the frozen canal.

  ‘It’s all right, miss,’ he said, forcing a lightness into his voice. ‘My name’s Frank. What’s your name?’

  Frank reached the bottom of the ladder and placed a foot on the ice. The freezing cold instantly penetrated his sock and stung his sole. He ignored the sensation and brought his other foot down. The ice felt solid beneath him.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Frank asked again.

  ‘M-Milly,’ she stuttered.

  ‘That’s a nice name, said Frank casually. Not a hint of anxiety in his tone. He let go of the ladder and moved forward tentatively, testing the ice with each step. ‘How old are you, Milly? Five? Six?’

  ‘Six,’ breathed Milly.

  ‘Six. You got a job yet?’

  The question surprised Milly and for a moment she forgot where she was and laughed. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘Married?’ asked Frank. Milly actually smiled and shook her head. The shake was just a little too vigorous and the ice growled. Frank froze. Milly cried out. Helen turned her head into Henry’s shoulder and closed her eyes. The moment passed and the ice didn’t break.

  ‘I’ve got a little girl. Bit older than you. My Jemma’s ten.’ Frank edged forward slowly. The soles of his feet were burning, but he ignored the pain. He reached out his hand. He was only inches away now. ‘Take my hand,’ said Frank. ‘Come on. Reach out.’ Frank continued to move forward. Just another few seconds and he would have her.

  Then, with a roar, the ice exploded.

  Helen and Henry screamed as Milly and Frank vanished from sight. The onlookers gasped. Anthony hung his head.

  Beneath the surface of the canal, the subzero temperature was a huge shock to Frank’s system. His chest contracted, pushing all the air out of his lungs. In a second, he was disorientated. He couldn’t tell which way was up. Then he saw Milly. Her dressing gown had come open and her nightdress was ballooning around her. She was screaming in terror and panicked air bubbles poured out of her mouth. Frank reached out to her as she sank into the gloom at the bottom of the canal. His fingertips brushed through her hair and then suddenly Frank was snatched backwards, away from her. He saw Milly one last time as she was consumed by the darkness below.

  One of Milly’s monster slippers broke the surface first and floated there. A moment later Frank emerged as the cable from the fire-rescue truck hauled him up. He coughed and spluttered, vomiting freezing canal water. Helen and Henry stood immobile, waiting to see if he had their daughter. When they saw he was empty-handed, Helen screamed and started to wail with anguish. Henry dropped to his knees and started to sob. Helen ripped off her dressing gown and ran to the edge of the canal. Henry tried to stop her, but he wasn’t fast enough. She jumped in, arcing over Frank’s head. He tried to make a grab for her but his movements were slow because he was so cold. The ice splintered beneath her as she entered the water.

  The freezing temperature was worse than Helen could ever have expected. As she sank lower the light from above faded. She couldn’t see further than an arm’s length in front of her, and the deeper she went the darker it became.

  Up above, Henry was teetering on the edge of the canal. He wanted to go in after his wife and daughter, but he couldn’t. Fear was holding him back.

  ‘Bri!’ Frank called up to his partner through chattering teeth. ‘Give me some slack.’ Frank’s partner reversed the winch and the cable connected to Frank’s belt loosened. Fists tightly clenched, his whole body shuddering, Frank made his way to the hole in the ice where Helen had gone through. He took a series of short breaths, then the largest breath he could manage and he let himself topple head first back into the icy water.

  Under the water, Helen was panicking. There was barely any air left in her lungs, but she didn’t even notice. She was panicking because there was no sign of Milly. It was so dark down here that Milly could have been right next to her and she wouldn’t see her. She reached out with her hands, scrabbling desperately for something of her daughter. Unconsciousness was enveloping her like a cloud. Soon she would be helpless. Her eyes started to close and her mouth started to open. Ice water was beginning to flood her lungs. Helen was about to die. She wasn’t aware of Frank’s hand as it found the cotton of her nightdress and gripped it tightly. Helen started to rise up.

