What Happens At Christmas... (6 page)

And what about Justin? Was he married or was he available? And, if he was available, was she interested? And, if so, would he last the test of time? Julia had been right about the way all Holly's men tended to disappear after only a few dates. And she knew that this was down to her. Was it just because her standards were too high, or was there more to it than that? In a moment of honest self-analysis, she had to accept that the one thing lacking in all of the brief relationships she had had up till now had been love. With one or two, she had believed she had found it, but it hadn't lasted. She found herself smiling weakly as she considered that the way she had hugged the Labrador on her father's bedroom floor had been the closest she had come to a spontaneous expression of love for years. She found herself wondering, if Justin was available and if he became another of her men, how long would he last?

Having resisted the temptation to have a pudding, Holly returned home soon after finishing her meal, vaguely worried about what the dog might be doing in her absence. There were stars in the sky and it felt like the temperature had already dropped below freezing. She was grateful she didn't need to drive anywhere for a few days. The Porsche was a lovely car, but on icy roads, she had long since discovered, it was lethal; slipping and sliding about at the lightest touch of the throttle.

She got a surprise as she reached Brook Cottage. It was in complete darkness. She had left the light on in the kitchen for Stirling and now it was off. For one irrational moment she wondered if the dog had found the light switch, but then common sense kicked in and she dismissed the idea. That left the possibility of a power cut or, more scarily, the notion that somebody had got into the house and had deliberately turned off the light. That was not a comfortable thought. She looked around and was disturbed to see lights in the windows of most of the houses, including her next door neighbour. This destroyed the power cut hypothesis and she was left with the notion of a break in or, more probably, some sort of failure of the aged electrics in Brook Cottage itself.

She went up to the door and put the key in the lock. No sooner had she done so, than she heard a volley of barking from inside. This, more than anything else, set her mind at rest. If the dog was barking, it meant he was guarding the house, and so it was fairly safe to say that there wasn't an intruder in there with him. She turned the key and pushed the door open a crack. ‘Stirling, it's me. Shut up.' It probably wasn't the sort of command that a dog training instructor would have recommended, but it did the job. The barking stopped immediately, to be replaced by little whining sounds. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, pulling off her jacket as she did so. The dog stood up on his hind legs and welcomed her home, his nails no doubt inflicting further damage to her expensive belt. She closed the door behind her and stood there, taking stock, one hand ruffling the big dog's ears as he continued to produce a series of joyful canine greetings.

‘So what's happened to the electricity, Stirling?' She pushed the dog gently to one side and felt her way across to the fireplace. She had a vague feeling that she had seen a box of matches on the mantelpiece. She reached up and ran her hand across the stone shelf, and it was with considerable relief that she located a matchbox. She brought it down, reached inside and felt a handful of matches. She pulled one out and struck it. In the light of the match she checked the contents of the box and her heart sank. Almost all the remaining matches had already been used. There was only one other good one in there. At that moment, the match in her hand burnt down to her fingers and she had to drop it. She and the dog were returned to pitch darkness.

‘Bugger.'

She sat down at the table, the last remaining match in one hand, the box of duds in the other. She racked her brains as to what to do next. She seemed to remember having seen a candle somewhere in the house, but she couldn't be sure. If she used this last match and still couldn't find one, then she would be in trouble. At least, she thought with a start, she did know where the main fuse box was. She had had to turn the electricity on and off a few times earlier on when she was persuading the central heating boiler to start working. She got up and felt her way across to the broom cupboard by the back door. Inside, the cover to the fuse box was still hanging open. Muttering a little prayer, she struck the last match and saw that the main power switch had tripped. She grabbed it and pushed it back up again. The lights came on for a split second and then there was a loud bang and the switch flicked off again. Another second later, she felt the match burning her fingers and she had to stamp it out.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger.'

She felt her way back into the kitchen. There was no alternative; she had to ask for help. She opened the front door, feeling Stirling slip out past her, and she followed him out of the garden gate. She turned left and walked the few paces to her neighbour's gate. As she opened it, so the dog pushed past her once again. The moon had not yet risen, but the starlight allowed her to make out the dog's silhouette in the dark, standing by the door. She followed him over and groped with her fingers until she felt a bell. She pressed it and was rewarded by a ringing sound. A few seconds later, there was the sound of footsteps and the door opened, flooding her and the dog with welcome light.

‘Hello, Stirling. And how are you tonight?' The man reached down and stroked the dog.

Holly watched Stirling rise up on his back legs to greet the man at the door. With the only light coming from behind him, it was impossible to see the man's face. He was tall, with longish hair, but she took comfort from the fact that the dog knew and liked him. She cleared her throat. ‘I'm very sorry to bother you, but I'm from the house next door and the electric's off. I was wondering if you've maybe got some matches and a candle I could borrow for tonight.'

‘Of course, do come in.' The dog, interpreting the invitation as being to him, dropped down onto all fours again and trotted into the house. Holly followed him, hearing the door close behind her. Like with her dad's house, the door led straight into the kitchen which, while a good bit more modern in layout, was the same size and shape as next door. When she and the dog reached the middle of the room she turned round to face the man and got a surprise.

‘Oh, it's you.'

He was smiling. ‘I wondered if my new next door neighbour might turn out to be you when I saw there was a rather nice old Porsche in George's garden. Funnily enough, I saw one of them not so long ago when I was out delivering firewood. Scraped the exhaust on some stones as I recall.' He held out his hand. ‘Hello, I'm Jack Nelson. Are you George's daughter by any chance?'

