Read Online What Happens At Christmas... by T A Williams - Free Book Online
Authors: T A Williams
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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 dadâs 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 dadâs 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 hadnât had the comforting presence of the dog beside her â the closest remaining link she had to her father â she would have cried again, but she didnât. 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 oâclock 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.
âOh, God, Stirling, stop that, will you. And your breath stinks. Get off this minute.
Please
, Stirling.â 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 hadnât 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 hadnât retreated. She lay there for another five minutes, conscious of the dogâs 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.
âYouâre a pain in the backside. You know that, donât you?â Delighted to hear her talking to him, he jumped to his feet and started wagging his tail. âGod, itâs bloody cold.â 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 wouldnât 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
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 dadâs 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 dadâs 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 hadnât had the comforting presence of the dog beside her â the closest remaining link she had to her father â she would have cried again, but she didnât. 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 oâclock 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.
âOh, God, Stirling, stop that, will you. And your breath stinks. Get off this minute.
Please
, Stirling.â 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 hadnât 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 hadnât retreated. She lay there for another five minutes, conscious of the dogâs 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.
âYouâre a pain in the backside. You know that, donât you?â Delighted to hear her talking to him, he jumped to his feet and started wagging his tail. âGod, itâs bloody cold.â 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 wouldnât 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
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