Lost Christmas (13 page)

‘How do I know it's yours?' asked Dr Clarence.

Frank turned back to look at him, realizing that this might not be as straightforward as he had hoped.

‘It's mine,' said Frank resolutely. ‘I left it in the Witches. Take my word for it. Do you have it?'

Dr Clarence brought his hand to his chin and turned his head away. ‘I'm thinking,' he said. ‘I seem to remember it was an old edition. Illustrated by Arthur Rackham, if memory serves.' Frank gave a noncommittal nod. He was worried that he would give away the book's true value and then greed would get in the way. Frank had a very low opinion of pretty much everyone. ‘Hmm, yes …' said Dr Clarence. ‘Must be worth a pretty penny.'

‘Forty thousand pounds,' said Anthony, suddenly remembering what the expert had said on the television.

Goose turned to look at Frank, his mouth agape. Had he heard right? ‘Forty thousand pounds?' he exclaimed. He couldn't believe it. ‘For a book?' He looked at the faces of the adults. It wasn't a joke.

Frank's eyes were closed and his fists clenched, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands to stop himself from losing his temper.

‘As much as that?' said Dr Clarence with a mischievous grin flickering on his lips.

Frank opened his eyes and forced a calm tone into his voice. ‘Sentimental value,' said Frank. ‘Used to read it to my daughter when she was little. Belonged to my dad. Been in my family a long time and I'd like it back, Rafe.'

‘I'm sure you would,' said Dr Clarence, clearly enjoying toying with Frank. ‘I'm curious. Why do you think
I
picked it up in the Witches?'

Frank and Goose both involuntarily glanced at Anthony. The look was not lost on Dr Clarence. He frowned.

‘What? Why look at him?' He studied Anthony. ‘I don't remember seeing you before.'

Finally Goose sighed and said, ‘He touched Frank's hand and saw you pick it up. Like in a vision or something.'

Dr Clarence tittered for a second, then stopped abruptly as he saw from the looks on Frank and Anthony's faces that Goose was being serious.

‘I know. Crazy, right?' said Goose.

Suddenly Anthony spoke: ‘What sort of doctor are you?'

‘I'm not,' said Dr Clarence. ‘Any more,' he added. ‘I was a GP.'

‘Have you ever come across anything like this before?' asked Anthony.

‘What? Someone having visions? Of course, they used
to be in my surgery all the time. Dozens of them. Hundreds.' Dr Clarence smiled to himself.

‘I'm serious,' said Anthony. ‘It hurts, you see, when it happens.'

Dr Clarence stopped smiling, affected by Anthony's obvious sincerity. ‘I'm sorry. No, I never heard of anything like that.'

‘Would you examine me?' asked Anthony.

‘No,' said Dr Clarence firmly. ‘I'm not a doctor any more.'

‘But it's not like you've forgotten everything,' said Anthony.

Goose scoffed: ‘Why not? You have.' He smiled, pleased with his quick remark, but then he noticed no one else was smiling and felt self-conscious.

‘What do you mean by that?' asked Dr Clarence.

‘He's lost his memory,' said Frank, by way of explanation. ‘Doesn't know who he is. Doesn't remember a thing.'

‘'Cept for bobbins about owls and aglets,' said Goose, finding it hard to keep the irritation out of his voice.

‘Aglets?' asked Dr Clarence.

‘The hard bit at the end of your shoelace,' said Anthony.

‘Interesting,' muttered Dr Clarence, his mind elsewhere.

‘No, it's not!' barked Goose, having swallowed his frustration long enough. He jumped to his feet. ‘It's
mental. Why's it all about him? What about Frank's book? It's his, not yours, and you should give it back. And I know there's one place Mutt definitely isn't and that's here.'

‘Mutt?' asked Dr Clarence.

‘My dog! He disappeared and he –' said Goose, stabbing an angry finger in Anthony's direction – ‘knows where he is.'

‘Lost dogs, lost books. Good Lord,' said Dr Clarence.

‘There you go,' said Anthony. ‘That's what I said. There must be a connection. Lost bangles too. The bangle brought me to Goose, Goose brought me to Frank, Frank brought me to you.' He looked at Dr Clarence. ‘What have you lost, Doctor?'

Dr Clarence shook his head. ‘Me? Nothing.'

‘Did you retire through choice or pressure?' Anthony asked.

