Lost Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page B

voice.
    â€˜Is it?’ asked Nan.
    Goose thought she was about to start crying and he desperately wanted to get out before that happened. ‘Easy mistake to make. I’ll help you. We’ll do it together. Tomorrow. Yeah?’
    Nan nodded and forced a weak smile.
    â€˜I’ll see you later, Nan. Come on, Mutt.’ Goose edged to the door, itching to leave, but then he stopped and looked back. His nan was staring down at the chequered pattern of the Formica on the kitchen tabletop and wringing an old tea towel between her fingers. Goose wished he knew the right thing to say: the thing that would help Nan and make her all better again. There was nothing, so he bit the inside of his cheek and left.
    Nan watched Goose and Mutt leaving. Her brain felt foggy, though she hadn’t noticed until Goose had pointed out her mistake with the turkey. She hated that this was happening to her, but she couldn’t seem to make it stop. Most of all she felt that she was failing Goose. She knew he was beyond miserable, though he always kept a breezy, cheery tone to his voice when he spoke to her. She loved him all the morefor that. She knew he was sneaking out at night. Part of her knew what he was getting up to, but right now she couldn’t really remember. Her mind was like someone tuning a radio. Every now and again a clear signal would emerge from the static.
    It was a year ago to the very day that her son and daughter-in-law had died. She had meant to say something to Goose. Maybe he had wanted to mark the day somehow. They could visit the cemetery. A fleeting moment of clarity told her that he wouldn’t want that. He hadn’t visited their graves once that she knew of. Of course that didn’t mean anything. He did lots of things that she didn’t know about, but she had tried on occasion to talk to him about his parents and he would always find some way to end the conversation as quickly as possible. She knew she should force the issue, but her mind just wasn’t flexible enough any more to even try. She cursed her failing faculties. She was useless.
    Her mind wandered, drifting back to the village in Norfolk to which she had been evacuated during the war. She remembered the church that looked over the village green and the bicycle she had been given by the couple she had stayed with. They were called Muriel and Ainsley Fenchurch. He was the first person she had ever met with a beard, and she had a large mole growing on her chin and smelled of rose water. They had a dog called Barney, a redsetter. She remembered the apple tree at the bottom of their garden. She could even picture the red hue of the apples and still taste their tartness as she sank her teeth into them. She could remember the chickens clucking on the Galbraith farm, which was down the road from the Fenchurches’ house, left, right and then left again. She would cycle to it at least twice a week to pick up eggs. She could remember the feel of the cloth of the blue and green dress Mrs Fenchurch had made for her rubbing against her thighs as she pedalled. She could remember all that so vividly and yet she couldn’t manage to concentrate for five blasted minutes to talk to her grandson and make sure he was okay. She thumped her fist on the table and tears pooled in her eyes.

5
SHOWDOWN AT THE SWINGS

    For the majority of the year, Beech Road Park was a small oasis of greenery in the Chorlton area of Manchester. It was surrounded on all sides by houses and was a favourite place for the neighbourhood kids to congregate. They had been there all morning and thick snow had been sculpted into an army of snowmen of varying sizes. Most of the kids had gone now – off home for a snack or an early lunch – but they’d be back.
    Darryl Craig and Carl Mills, Millsy to his friends, were sixteen and seventeen respectively. Darryl was tall and skinny, while Millsy was taller and flabby. They had been friends since they were three