Claude's Christmas Adventure

by Sophie Pembroke

  ‘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?’

  Daisy stared around her at the dusty stone walls and the crumbling mortar. ‘Does this place look much like anyone’s fantasies?’

  ‘Well, no,’ Oliver admitted. ‘But you know, the whole moving to a castle in France thing. One of those once in a lifetime opportunities, maybe? Something they figured that if they didn’t do it now, they never would?’

  Daisy sighed, and sank down onto the bed, a cloud of dust rising around her. ‘Perhaps. Do you think my parents are okay with the twins down there?’

  ‘Isn’t the question more whether the twins are okay with your parents?’ Oliver abandoned his hunt for the sheets and sat beside her on the bed.

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Still, it is nice to have a few quiet moments alone, isn’t it?’ His arm crept around her shoulder. ‘And with a four poster bed, to boot.’

  Daisy raised an eyebrow at him. ‘You absolutely cannot be suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.’ That sort of thing was how they’d ended up with the twins in the first place. None of their children could really be considered ‘planned’, but the twins were definitely more accidental than most.

  Oliver’s arm retreated. ‘Fine. Just a thought.’

  ‘We need to call Mrs Templeton, anyway,’ Daisy reminded him.

  Oliver collapsed back onto the bed with a groan, which quickly turned into a coughing fit as the dust overtook him.

  ‘We need to make sure that Claude’s okay, and she’s our best shot.’ Daisy waited for the coughing to subside, then handed him her phone. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Why me?’ Oliver asked, staring at the phone in her hand. ‘Why can’t you do it?’

  ‘She likes you more.’

  ‘She hates me. I mow the lawn too loudly and don’t make pretty stripes when I do it.’

  ‘She still likes you more than me. Or any of the kids, for that matter.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Oliver argued. ‘You’ve never actually asked her outright which one of us she hates least.’

  ‘I don’t have to,’ Daisy said darkly. ‘She makes it very clear with her eyes.’

  ‘Yeah, well, she still hates Claude the most.’

  That, unfortunately, was true. Mrs Templeton had very little time for animals, Daisy had learnt over several encounters with the old battle-axe, mostly involving her complaining about dogs running wild, dog poo on the pavements, and barking.

  Never mind that Claude never ran anywhere if he could help it, or that Daisy paid Bella an extra two quid a week pocket money to pick up after him, or that he rarely barked. Mrs Templeton was not to be reasoned with.

  But they were going to have to try.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, snatching the phone back. ‘I’ll do it.’

  Oliver looked relieved. ‘I’ll hold your hand while you call, if you like. For moral support.’ Daisy glared at him. ‘Or I could check on the twins.’

  ‘That sounds like a much better idea.’

  He was gone by the time Daisy had scrolled through her contacts list on her battered old phone and found Mrs Templeton, saved under the obscure title of ‘Neighbourhood Witch’ instead of her actual name.

  The phone rang for what seemed like forever before Mrs Templeton’s sharp voice came on the line.

  ‘Hello? Do you realise it’s nearly nine o’clock at night? I do hope this is an emergency.’

  Daisy sighed. That meant it was nearly ten in France, and she could still hear Jay running around with Petal downstairs. Bedtime was apparently a thing of the past.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Templeton. It’s Daisy McCawley from number 11 here. I’m so sorry to bother you so late.’ Or at all, really. It wasn’t like she’d be calling if she had any other options. ‘It’s just, we’re in France at my parents’ house—’

  ‘France? Does that mean I’m going to be charged for receiving international calls? Because, really, Mrs McCawley—’

  ‘No, no, I’m paying for the call,’ Daisy reassured her, pretty sure that was true. ‘And I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important. Only, it’s our dog, Claude. We meant to bring him with us, only …’ We managed to bring a soft toy instead. As you do. God, Mrs Templeton was going to think she was more of an incapable idiot than she already did after this. ‘He seems to have escaped from his cage in the car before we left.’ That sounded rather more reasonable, Daisy decided.

  ‘And you didn’t check? Good grief.’ Daisy could just picture Mrs Templeton shaking her head in despair for the younger generation as she spoke. ‘So now there is a potentially rabid dog running wild around Maple Drive, thanks to you.’

  ‘Claude isn’t rabid!’

  ‘He might not have been when you left, but a lot can change in a day, Mrs McCawley.’

  Daisy felt that Claude contracting rabies might be pushing it a little far, though. ‘I’m sure Claude is fine, Mrs Templeton. I was just hoping that you might have seen him. I know how you like to keep an eye on goings on in the street.’ Because you’re the nosiest woman in the world.

  ‘As it happens, I did see your creature earlier today, chasing that abominably fluffy cat from number 12.’ It was nice to know that Mrs Templeton was equally grumpy towards all animals, Daisy decided. And, more importantly, a relief to know that Claude had been fine when he’d last been seen.

  ‘That’s great. I don’t suppose you know what happened to him next?’r />
  ‘I wouldn’t have the faintest idea. Now, if you don’t mind, I do have my own tasks to be getting on with, rather than trying to find your dog for you …’

  ‘Of course. Sorry,’ Daisy said. ‘We have set up a page on social media, though. Well, Bella has, and she’s monitoring it all the time on her phone. It’s called Find Claude. So you’re not the only one looking out for him!’ For some reason, she felt the overwhelming need to show Mrs Templeton that they were trying. That they hadn’t just gone away and forgotten about Claude.

  ‘I hardly think that a teenage girl with a phone is going to find a missing dog from several hundred miles away, do you?’ Mrs Templeton said.

  Daisy deflated. She was right, of course. Find Claude was a start, but it wasn’t enough. They had to get home to him.

  But until then … ‘If you do happen to see him again, do you think you could—’

  ‘If I see him again, now I know you are out of the country, I shall do my civic duty and call the pound directly. Merry Christmas, Mrs McCawley.’

  ‘But—’ It was too late; the line had already gone dead.

  ‘I take it that went well?’ Oliver asked from the doorway, Lara in his arms sucking on her dummy.

  Daisy sighed as she lowered the phone from her ear. ‘How does that woman make “Merry Christmas” sound like a curse?’

  ‘She probably took an extra course at Evil University.’ Oliver jiggled Lara around a bit in the sort of way that was never going to get her to sleep. ‘So, no sign of Claude?’

  ‘Oh, she saw him all right. Chasing the cat from across the road.’

  ‘Ah. His furry nemesis.’

  Daisy rolled her eyes. ‘I’m pretty sure Claude is too lazy to have a nemesis.’

  ‘I think you’d be surprised. But he’s okay, then?’

  ‘He was, when she saw him. But it does mean he’s outside, in the cold.’ Poor Claude. He wasn’t even wearing his coat.

  Oliver sat beside her on the bed, still holding Lara. ‘I do miss him, you know. And I am worried about him, even if I don’t seem it.’