Holly in December

by Clare Revell

  Two minutes. She’d wait two minutes, then go and find her. She’d counted to ninety when Angel reappeared. “All done?”

  Angel nodded. “And I washed my hands.” She proudly held them out. “Can we go to the park now?”

  “It’s too cold. Maybe we’ll go when it’s a little warmer because rabbits don’t like the cold.” Hope stood up. “Put your coat back on and tuck him right inside your pocket to keep him warm.”

  Angel did and took Hope’s hand without being asked. She sang to herself as they walked back to the center.

  Hope couldn’t, in all good conscience, call it home, because it wasn’t. It was temporary until she found something else. She pushed open the door. “In you go.”

  Angel ran on ahead and through the double doors at the end of the hallway. Her sudden terrified scream rang through the building.

  Hope ran into the dining hall, heart in throat.

  A man wearing a peaked cap and long black overcoat had his arm around Angel, holding a knife at her throat.

  Setting all thoughts of her own safety aside, she advanced on the man. “Leave her alone!”

  The man shook his head. “I want all your money. Or she dies.”

  3

  Nick walked home from church via the crisis center. His intention was to see where it was, then he’d pop in, introduce himself and find out what time they would need him to start on Tuesday afternoon. As he pushed open the main door, a child’s frightened scream echoed. He ran towards the double doors, glancing through the glass at the end.

  A man held a child at knifepoint.

  A woman tried to intervene, with another one holding her back.

  Nick pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed 9-9-9. “Police,” he said quietly. “Quick as you can to Care at Christmas. There’s a man with a knife. He’s holding a child.” He hung up and pushed his way through the doors.

  The man glared at him and tightened his grip on the child. “Don’t come any closer.”

  Nick held up his hands. “Put the knife down. I’m not armed, see? Just let her go.”

  “Not ’til I get what I want.”

  “What’s that?” Nick asked. “Food? I’m sure these ladies here will do that for you.”

  “Money.” The man tightened his grip on the child.

  The little girl squirmed. “Mummy…”

  “Let her go,” pleaded the blonde woman. “I gave you all I have.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  With a start, Nick recognized the woman as the same one who kept crossing his path. “I have money.” Slowly he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “I can give you all I have. Here.” He pulled out a wad of notes and offered them, taking a couple of steps closer. “Let the little girl go first.”

  The man reached out for the money.

  Nick grabbed the child and pulled her behind him. “Run to your mummy.” He held the money out. “Here.”

  As the man snatched it, Nick grabbed his wrist, determined to hold him somehow until the police arrived. As they wrestled for control of the knife, the little girl’s crying and her mother trying to comfort her distracted him. A swift left hook left Nick on the floor, footsteps running to the fire exit as sirens echoed from the street.

  He struggled to his feet, as four police officers ran in. “He went that way,” Nick pointed to the fire door.

  The police officers ran after the man.

  Nick rubbed his jaw, the skin still tingling. He went to the woman and child. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine,” came the shaky reply. “How can I ever thank you?”

  He smiled. “You could tell me your name this time.” He held out a hand. “Nick Slater.”

  Her grip was firm and cool. “Hope Hargitay. You should get some ice on your face. It’s swelling.”

  Nick touched his cheek gingerly. “It feels like it,” he admitted grudgingly.

  “I’ll get you that ice.”

  “Don’t leave me,” the little girl whimpered.

  Hope lifted her onto her hip. “You’re coming with me, Angel. We need to find Miss Vera and make sure she’s OK. And we also need to get Pastor Slater some ice.”

  “Is his face all puffy ‘cos the bad man hit him?” Angel asked as Hope carried her away.

  Nick smiled and then wished he hadn’t. He missed Hope’s reply as two police officers came back in.

  “We need statements,” one of them said.

  “Did you get him?”

  “No, he vanished. But we have officers looking for him.”

  Nick nodded, and then took the ice wrapped towel from Hope. “Thank you.”

  “Welcome.” Hope sat down, holding Angel securely on her lap. The little girl clung tightly to her mother, a blue rabbit in her hand.

  Nick began to give his statement, remembering as much detail as he could. “I gave him seventy quid. It was all I had on me.”

  “I should pay you back,” Hope said.

  Nick shook his head as the officer began to write up his statement. “It was worth it to keep your daughter safe. What’s her name?”

  “Angel.” Hope looked at her daughter. “Angel, this is Pastor Slater. He’s the man who saved you. It’s OK to talk to him.”

  Nick raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  “Mummy always says never talk to strangers and to scream and run away if they come near me. So I screamed, but he grabbed me before I could runned away. So I stood really still like a statue.”

  “You did the right thing,” Nick told her.

  “Mr. Evans-Teush was very frighted.”

  Nick frowned. “Who’s…?”

  “Her rabbit,” Hope said. “She named him after her teacher at school.”

  “Ah.” He looked back at Angel. “Well, I think both you and Mr. Evans-Teush were very brave.”

  “Not as brave as you.”

  “Want to know a secret?” Nick leaned in and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m not at all brave on the inside.”

  Angel’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  He nodded. “My tummy is all jumbly.”