‘Very much my choice,' was Dr Clarence's reply.

Anthony's brow knitted as he thought. There was still so much fog in his head. So much of his past obscured. But it seemed as if he was here for a reason. He was almost sure of it. It was only a feeling, nothing he could articulate, but a voice in the back of his head was telling him he was on the right track. He came to a decision and removed his glove. He held out his hand to the doctor.

‘I told you, I haven't lost anything,' said Dr Clarence.

‘There's no need to worry. It only hurts me,' said Anthony.

Dr Clarence hesitated. He stared at Anthony's offered hand. The atmosphere was heavy with tension. Dr Clarence lifted his hand, started to reach out but stopped. He looked into Anthony's eyes and saw his reluctance – even though this was Anthony's decision, even though he was the one with his hand outstretched. Dr Clarence could see the anxiety in his face. It hurt, he had said.
This is not something he wants to do, but rather something he feels he has to do
. Dr Clarence was intrigued. He let his hand continue. He took hold of Anthony's hand. And as skin touched skin Anthony drew in a sharp breath.

This time the sensation was even more violent. It felt as if Anthony's arm was being clamped in solid metal. The feeling spread up, past his elbow, over his shoulder and then penetrated him, burrowing into his armpit, like the root of an iron tree frantically searching out sustenance. The wormlike root drilled into him, through his chest and then launched skywards, snaking up his throat until it reached the centre of his brain. Everything went black.

Anthony opened his eyes and found himself staring at a ceiling. He turned his head and discovered he was lying on a familiar black-and-white chequered tile floor. He sat up
and he knew he was still in Dr Clarence's house. However, it was very different in one immediately apparent aspect: no books.

Anthony climbed to his feet. He looked around and saw the table and the grandfather clock, the ornate mirror and the curving staircase. Everything was clean and bright and loved. The table was highly polished and visible, not covered in a mountain of novels. Instead there was a vase in the centre of it, full of lilies. Sunlight shone through the stained glass in the porch, splashing pools of colour across the floor.

Then Anthony heard a ringing phone coming from the drawing room and he moved towards the sound …

The drawing room was as bright and joyous as the hallway. There were more flowers in here and the only books were neatly lined up on the shelves. Heavy velvet curtains were tied back and bright sunshine was streaming in. Anthony saw a trim phone chirruping on the desk and was just thinking that that was odd, seeing as the trim phone was a fixture in the 1970s but was mostly extinct nowadays, when the door behind him opened and Dr Clarence entered. He was forty years younger than the man Anthony knew. His hair was long, touching his collar, and he had thick, lustrous sideburns. As Dr Clarence answered the phone, Anthony crossed to the window and looked out. He saw a light blue
Vauxhall Viva parked in the driveway outside. A Hillman Imp drove past. He realized this was the seventies.

‘Yes, hello,' said the younger Dr Clarence into the telephone. Anthony turned to look at him. ‘Where the ruddy hell are you? I've been worried sick.' The doctor listened to the person on the other end of the phone and as he did so his face grew darker. ‘What do you mean? When are you coming home? What does that mean? Where are you going?' He listened some more and his features grew more and more purple with rage until he exploded: ‘Who are you with? I demand you come home right this second. You're my bloody wife, Emily, and you will do as you are ruddy well told!' He listened some more, his breathing heavy. ‘Letter? What letter? In the kitchen? What are you talking about? Come back and talk to me face to face.' Then, as if realizing this was the wrong approach, he softened. ‘We can work this out if only we could speak. Please come back. Emily? Emily … ?' As he realized his wife had hung up, his fury overtook him and he smashed the receiver back down on to the cradle with enough force to shatter the phone. Then he turned and pounded out of the room …

Anthony was already in the large, bright kitchen. He was looking down at an envelope addressed to ‘Rafe' sitting on the table propped up against the toast rack.

The door crashed open as the younger Dr Clarence stormed in. A breeze dislodged the letter and Anthony watched helplessly as it skimmed off the table and floated down to the floor where, unbelievably, it slipped through a crack in the floorboards, close to a distinctive-looking knot in the wood, and disappeared from view. Young Dr Clarence never saw it. He raged about the kitchen searching for it …

Back in the drawing room, Goose was startled by the abruptness with which Anthony let go of Dr Clarence's hand and tipped over backwards, his body going limp. Goose winced as Anthony hit a table. The table was heavy oak with chunky carved legs. It hardly moved as Anthony's dead weight bounced off it on his way to the floor. He convulsed for several moments, letting out what Goose thought sounded like a dying breath. Then, all of a sudden, Anthony became still.

