He glanced down at Claude, trotting along beside him at the end of the sparkly pink lead, his oversized black ears perked up and listening to the world around them. Maybe he’d check if his rental agreement could be amended to allow pets. He knew at the moment they were forbidden, but perhaps that could be fixed. Or if he moved …
He’d already put an email in to his boss to see if it might be possible to get a transfer. Maple Drive hadn’t lived up to his expectations at all. No point hanging around to see if things changed; they never did, in his experience. No, it was time to move on and start looking elsewhere. But in the meantime, maybe a dog would give him the companionship he craved.
A proper dog, though. One with a decent tail for wagging, and less obtrusive ears.
‘Well, I guess we’d better see if anyone around here knows where your owners are, boy.’ Great, now he was even talking to the dog. That’s how hard up for human connection he was.
Except … he’d connected with Holly. At least, he thought he had. It had been a while since he’d felt that sort of connection with, well, anyone. Perhaps he’d been imagining it. Perhaps she’d just been thinking ‘Who is this strange man in my house?’ As well as ‘Who is this strange dog?’
All in all, it had been a strange encounter all around. Although that didn’t mean he wasn’t already humming with the anticipation of seeing her again later.
But first he had to finish his round. And find something to do with Claude, who was sticking very close as he trotted alongside.
‘I just hope someone in one of these houses knows how to get in touch with Mr and Mrs McCawley.’ Who knew what he’d have to do with Claude otherwise. Claude moved a little closer again, almost tripping Jack over, as if he had the exact same fears. Maybe he did, Jack allowed, as he did a little hop-jump to avoid getting tangled in Claude’s lead. Nobody liked to be left alone, after all.
Jack knew that feeling. Except he hadn’t been left, exactly. He’d chosen to leave. He had to remember that.
The first couple of houses they came to were dark. Jack knocked on the doors anyway, as he pushed their Christmas cards and bills through the letterbox, but there was no answer. The next door was opened by a harried-looking young woman with a baby in her arms, and Jack brightened. This house had to be a better shot. After all, if the mum was home with the baby, surely she’d have more contact with the rest of the community.
‘Hi, I was wondering if you could help me. I’m trying to get hold of this little guy’s owners. The McCawleys. At number 11.’ Jack kept a friendly smile on his face throughout, but it didn’t seem to register. The woman shook her head, grabbing the small pile of post from his hand without even glancing at Claude.
‘No thanks,’ she mumbled, as she shut the door.
Jack sighed. He’d known that finding someone who knew the McCawleys well enough to be able to fill him in on their movements was a long shot, but he hadn’t expected it to be so hard to even find someone willing to listen to him.
As he trudged back up the driveway, grateful for his winter coat in the bitter December cold, his phone rang. Jack fished it out from his pocket, while Claude danced around his feet, wrapping the lead around his ankles.
‘Hello?’ Jack said, carefully stepping out from the tangle of lead again.
‘Jack? It’s Bill.’ His boss. Jack tensed. Even though he knew this probably had to do with the email he’d sent Bill last night, there was always the chance that it was something worse. But then Bill said, ‘About this email,’ and Jack let himself relax, just enough to head to the bus shelter at the end of Maple Drive and sit down while they talked. Claude entertained himself sniffing around the base of the bench legs, before curling up on Jack’s boots.
‘Yeah. What do you think? Is it possible?’
‘A transfer? Yeah, I guess so. Probably. It might take a while, but … to be honest, Jack, I’m more interested in why you want one.’ Bill sounded personally affronted. Maybe he should have gone and talked to the guy in person, instead of just emailing. It was just that it had been late, he’d been frustrated, and he’d wanted to do something – anything – to feel like he was moving forward again.
‘It’s nothing to do with you, or the job,’ Jack said quickly. ‘Honestly, I’m happy working here. Very happy.’
‘Except for the part where you want to leave,’ Bill commented. ‘So again, I have to ask … why?’
