The right of the authors to be identified as theAuthor of the Work has been asserted by them in accordance

with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

The Mobile Army © Cherry CobbTributes © Terry Cooper

God Bless Hooky Street excerpt © Grant Bull & Richard ColleranLost in Christmas © Michael Sloan

Home for Christmas © The Author Collective

The Brigadier © Hannah Haisman & Henry Lincoln 1967, 2019The Lucy Wilson Mysteries

© Shaun Russell & Andy Frankham-Allen 2018, 2019Doctor Who is © British Broadcasting Corporation, 1963, 2019

Licensed by Hannah Haisman

Published byCandy Jar Books

Mackintosh House136 Newport Road, Cardiff, CF24 1DJ

www.candyjarbooks.co.uk

All rights reserved.No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a

retrieval system, or transmitted at any time or by any means,electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise

without the prior permission of the copyright holder. This book issold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade orotherwise be circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in

any form of binding or cover other thanthat in which it is published.

1

To order Kklak: The Art of Chris Achilleosclick on the image above.

The following short story is featured in The LucyWilson Mysteries: Christmas Crackers.

Lucy Wilson:The Mobile Army

Cherry Cobb

3

Lucy was up and out of bed by seven o’clock onSaturday morning, despite the icy frost lacing her

bedroom window and the sub-zero temperaturesoutside. The weather in Ogmore-by-Sea was a lotcolder than it had been in London; the bitter windcould freeze your fingers faster than an ice creamfreezes your brain. Shivering, she slid open her chestof drawers in search of something warm to wear. Shedidn’t want to be late on the day of the schoolChristmas Fayre. She and Hobo were helping out.Digging out a woolly jumper, she headed downstairs.

‘What are you looking for?’ Mum asked as Lucyferreted about in the under-stairs cupboard for herfavourite red jacket.

‘Where’s my coat?’ Lucy raked through thehangers, knocking jackets and scarves to the floor.‘And my scarf. I’ve lost my scarf.’

‘Lucy Wilson, stop that right now,’ said Mum,glaring. ‘Your coat is exactly where you left it.Hanging over the back of the kitchen chair. Oh, andI’m sure you’ll have a new scarf for Christmas.’

‘Sorry, Mum. Thanks.’ Lucy gave her a quickhug.

Mum rolled her eyes. ‘Kids,’ she muttered underher breath.

Lucy ran and got her coat, before picking up abox of Christmas crackers. Mum had a few boxes.She wouldn’t miss one.

4

Lucy examined the crackers inside the clearplastic. There were several little holes in the tubes,like something had burst out!

‘Mum, have we got mice?’ she asked.‘I hope not.’‘But look at these crackers.’ She showed her the

box.‘It’s probably a faulty batch. The gunpowder or

something.’‘I don’t think they actually use gunpowder,

Mum.’ She looked at the saucepan bubbling like awitch’s cauldron.

‘What’s that? Look’s nice.’‘It’s chilli for tea,’ said Mum. ‘Hobo is welcome

to stay.’Lucy gave her a winning smile. ‘He’d like that. I

think his mum is working late tonight. I expect we’llstay behind and help clear up though.’

Hobo was busy in the school hall helping to set outthe tables when Lucy arrived. She placed the box ofcrackers on the stage and removed her gloves.

‘Phew, it’s warm in here,’ she said.Hobo grinned. ‘Hopefully it will encourage

people to stay. I really hope we can raise somemoney for the Children from Chernobyl charity. Ifthey get enough money throughout the year theybring some of the kids over for a holiday. They might

5

even come to Wales.’ He beamed. ‘Lots of them don’thave any hair either because of the high levels ofradiation in their town.’ He rubbed his head ruefully.

Hobo had got used to the sarcastic comments andbullying about his alopecia over the years, but hatedto think of others who might not be strong enoughto stand up for themselves.

‘I know.’ Lucy gave his arm a squeeze. She toohad experienced bullying due to being mixed-race.She knew how much it meant to Hobo to try andhelp the Ukrainian kids born in the aftermath of anuclear fallout.

‘We’d better get our table sorted and see ifanyone else needs a hand,’ she said checking thetime.

They busied themselves with setting up the stall.Hobo set out the prizes on the shelf behind them,while Lucy covered the table with a red clothdecorated with white snowflakes and snowmen,before laying out a stack of Christmas crackers inred, gold and green. The PTA had stuffed some ofthem with a small piece of coloured paper, whichcorresponded to the prizes on display. Those thatdidn’t have paper in still had the usual joke, hat andtoy, so everyone won something.