  “Mine, too,” Angel whispered back.

  “And mine,” Hope added. She hugged her daughter tightly. Her gaze met Nick’s over the top of Angel’s head. Her fear was still evident in her eyes, the unspoken thought of how different things might have played out almost palpable.

  “I need you to read and then sign this, sir,” the police officer said.

  Nick took the piece of paper and read his statement, then took the offered pen and signed.

  “Thank you.” The officer turned to Hope. “We need to talk to you and your daughter now.”

  The phone in his pocket rang and Nick pulled it out. “I have to take this. Will you be all right?”

  Hope nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Pastor.”

  “It’s Nick. And you’re welcome.” He stood and headed to the door, answering the call as he went.

  ****

  As Nick left, a strange sense of disappointment hit Hope. Then, she turned to the police officer. She held Angel tightly while the officer talked with her daughter, amazed at the clear way the child answered the questions.

  “And you, ma’am.”

  “Let me just get Angel settled.” She looked at her daughter. “Sweetie, how about you sit at the counter with Miss Vera and eat the pudding they promised you?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere. I’ll be right here, talking with the policeman. You can see me the whole time.”

  “OK.”

  A minute later, Hope sat back down and angled herself so she could see Angel. “My name is Hope Hargitay,” she told the officer. “And my address is here for now. I’m one of the staff volunteers.”

  The cop’s eyes widened. “You’re living here with a child? You might want to think about living somewhere else.”

  “I thought you wanted to talk about the man with the knife,” she said quietly. He couldn’t say anything she hadn’t
thought herself in the past few minutes. She wanted nothing more than to take her daughter and run. Run as far away as possible, but she had nowhere to go. The streets held even more danger than this place. She gave her statement, finishing signing it just as the door opened again.

  Tori Branning breezed in, coat open, worry over her face. “Officer, I’m Tori Branning. I run this place. I understand there was an incident.” She looked at Hope. “Are you and Angel all right?”

  “We’re fine. Thanks to Pastor Slater. We’ve all given statements.”

  Tori nodded. “OK. Go and be with Angel for the rest of the day. I’ll handle things.”

  “OK.” Hope stood and held a hand out to Angel. “Let’s go show Mr. E-T where we sleep.”

  Angel gripped her hand tightly. “Are we safe here, Mummy? Can’t we go home?”

  Hope’s heart sank and her stomach turned. “We live here now, remember?”

  “But that man…and all the other strangers coming in…”

  Hope picked her up and carried her. “That man won’t be back. And we’re never alone here. You’ll be at school tomorrow, and when I pick you up, it’ll be you and me safe in our room.”

  Angel leaned into her. “Mr. Evans-Teush was very frighted.”

  Me, too. But she didn’t voice it. “I don’t blame him.” She tried to remember where she’d seen the man with the knife before. She hadn’t said anything to the officers because she’d seen so many clients over the past few years. He could be anyone of them, or someone she’d seen in passing on the street. She sat on the bed. “Find a story, and I’ll read to you and Mr. E-T.”

  “Why do you shorten his name?”

  “Because Evans-Teush is a bit of a mouthful.”

  Angel giggled, pulling her favorite book off the shelf. “It is. This one.”

  “Just don’t try calling your teacher Mr. E-T at school tomorrow. You’ll get me in big trouble.” Hope took the book.

  “I’m taking my rabbit to school tomorrow for show and tell.”

  “You might lose him. How about he stays here and looks after me while you’re out.”

  Angel thought for a moment, then put the rabbit to her ear. “He says he’ll do that. So long as he has carrots.”

  Hope smiled. “I think I can manage that.” She read the book on autopilot. Her mind strayed back to Pastor Slater—Nick. He’d appeared at just the right time. Again. Each time she’d needed someone over the past few days, he’d been there. Was it coincidence? Or was there something more to it?

  4

  Nick glanced at the Christmas tree he’d just finished putting up in the lounge window. It was missing something, but he wasn’t sure what. Lights…check. Baubles…check. Tinsel…check. There was even a clockwork train running around the bottom of it. Nativity under the tree…check. Star on the top…check. He sighed. And yes, he’d checked the colored fairy lights worked too, and they did, so it wasn’t that.

  So what was it?

  He shook his head and dusted his hands on his jeans. Maybe he’d remember later. Right now he had to run or he’d be late. And that wouldn’t do—not on his first shift at the homeless shelter. He wasn’t counting his visit the day before yesterday.

  Jack had been less than thrilled on the phone and at yesterday’s staff meeting, almost demanded Nick recanted his offer of helping. But that wouldn’t happen. Nick had promised he’d be there, and he liked to think he was a man of his word. He shut the front door and jogged down the five floors to where he’d left his car.

  He’d also been unable to get Hope out of his mind since yesterday. Hope. Now he knew her name. The mysterious girl—woman—he kept bumping into almost everywhere he went. The cops had insisted he’d saved the kid’s life, but he just did what anyone would have done in that situation. He shrugged it off, not wanting praise or adulation for it, but thanking God for putting him in the right place at the right time.