Jack sighed. How to explain it? ‘I guess … you know when you have an idea of how things are going to be? What your life will be like when you reach a certain point, a certain place?’
‘Yeah. Sure.’
‘Well, I thought being here, living on Maple Drive would be … different.’
‘Different how?’ Bill asked.
That, Jack knew he couldn’t explain. Maybe to someone else – someone like Holly, perhaps. But not to Bill – gruff, contented Bill. Bill had lived in the local area all his life, he’d told Jack proudly on his first day, and worked for the post office since he left school. Bill had his children, his grandchildren, his siblings, his nieces and nephews, his cousins, and every school friend that ever mattered to him, all living within a twenty mile radius. Bill didn’t just live here. He belonged.
And Jack hadn’t belonged anywhere since he left the army. But he was determined that he would.
It just seemed that Maple Drive wasn’t the place for belonging. Nobody wanted anything to do with each other, as far as he could tell. And that wasn’t the sort of place that Jack wanted to call home.
‘I thought I could make this place my home,’ he said, at last. ‘But I think maybe I’d have better luck somewhere else. I think it’s time for me to leave. Move on, you know?’ At his feet Claude looked up, his eyes huge and his oversized ears strangely droopy, as if he understood every word Jack was saying and didn’t like it one bit.
Bill sighed down the line. ‘Son, I’ve not known you all that long, and I wouldn’t presume to try and guess your life story. But I know you were in the army, and I reckon that probably meant moving around a lot, right?’
‘Right,’ Jack said, wondering where the older man was going with this.
‘And now you’re looking to put down roots,’ Bill went on. ‘But the thing is, roots take time to grow. They need to settle in, get comfy like, before they can stretch out and really take hold in the dirt. It’s like the weeds in my allotment. If I get hold of them quick, when they’ve just arrived, they come up easy as anything. But if I let them stay too long …’
‘They take root,’ Jack finished for him. Was that what he needed to do? Take root? Maybe … but not in Maple Drive.
‘Exactly. But it does take time. And if you just up and leave every time something doesn’t seem quite like you expected, well, you might never get those deep, strong roots you’re looking for.’
‘So you’re saying no to the transfer.’ Maybe Bill had a point. But as Jack looked around Maple Drive – at the darkened windows, the empty driveways, the locked front doors – he couldn’t help but think that none of the other people living on the street had real roots either, no matter how long they’d lived there. Why would he be any different?
‘I’m saying think about it some more, that’s all,’ Bill said. ‘It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, son. At least give it until the New Year.’
That was fair, Jack supposed. After all, he’d already been there for months. What was another couple of weeks?
‘Okay. But if I still want to leave then?’ Which, as far as Jack was concerned, was a dead cert. Claude shook his little head and got back up on all fours, padding over to the edge of the bus shelter, pulling his lead taut.
‘Then I’ll fast track your transfer myself,’ Bill promised. ‘Deal?’
‘Deal.’
‘Good. Now get on with your round.’ The phone line went dead, and Jack smiled as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.
Bill was right; he had deliveries still to make. And a dog’s family to find – even if it already see
med like the McCawleys were another family that didn’t have roots here in Maple Drive, he still had to try.
‘Come on, Claude,’ he said, tugging the dog away from the corner of the bus shelter, where he’d found something very smelly to investigate. ‘We’re not done here yet.’
The afternoon was fading into evening before Jack had finished making his rounds. Turned out, he didn’t just deliver post on our street, but all the streets surrounding them. Once we’d tried all the houses on Maple Drive that had humans at home, he’d taken me on the rest of his round, promising we’d come back and do the rest later, when more people were home. My paws were aching, and I was thinking longingly of my cosy basket and my red blanket. Or even Perdita’s food bowl, for that matter!
But more than anything, I was thinking that Jack was leaving too. I’d heard every word of his phone call, even if he hadn’t known I understood. He didn’t want to stay in Maple Drive.
Just like Daisy and Oliver, he’d be leaving me behind.