‘I’ll go and get us a drink each from the canteenbefore we officially open,’ said Hobo, shoutingabove the sudden burst of Christmas music blaring

6

out from the speakers. Mr Jolly, the music teacher,rushed across the hall with his hands over his ears.

‘I hope he sorts that out,’ shouted Lucy. ‘Or we’llall be hoarse by the end of the day.’

As Lucy finished off the stall she inhaled thedelicious smell of cinnamon and ginger coming fromthe kitchen where they were baking cookies inreadiness of a big crowd. She gazed around the hall,which was decorated with a mass of coloured paperchains, tinsel and garlands. There were festivestickers stuck on the doors and fake snow on thewindows. A large tree draped with twinkling lightsstood in the centre of the stage. Lucy lovedChristmas, the crisp mornings and the deep snowthat fell in Ogmore-by-Sea. It had never been likethat in London. They were lucky to get enough tomake a snowman.

The hall was rapidly filling up with volunteerslaying out tables filled with stuffed toys and gamesfor families to buy. The tombola stall practicallygroaned with the weight of all the cakes, chocolatesand mulled wine that had been donated as raffleprizes.

One of the teachers was pinning up postersadvertising Santa’s grotto, which had been set up inone of the smaller classrooms, transformed for theday into a winter wonderland.

Lucy rubbed her hands together; it was going to

7

be a good one, she could feel it in her bones. Therewasn’t an alien in sight. She busied herself finishingoff the stall and placing the box for rubbish by theside of the table. Out of the corner of her eye shenoticed something move. Was it a mouse? Had shebrought one with her from home?

‘Here you go.’ Hobo passed her a paper cup filledto the brim with hot chocolate and a pinkmarshmallow floating on top. ‘It’s starting to lookreally Christmassy in here,’ he said.

‘I notice that Mel and her crowd aren’t helping,’said Lucy.

‘The best help she can offer would be to stayaway,’ said Hobo firmly. He tried not to dislikeanyone but it proved challenging with Mel. Shedidn’t seem to have a decent bone in her body.

‘We can only hope,’ Lucy replied, rolling hereyes. ‘Do you think we have enough crackers?’ Hereyes scanned the table.

‘I think the PTA have some more. I’m sure I sawsomeone bringing a load in from their car,’ Hobosaid, blowing on his drink. ‘How much are wesupposed to charge?’

‘One pound. I’ll write it on a piece of paper andstick it on the front of the desk.’ Lucy dived into herbag for a pen. ‘Oh, I forgot to mention, Mum’scooking chilli tonight. She said you’re welcome tostay if you fancy it?’

8

Hobo’s eyes lit up. ‘You bet. It beats eating a coldfloppy sandwich from the fridge.’

‘Is your mum coming?’ she said as she fiddledwith the sticky tape.

‘She’s going to try and pop in before she goes towork.’

Lucy could hear a slow hum of chatter comingfrom the doors on the other side of the hall. That’s agood sign, Lucy thought, glancing at the clock.

‘Five minutes everyone,’ called Mr Thomas. ‘Wewill have a countdown for the last minute. The firstperson through the door gets a free go on thetombola.’

There was a frantic scrabble as everyone finishedoff their stalls and took their places.

A few minutes later, Mr Thomas pulled open thedouble doors to the hall.

‘Welcome everyone to our annual ChristmasFayre, and a big thank you for coming. Our charitythis year is in aid of the Children from Chernobyl.We hope to pass on some of our profits, so dig deepand don’t leave empty handed.’ He smiled. ‘Let thecountdown begin! Five. Four. Three. Two. One!Open the doors!’

Everybody cheered. Lucy and Hobo watched aspeople swarmed into the hall.

‘Good luck,’ said Hobo, as he passed Lucy the

9

reindeer ears they’d agreed to wear.‘Thanks,’ said Lucy, grinning.Lucy and Hobo were kept busy with lots of

parents with small children wanting to pull thecrackers and win a prize.

‘Oh, look it’s Santa’s little helpers sellingcrackers,’ snorted Mel as she walked by with hergroupies.

‘At least we’re doing something, unlike some,’Lucy snapped. ‘How much have you raised, Mel?’

Mel’s face flushed red like Rudolph’s nose.‘Maybe you should raise money for a wig for yourmonkey,’ she spat.

Lucy flew out from behind the table, ‘You takethat back, right now.’

Hobo grabbed Lucy’s arm. ‘Leave it, Lucy. Youknow she’s only trying to wind you up.’ He pulledher back around the table.

Lucy breathed deeply. She pictured Grandadnodding his approval. ‘Be the bigger person, Lucy,’she muttered to herself.