  His feet slid on the pavement. It was icy already and not even four o’clock. That didn’t bode well for the trip home. His breath hung in the air as he scraped the windscreen clear, and then got in the car. He was grateful for his new hat, scarf and gloves, but even with them the bitter cold seared straight through him.

  The drive was short. He’d leave the car at home next time and walk. If nothing else, it’d save having to de-ice the car several times.

  Nick parked and gazed at the grey building.

  It looked more like an office block. Maybe it was, or had been in a former life, but now it was one of these derelict buildings the charity took over at this time of year. A temporary banner hung across the doorway, blocking the building’s former name.

  Care at Christmas. Not that it looked very busy. There were no long queues waiting to get in.

  He rubbed his hands, his fingers freezing despite the gloves. His breath hung in the frozen air. It always amazed him how cold it could get without a single snowflake falling.

  He darted up the steps, almost losing his footing a couple of times, and pushed through the doors into the lobby. Warmth hit him almost immediately, along with the smell of coffee, soup, and what could be a roast, but probably wasn’t. He didn’t imagine the budget ran to that, or if it did, that the owner would want to provide it on a day other than Christmas Day.

  Christmas carols played in the background. Nick followed his nose down the hallway into the large room where yesterday’s drama had played out. A few people sat around the long rectangular tables in the center of the room, mugs in front of them, their life in bags by their feet. A hatch on the far wall, lined with urns and pans, had a small queue and people serving.

  It looked so different from Sunday. He glanced around, wondering where he should go.

  “Can I help you?” A short, dark woman with long, grey dreadlocks with beads on the ends of each plait stood in front of him. Her smile lit her face and shone in her eyes. Along with a hint of recognition, which threw him because he didn’t know her.

  “Hi. I’m looking for Victoria Branning. Pastor Chambers said I’d find her here.”

  “She’s in the office.” The lady raised her voice. “Hey, Tori, someone to see you.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Nick pulled off his gloves and shoved them into his pockets. He undid his jacket and glanced around again. The mood was somber, despite the music.

  “I’m Tori Branning. Can I help you?”

  He turned.

  The owner of the voice was tall and pretty with long dark hair tied back in a high ponytail. Her red turtle neck jumper with white snowflakes complemented her jeans and ankle length boots. She looked as if she’d stepped from a Christmas advert in a magazine or one of those films on the TV.

  He held out a hand to her. “Nick Slater.”

  She grasped his hand firmly, the light reflecting off the rings on her left hand. “Thank you for coming. Lydia will show you where you put your coat and where the sink is.”

  “Sink?” That wasn’t what he was expecting.

  “You do know how to wash up.”

  Nick kept his face straight. “Yes, I can clean dishes as well as the next man.”

  “Good. Lydia will show you.” Mrs. Branning headed back across the room, leaving him standing there, almost reeling with shock in her wake.

  “Don’t you mind Tori,” Lydia said cheerfully. “She’s having a bad day, what with the police all over this place since Sunday. The dishwasher’s packed up and it’ll cost mega-bucks to replace. And the baby kept her up all night, but then the baby’s only two-months old, so she would. I’m surprised she isn’t taking maternity leave, but that’s Tori for you.”

  “I see. What happened Sunday?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t place him as the ‘hero’.

  “Some bloke with a knife held Angel hostage until someone walked in and rescued her. So, the kitchen is this way, sugar.”

  Nick followed Lydia through a door at the back of the room.

  “You can leave your coat here, but I’d keep your wallet, ph
one, and keys on you at all times. We don’t get much stuff walking, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  He nodded, and put his coat where she indicated.

  “Sink’s right this way.”

  Nick followed her into a large kitchen. He took in the stoves with pans boiling on them, dishes of food being prepared, and the massive pile of dirty pans, dishes and cups by the overflowing sink. She hadn’t been kidding about the broken dishwasher.

  “Just one or two dishes then,” he said, winking at her.

  Lydia grinned. “Would you like some coffee while you work?”

  “I’d love one. Black, no sugar…” He paused, his cheeks burning. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  Lydia laughed. “I don’t mind, sugar. Don’t you go walking on egg shells around me, or anyone else neither. Coffee without milk is black, no two ways about it. Are you sure washing dishes is all right? I’m sure it’s not what you or Pastor Jack had in mind when he sent you here.”

  Nick paused in unfastening his cufflinks. “You know Jack?”

  “I’ve been going to Headley Baptist since July when I came to stay with my niece Sam and her husband for a few weeks. My home was destroyed so, I decided to move here permanently.”

  “I didn’t realize.” Mortified just didn’t even begin to cover the range of emotions flooding him now. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s OK, sugar. You’re new. It takes time to learn everyone’s name. Although, I could get months of teasing out of you sitting in high church.”

  He frowned. “High church?”

  “I hardly ever see the folks who sit upstairs. Sam calls them ‘high church’ and us folks who sit downstairs ‘low church’. And you don’t get much higher than the pulpit where you sit some Sundays.” She stuck out a hand. “Lydia Wells.”

  Nick shook her hand. “Nick Slater. But I guess you know that.”

  She grinned. “Sure do, Pastor Nick.”

  “Just Nick is fine. Pastor Sugar on the other hand…”