‘Not too many more now, boy.’ Jack bent over to rub between my ears, which I appreciated. At least he seemed pleased to have me around for now.
The other occupants of Maple Drive had been less keen.
I’d expected it from the humans. I’d noticed in the past that while people could be very attached to their own pets, sometimes they were less fond of other people’s. That certainly seemed the case in Maple Drive. Of the four houses that had people at home, only one had reached down to pat my head. One! The others had hardly looked at me. Except for the one who said something very rude about my ears.
The worst part was, none of them knew where Daisy, Oliver and the children were. And I couldn’t explain ferry, France and chateau to them.
Still, I’d hoped that I might have some luck with the other animals on the street. I figured that they, at least, would be sympathetic to my plight. And maybe one of them might know about ferry, France and chateau. Even better, with Jack leaving, maybe one of them might be able to take me in. Just in case my people didn’t come home anytime soon.
There were more pets on Maple Drive than I’d realised, actually. Some of them I’d seen around before – some of the cats I’d even chased out of my garden. But I’d never really had a proper conversation with any of them before today.
At one house, I met a spaniel, who bounced towards the door, ears flapping with great excitement, until his owner grabbed his collar. While Jack recited his question about my owners again, I barked a quick, quiet question of my own to the spaniel. ‘Is this a good home?’
The spaniel’s response was typically enthusiastic. ‘It’s the best! I love it here! There are treats and scratches and tummy rubs all the time!’
I looked up at his owner again. He seemed okay. And if the spaniel was happy there … I turned my most appealing look on the man, and waited for him to look down and notice. Because, of course, it wasn’t up to the pets who got taken in. That came down to the owners.
The man glanced down at me, brow furrowed.
‘Sorry, mate, I don’t really know them,’ he said, turning his attention back to Jack. ‘Don’t even remember seeing that dog around the street. And I’d definitely remember those ears!’ He laughed, and Jack laughed with him, so I resolved to tangle the lead around his ankles again sometime soon.
My ears are magnificent, thank you. Daisy says so.
It was the same story everywhere we went. Everyone nodded and said, ‘Hmm, yes, number 11 …’ but in the end, they had to admit they didn’t know Daisy and Oliver at all.
Inside every house, I saw glimpses of Christmas trees and lights shining, happy smiles and delicious smells. But none of it spilled outside their houses, out into Maple Drive. And none of it was for sharing with a poor, lost and abandoned French Bulldog.
I tried my luck with another dog – this one a much calmer Westie, who seemed apologetic, at least, for her owner’s comments on my appearance – and two cats. Unfortunately, both the felines were members of Perdita’s little gang, and one of them had scraped their back leg last time I chased them over the fence, so that was that.
The McCawleys and I officially had no friends in Maple Drive.
Well, except for Jack. I had Jack, for now, at least.
He’d told the man on the phone he’d think about it – think about whether he really wanted to leave? Probably. In which case, all I had to do was find a way to convince Jack that Maple Drive was worth staying for. None of the people we’d spoken to that afternoon had helped with that at all. But this morning … Holly had let him into her house, had welcomed him, talked with him.
Maybe that was a start. Maybe we just needed more people like Holly to talk to.
Because one way or another, I had to find Jack a reason to stay here on Maple Drive. Otherwise, I had no idea who would look after me.
The ferry lurched port-wards (or was it starboard? She never could keep those straight) and Daisy clung onto a row of chairs to keep her balance. Oliver and the kids were still bemoaning the lack of electronics while eating crisps in the bar, so Daisy had volunteered to go and find out about getting a seat on the next ferry home. She had a nasty feeling it might be an overnight crossing, and if they ever managed to get a table in the restaurant, she suspected they might not all keep their food down until they reached Portsmouth again.
There you go. A good reason to be grateful she hadn’t booked a table in the restaurant.
Mind you, no one seemed to be grateful about anything else. And yes, okay, she hadn’t pulled off the smoothest family holiday ever so far on this trip, but she had put a lot of work into it, whatever Oliver seemed to think.