Goose put his hands over his mouth as if to stop himself from screaming. He was genuinely concerned. ‘Anthony,' he squeaked. He was quite sure he had just watched him die.

Dr Clarence moved fast. He jumped up and strode across to a cabinet, retrieving a dusty old medical bag from inside. He dashed back to Anthony, dropping to his side
and dragging a stethoscope from the bag. As he reached out, Goose stopped him.

‘Don't touch any skin!' Goose cried out.

Dr Clarence paused momentarily, nodded and then carefully positioned the diaphragm of his stethoscope on Anthony's motionless chest.

Frank and Goose looked at Dr Clarence, waiting for his diagnosis. It wasn't good. Dr Clarence was shaking his head and frowning. ‘There's no heartbeat.' Goose let out an involuntary whimper.

‘I'll call an ambulance,' said Frank, pulling out his mobile phone.

Goose looked on as Dr Clarence prepared to perform CPR. There was a swift determination to the doctor's movements. Rather than calming Goose, this worried him more. He could tell by Dr Clarence's body language that they didn't have much time. An ambulance wouldn't help. It wouldn't get here fast enough to save Anthony.

Goose wondered why he was so concerned. After all, he didn't really know this man, and not so long ago he was convinced he had stolen the thing Goose cared about most in the world. Maybe that was it, Goose told himself. He was only worried about Mutt. If Anthony died, how would he ever find Mutt? That made sense to Goose, but he wasn't entirely sure it was true.

Dr Clarence positioned the heels of his hands on
Anthony's chest and was just about to press down when Anthony suddenly dragged in a gasp of breath. Everyone froze.

Dr Clarence leaned back and waited. Frank stopped dialling. Goose grabbed a handful of Frank's sleeve. They all watched on tenterhooks. Then Anthony's eyes flickered open. The air of tension eased. Frank glowered at Goose's hands clutching at his coat and Goose let go, smoothing the leather.

Anthony held his head, clearly in a lot of pain. Gradually the pain seemed to subside. When Anthony eventually spoke, his voice was barely audible.

‘You said you hadn't lost anything,' he croaked. Dr Clarence frowned and started shaking his head as if to say he hadn't. ‘The kitchen. Under the floorboards.' Dr Clarence didn't know what Anthony could mean.

The door to the kitchen opened and Dr Clarence entered, followed by Goose. Anthony and Frank brought up the rear. Anthony pointed to a particular section of the floor where he had seen the envelope vanish. He saw the distinctive-looking knot marking the spot.

‘There,' he said. ‘With the knot that looks like Queen Victoria.'

‘What? Queen Victoria?' said Dr Clarence. He followed Anthony's gaze and saw the knot. Truth be told, it had never
occurred to him that it looked like Queen Victoria in profile. ‘What's there?' asked Dr Clarence. ‘I don't understand.'

Goose looked from Anthony to Dr Clarence and back again.

‘She said she left you a letter.' Anthony's words sent a chill down Dr Clarence's spine. The doctor remembered the letter and the phone call perfectly. As if it was yesterday instead forty years ago. It's not easy to forget the worst day of one's life.

Goose looked on, not entirely sure he understood what was happening. A thousand thoughts raged through the doctor's mind and his confusion played out on his face. In the end, there was only one thing he wanted to know. Goose watched as he crossed to a drawer and took out a large flat-head screwdriver. He walked back and then, crouching down, he pushed the tip of the screwdriver through the crack in the floorboards and prised one up. Ancient nails protested as they were forced from their beds. Dr Clarence raised the board far enough to get his fingertips underneath and then wrenched the board free. He looked down into the cavity beneath. Anthony, Goose and Frank moved in and looked over his shoulder. They all saw the small envelope, yellowed with age, addressed to ‘Rafe'. Dr Clarence let out a tiny, strangled cry. He reached down and picked up the letter.

Goose was shaking his head gently.
How did Anthony know that was there?
he wondered.

Frank helped Dr Clarence to his feet and he crossed to the table where he slumped down in the chair, turning the envelope over and over in his hand.