Holly nodded, still surprised at the coincidence that the man with the Land Rover and the trailer full of logs was her next door neighbour. Of course, she told herself, with only about fifty houses in the village, it wasn't really that unlikely. She shook his hand. ‘Yes, that's right, I'm Holly. I'm very pleased to meet you again. I'm just sorry to interrupt you. Were you in the middle of something?' There was an open book, lying on the table.

‘Nothing that can't wait.' He reached over, dropped a sheet of paper onto the book as a bookmark, and flicked it shut. ‘How amazing to meet you, Holly. George, your dad, spoke about you so often, I feel like I know you already.'

‘I'm afraid all I know about
you
is that you've got a Series 3 Land Rover and a trailer.' She gave him a smile while surreptitiously giving him the once over. He looked as if he was maybe two or three years older than she was, probably in his mid-thirties. His curly black hair was still unruly and long, but he had evidently shaved in the last few days as the beard she had seen the previous week had been replaced by some rather enticing designer stubble. He was wearing what looked suspiciously like the same lumberjack shirt he had been wearing when she had last seen him. It did, however, look as if it had been recently washed, although his toes sticking out of holes in his woolly socks were a dubious fashion statement. But there was no doubt about it; a bit rough round the edges he might be, but he was a good-looking man. Holly found herself wondering what Julia would make of him up close.

‘Amazing… a woman who can tell a series 2 from a series 3 Land Rover. I don't know what to say.' There was genuine awe in his voice.

‘Everybody thinks I'm a bit weird, but I'm an engineer, you see, and I've got a thing about classic cars.' She held up her fingers towards him and grinned. ‘Look, short fingernails.'

‘You sound like the person I need to sort out my old Land Rover. Mind you, the trailer wasn't mine. I was doing a favour for a friend.' He motioned with his hand. ‘Here, have a seat while I go and get Stirling one of his biscuits.'

Holly sat down as instructed. ‘You keep biscuits especially for the dog?'

‘We're old pals, him and me. I would have taken him, after George… your father died, but my own dad's been unwell, and I've been driving up and down to Bristol for the last few weeks.'

‘I'm sorry to hear that. I hope he's feeling better now.' Holly was looking round the room. Although it was a kitchen, the whole place was packed with books. Every available surface appeared to be covered with books or papers and there were writing pads and pens strewn all around. His garden might be tidier than hers, but his kitchen certainly wasn't.

‘He's a lot better, thanks. Now, can I get you a coffee or a tea or maybe a glass of wine?'

Holly shook her head. ‘No, thank you, but I'm fine. It's just that I haven't got any electricity…'

‘Of course. Right, well I can certainly let you have some candles and matches. Would you like me to come over with you and see if there's anything I can do?' He caught her eye and hastily added, ‘I'm not an electrician or anything. I'm just trying to sound as if I can help, really, to be honest. In fact, with your mechanical knowledge, you're probably better qualified than I am.'

She smiled at him, nodding towards his book. ‘Don't worry. I can see you're busy. A couple of candles would be great and maybe if you know of an electrician? My phone's still working, so I can call from home.'

‘Best if I make the call. We have the good luck to have an electrician living here in Brookford, but he's in great demand and he might not come out for somebody he doesn't know. As it happens, he owes me a few favours so, let me call him.' He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘It probably won't be till tomorrow now. Is that all right with you?'

Holly nodded. ‘Whenever he can.' She listened as Jack Nelson made the call. The conversation only lasted a few seconds, but the upshot was that the electrician would come round first thing in the morning. Jack put the phone down and went off to find the candles. Curious, Holly took a quick look at the book on the table. It was a fairly hefty tome dealing with the history of the twentieth century, and it was very well thumbed. She looked up hastily as he returned with a packet of candles and a large household box of matches.

‘Here, you can hang onto these for future emergencies. I always keep a stock of them. Two winters ago we had a sort of mini tornado out here and a load of trees were blown down on the power lines. There was no electricity for almost a week and, since then, I always keep some in the house. By the way, your heating won't work without electricity, but you should find a supply of logs in the store just outside your back door. Anyway, if it gets too cold or if you need anything at all, just come round. Your dad and I got on very well and next door is sort of a second home to me.' He grinned. ‘And Stirling's always been my best buddy.' Holly and the dog stood up. For the first time she noticed that Stirling had positioned himself on the floor beside her. That felt rather good and she gave him a pat on the back. Jack accompanied her to the door, waved away her thanks and repeated to her not to hesitate if she needed anything.

Back home, she lit a few of the candles and set them on old jam jar lids around the kitchen, her mind still on her rather nice neighbour. Although different from her usual choice of man, there was something about him – and not just the fact that he kept a stock of matches and candles for damsels in distress. She opened the wood-burner and piled in some newspapers and kindling from the basket alongside the stove. She added some logs and, before long, had a good fire burning. The room rapidly started to warm up. She looked at her watch. It was only a quarter to ten, but she was beginning to feel really tired. She glanced down at the dog. ‘I suppose it would be too much to ask for me not to have to take you out for a walk?'

The dog's word recognition skills extended only as far as the final word. He was jumping around in an instant.

‘Bugger.'

She pulled on her jacket, dug out a woolly hat and opened the door. In her pocket, she could feel the packet of little black bags Mrs Edworthy had given her for Stirling's ‘offerings', and rather hoped she wouldn't need to use them. As it turned out, she needed two of them. Clearly, looking after a big, handsome pedigree dog wasn't all glamour.

Day Two

Saturday

All in all, Holly had a reasonable night's sleep. The only interruption came at around three o'clock in the morning, when she was woken by a noise. By this time, moonlight was flooding into the room and she got the shock of her life when she saw the bedroom door swing open. She was already backing away to the far side of the bed, looking for a weapon of any description, when the dog's head appeared.

‘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.