She’d booked the ferry, ordered the M&S hamper, packed everybody’s stuff, bought and wrapped all the Christmas presents (well, most of them. There was still a bag or two of gifts in need of wrapping when they were somewhere that didn’t sway quite so badly) and decorated the damn house, even though they weren’t there to enjoy it.
She had done Christmas, and it wasn’t even Christmas Eve yet.
Still, if they could just get back to Maple Drive, back to Claude, and have a nice Christmas day with turkey and crackers and slobbing on the sofa watching a bad movie, it would all be worth it.
Daisy joined the queue at the information desk again, hoping against hope that whoever was manning it now would be more sympathetic than the idiot who wouldn’t turn the boat around.
No such luck.
‘Ah, Mrs McCawley, isn’t it?’ Henri smiled insincerely at her. ‘I do hope you enjoyed your free drinks.’
‘Not really. Listen, I need to book passage for my family on the next ferry from Caen to Portsmouth. Can you do that for me?’
‘Of course!’ he said, and Daisy’s spirits started to drift slowly upwards, in the manner of mulled wine steam. Until he added, ‘Normally. But not today.’
‘Why not today?’ Daisy ground out, wishing she had a vat of steaming mulled wine to pour over the odious man.
‘The seas, in case you failed to notice in your all-encompassing worry for your dog, are rather rough today, madam. All sailings after this one have been cancelled, until tomorrow morning.’
Tomorrow morning? That meant leaving Claude all alone overnight. They’d never done that before, not anywhere. He’d always come with them – every family holiday, every weekend away, even an overnight stay. The most he’d managed was a few hours with her parents one evening.
What was he going to do? Daisy hoped against hope that Claude had managed to sneak back into the house without them noticing – it seemed the most likely reason for his escape, wanting to get back to his comfy basket, or his food bowl.
But what if he hadn’t? What if he was all alone, hungry, and outside in this dreadful winter weather?
What would he do?
‘But tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,’ she whispered.
‘Very observant of you, madam,’ Henri said, crisply.
‘But you run ferries on Christmas Eve?’ It wasn’t ideal, but if
it got them back to Claude …
‘One ferry,’ he corrected her. ‘At 8.30 a.m.’
‘Well, can you book us onto that one?’
‘Of course!’ This time, Daisy knew better than to let her spirits rise. ‘Usually.’
‘Usually,’ Daisy echoed. ‘But not today.’
‘But not today,’ Henri confirmed. ‘I’m afraid tomorrow morning’s sailing is very popular – and fully booked.’
‘Is there a waiting list?’
‘A long one.’
‘Can you put us on it?’
‘I suppose so,’ he agreed, grudgingly. ‘But personally, I don’t think you stand a chance.’
‘It’s Christmas,’ Daisy said. ‘The season of miracles.’
‘Forgive me, but do miracles usually involve sea-going passage? Unless you’re planning on walking on water, of course …’
‘Just put us on the list,’ Daisy snapped.
Henri obliged, taking down her parents’ phone number in France – which Daisy fortunately had scrawled on the back of a receipt in her purse from when they’d called – and promising that someone would ring them if places became available on the ferry.
‘Now, if I can be of no further assistance …’
‘I think we’re done here,’ Daisy agreed, but before she could step away, she heard Bella’s voice.
‘Mum!’ Bella bounded up beside her, smiling at Henri. ‘Did you get us on the ferry?’
‘No, she did not,’ Henri answered, before Daisy could find a gentle way to break the news to her daughter. She scowled at him, and wished him a plague of Christmas tree needles somewhere very uncomfortable.
Bella frowned, and shook her head. ‘In that case, we need to get Find Claude up and running as soon as possible. If we’re not going to be back tonight—’
‘Excuse me. Find Claude?’ Henri asked.
‘It’s a social media campaign to try and find our dog,’ Bella explained.
Claude's Christmas Adventure Page 5