  Frank broke the surface and roared with the pain of the cold. His partner, Brian, was on the ice to help him get Helen up and out of the water. Henry was there too, having bridled his fear. Brian thrust a thermal blanket into his hands and instructed him to wrap his wife in it, which he did while Brian pulled Frank out of the water. He wrapped him in a thermal blanket as well, but Frank pushed him away. He was shivering violently.

  ‘Her,’ was all he could manage to say, gesturing towards Helen. Brian understood. He hurried over to Helen and started to perform CPR. Frank looked on, wrapping himself more tightly in the blanket. He caught Henry looking at the hole in the ice and the darkness below. He was looking for his daughter. He turned and caught Frank’s gaze.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Frank, and he closed his eyes, choking back the tears …

  19

  THE ANGEL AT THE ALTAR

  Anthony’s eyes rolled back into his head so only the whites were showing and he pitched backwards, landing hard, spreadeagled on the altar. Every muscle in his body was convulsing as if he was in the grip of an epileptic seizure. Helen looked on in horror. To her this had all happened in less than a second. She had turned, this strange-looking man was standing behind her, he had steadied her as she stumbled and then he had collapsed.

  She sensed movement from the corner of her eye and twisted her head just as Goose appeared. He dropped to Anthony’s side.

  ‘Anthony? Can you hear me?’ he said. ‘Anthony?’

  ‘Is this your father?’ asked Helen. Goose looked up at her and shook his head. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘He should be okay in a minute,’ said Goose, quietly praying to a God he had long ago stopped believing in.

  Gradually Anthony’s spasms lessened until it seemed he was just asleep. His breathing took a little longer to even out. His lips parted and riding on the tip of a breath he uttered a single word: ‘Milly’.

  Helen felt a chill pass right through her. ‘What did he say?’ she asked, but she knew exactly what he had said. ‘What do you … ?’ She paused, running everything through in her head. Something wasn’t right. She felt a sudden surge of anger blister inside her. ‘Who are you two? Where have I seen you?’ In her mind she whirled back through the day. She didn’t have to go very far. She remembered where she had seen them: back in the cemetery, but before that outside the bookshop. She had bumped into Anthony as she ran for the bus. ‘Is this some sort of sick joke?’

  Goose looked up at her again. He didn’t know what to do. His concern for Anthony was distracting.

  ‘The bangle,’ said Goose, and Helen stepped back and put a protective hand on her bag. ‘It
wasn’t Noel’s to sell.’

  ‘How do you know about the bangle?’ asked Helen. Her mind raced to put the pieces together. There was only one explanation that made sense. ‘You’ve been following me.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  Helen scrambled through her bag and pulled out her mobile phone. Goose stood up and Helen took a nervous step backwards.

  ‘You stay where you are,’ she said, holding up a finger. ‘I’m calling the police.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ said Goose. ‘It’s not what you think.’ Goose couldn’t find the right words to explain himself. ‘I know who you are. When I saw the grave. Milly’s grave.’ An involuntary shudder ran through Helen as Goose said her daughter’s name. ‘It’s all my fault, you see. It was my fault she died.’

  Strong words. Helen’s head was a mess. She let the hand holding the phone drop to her side.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she said quietly.

  ‘It should have been my dad who came to you that day. He would have saved her. My dad could have saved anyone. But I hid his keys, you see.’

  Helen didn’t know what Goose was talking about, but there was something about him that made her believe he was telling the truth.

  Just then, Anthony groaned as he started to regain consciousness. Goose looked down at him, then turned back to Helen.

  ‘He’s bringing everything together again.’ Goose paused to wipe his nose on his sleeve. ‘So he can make it right. He is. If I hadn’t hidden the keys, my dad would have driven himself, and he would’ve gone some other way or something else would have happened and he and Mum wouldn’t have died. I didn’t mean for them to die. I didn’t mean for anyone to die.’ He looked soulfully at Helen.