Once Upon A Christmas. Jennifer JoyceЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Stirling…’
The dog must have interpreted her use of his name as an invitation, as he proceeded to climb up onto the bed, where he dropped on top of her with a sigh. She had to struggle for a few moments to push him off her and down onto the floor again. ‘No, Stirling. Bad dog.’ He sat down beside the bed and stared at her. She could see two little moons reflected back at her in his big eyes. ‘Go downstairs, Stirling.’ He didn’t move. ‘Oh, for crying out loud please go back to your bed, would you? I want to go to sleep.’ She closed her eyes and lay back down again, hoping that he would take the hint. She counted silently up to sixty and then risked opening her eyes a fraction. His face was still there, his gaze unblinkingly fixed on her.
‘Oh, God…’ She swung out of bed and reached for a pair of shoes. It was cold in the room, although the thick feather duvet had kept her warm in bed. She retrieved her jumper from the chair and led the dog down the stairs. In the kitchen, it was warmer, but the stove was now cool enough to touch. She went over to the table, lit one of the candles and looked down at the dog, who was still staring at her impassively.
‘Listen Stirling, we are not going out for a w… W, A, L, K. Got it? It’s the middle of the night and we both should be asleep. Go in your basket.’ She had to repeat it a few times and add a few gestures, but finally he got the message and climbed into his bed. He slumped down, but his eyes were looking so mournful that eventully she grabbed a cushion and settled on the cold stone floor beside him. She stroked his head and he stretched out a huge paw and pressed it against her. She caught hold of it in her other hand and they stayed like that for some minutes, as his eyes gradually closed and he settled down.
As she sat there, looking at him, she reflected that only a few months ago, her father might have been here, doing the same thing. Maybe that was what was disturbing Stirling. She looked around the room, but there were few personal objects on display. Her dad’s jacket still hung on the back of the door, a strong pair of walking boots peeked out of the broom cupboard and a cricket bat leant against the window seat. She closed her eyes and conjured up the image of his face from the photo beside his bed. Seeing it had brought back so many memories; from a sandy beach holiday, to a trip to the hospital when they thought she had broken her arm. Her dad’s loving, comforting face had been there with her on those occasions and so many others and then, just like that, he had disappeared from her life, forever.
She wondered, as she had done for much of the past week, what he had meant in his letter about having tried unsuccessfully to contact her on one occasion. Surely he would have left a message or even a note if he had missed her. Could it be that he had spoken to her mother, but that her mother had chosen not to tell her? If Holly hadn’t had the comforting presence of the dog beside her – the closest remaining link she had to her father – she would have cried again, but she didn’t. Instead, she leant forward and kissed the dog softly on his head, then she relinquished her hold on him, stood up and snuffed out the candle.
She woke up at seven o’clock next morning with somebody trying to strangle her. A heavy weight was pinning her to the pillow, while a muscular arm pressed down upon her windpipe. She opened her eyes, but it was still pitch dark in the house. As the panic began to build, a long, warm tongue began to lick her cheek.
‘Oh, God, Stirling, stop that, will you. And your breath stinks. Get off this minute. Please, Stirling.’ With difficulty she managed to dislodge the dog from her throat and tip him over the edge of the bed onto the floor. He landed with a thud. Staying under the duvet, she shimmied across to the edge of the bed to check that he hadn’t hurt himself. She peered down into the dark. A large back nose appeared right in front of her and he would have licked her again if she hadn’t retreated. She lay there for another five minutes, conscious of the dog’s staring eyes, before accepting the inevitable. She pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed. Reaching for the matches, she lit the candle and looked down at the dog.
‘You’re a pain in the backside. You know that, don’t you?’ Delighted to hear her talking to him, he jumped to his feet and started wagging his tail. ‘God, it’s bloody cold.’ She pulled her jeans and jumper on over the top of her pyjamas and slipped on her warmest shoes; a gorgeous pair of Jimmy Choo ankle boots she had found in the Harvey Nicks sale last January, at less than half price. She took the candle and followed the now very excited dog downstairs into the kitchen. It was equally cold in there, so she put the candle down on the table and set about lighting the stove.
Once she had got a good fire going, she plucked up the courage to go to the loo. As she feared, the bathroom was freezing cold. She came back downstairs, went across to the window and looked out over the back garden. Dawn wouldn’t be for another hour, but it was not totally dark out there. The moon had disappeared, but there was still enough light from the stars for her to be able to distinguish shapes of bushes and trees in the garden. Closer to her, Greta the Porsche was sparkling with frost, the starlight reflecting in the host of ice crystals that covered all the horizontal surfaces. As Holly looked out, she ran her fingers across the inside of the glass. She wasn’t surprised to see them come away with a thin layer of ice on them. She went back over to the stove and packed another couple of logs into it.
‘I’d give my eye teeth for a cup of tea.’ She gazed wistfully at the electric kettle on the worktop, idly wondering to herself what eye teeth were. Stirling was standing beside his basket, unsure whether he should be gearing up for a walk or whether he would be told to go back to bed. Holly gave a little smile as she saw that he had somehow collected her father’s old jumper and brought it downstairs. A grey sleeve was hanging over the side of the basket. She stared at it for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and deciding she had better take the dog for a walk. He was delighted.
Outside, with a clear sky, it was absolutely freezing, but the lack of clouds and the lack of street lighting meant that she had an amazingly clear view of the stars. Even an astronomical novice such as she was could see the Milky Way and a brighter star, maybe a planet, just above the hills that formed the horizon. The view, as much as the cold, was breath-taking. She pulled her woolly hat down over her ears, blessing the instinct that had made her pack it along with what Julia called her Doctor Who scarf. She wrapped this round her neck three times and followed the dog, who was much more familiar with the surroundings than she was. She spared a though for Julia and her date the previous night. She was a very good-looking girl, intelligent and witty, but she had an uncanny knack of picking the wrong type of man. They had known each other since childhood and Julia’s past was littered with weirdoes, nutters and, in at least one case, psychopaths. Holly resolved to phone her later on to see how the opera and its sequel had gone.
Stirling led her up a track alongside the stream. Holly was finding by this time that she could see just about enough to be able to pick her way behind him without too much difficulty, although icy patches had her slipping and sliding from time to time. They crossed over the water by means of an extremely slippery wooden bridge before the path started to slope steeply upwards between drystone walls. She followed the dog, hoping that her boots wouldn’t get ruined in the process. Apart from these, all the other shoes she had brought with her were smart, but fairly flimsy. With hindsight, Tods and Prada were not really the most sensible choice for a village dweller with a dog to walk. She added shoes to her mental shopping list alongside candles, matches and dog biscuits like the ones Jack from next door had.
By the time the path reached open moorland, Holly had very definitely warmed up. This was, she reflected, just about the furthest she had walked for months and she was perspiring freely. It was also getting lighter. A glance at the sky showed her that the stars had all but disappeared, but an orange glow from the east told her the sun would be up before too long. They reached a wooden stile. The dog stopped at the barrier and gave her a questioning look. Holly was still wondering how to get him over the series of wooden steps when he started scratching the wooden fencing with his front paws. Only then did she realise that by lifting a vertical strut, a gap emerged that he could get through. Presumably he and her father had walked up here on many occasions.
It was well after eight o’clock and the sky light enough for her to be able to distinguish car number plates by the time they got back home. She was boiling by now after all the exercise and