‘Can I have two crackers please?’Lucy looked up to see Mrs Kostinen standing in

front of the stall.‘Hi, Mum, thanks for coming,’ said Hobo.‘Hello, Mrs Kostinen, come to try for the winning

prize?’ Lucy gestured to the array of prizes lined upbehind her.

10

‘I’ve just won a bottle of mulled wine on thetombola so you never know.’ She handed over a twopound coin. ‘I’ll pull one with each of you,’ she saidholding up two gold crackers.

With a firm pull on the crackers two plastic menwith parachutes tied around their waists burst out.Lucy watched as one of them appeared to move itshead.

‘Did you see that? It moved its head,’ said Lucy.She grabbed one the plastic men and held it up tothe light. ‘I think it’s supposed to be a soldier, butit’s not been made very well. It only has threefingers.’

‘Really? Like cartoon characters,’ said Hobo.‘What?’‘Three fingers.’‘What are you on about?’‘Bart Simpson, Mickey Mouse, the Seven Dwarfs,

they all have three fingers. Not the Disney princessesthough. I’ve always thought that was strange.’

‘Why is this relevant?’‘Don’t know, just thought it was interesting.’Lucy decided to ignore her friend’s ramblings

and started to rifle through the bin by the door.‘Look at this. Why have people been throwing

these plastic soldiers away?’‘Dunno. They are pretty hideous.’‘Wouldn’t Gav like them?’ asked Lucy.

11

‘Probably,’ replied Hobo.

The rest of the day went by in a flash. Lucy and Hobowere rushed off their feet right up until four o’clockwhen the Fayre finished.

‘I’m pooped,’ Lucy declared, flopping down ontothe stage.

‘Me too,’ said Hobo. ‘But we’d better startpacking up. They’ll want to lock up soon.’

Lucy agreed and went in search of Mr Thomasto give him the cash they had taken.

Lucy pushed through the crowd of old ladiesbattling for knitting patterns, children eating biscuitsand families arguing.

‘Well done, Lucy,’ Mr Thomas said as Lucyforced her way through. ‘You and Hobo have donea fantastic job today. It looks like you raised a fairbit.’

‘Thanks, Mr Thomas. It’s been a great day.’

‘Mr Thomas was pleased with our efforts,’ she saidas they stepped outside into the cold.

‘That’s great news,’ said Hobo. A blast of cold airhit their faces. ‘Hey, it’s snowing.’

‘I’m not surprised, it’s freezing out here,’ Lucygrumbled as frosted air forced its way into her lungs.

Hobo scooped up some snow and aimed itstraight at Lucy.

12

‘Hey cut that out,’ she shrieked, as the icy ballexploded in her face. She spat out a mouthful of coldwet slush.

‘Sorry.’Hobo laughed, looking slightly sheepish.Lucy carefully put down the box of plastic men

for Gav and gathered up handfuls of snow softerthan ice, but thicker than soup. She squeezed it intoa tight ball and then lobbed it back at Hobo.

‘See how you like it,’ she said.Hobo ducked as it sailed past his ear. He picked

another snowball and threw it back at her. Beforelong they were both soaked through.

‘Enough,’ said Lucy waving her scarf in the air.‘I surrender.’

‘Just call me a snow warrior,’ said Hobo, smirking.Lucy thought back to the one time she’d had asnowball fight with her dad and brothers. They hadconsidered it great fun to wrestle her to the groundand shove handfuls of freezing snow down her back.She remembered it had taken her ages to warm upafterwards. She had sat in the bath for an hour untilher fingers and toes had become wrinkled like theshell of a walnut.

‘We’d better get back and dry off. Mum will bedishing up chilli soon,’ said Lucy.

Hobo groaned, ‘I’m starving, don’t talk aboutfood.’

13

‘No change there then,’ said Lucy picking up thebox of crackers. It had a hole in it, just like the crackerbox from home. That’s strange, she thought.

Lucy smiled as they crunched though the crystallinesnow. She loved the way it laid across the landscapelike an unfinished painting – silent and cold. On therare occasion it had snowed in London it turned togrey, dirty slush within minutes.

She was looking forward to Christmas; herbrother Conall was coming to stay and she wasgoing to help Mum make a Christmas cake.

The growl of Hobo’s stomach brought her backto reality with a bump. They walked around the backof her house and let themselves into the kitchen.

‘Look at the state of you two,’ Mum declared,looking at their clothes dripping all over the floor.‘You look like you’ve both been pulled through ahedge backwards. Go and grab a couple of towelsfrom the bathroom, Lucy, and dry yourselves off.Tea will be ready in ten minutes.’ She returned tostirring the large pan of chilli on the hob.

Lucy and Hobo kicked off their shoes and leftthem by the door with the box of plastic men. Lucypeeled off her coat and hung it on the back of thedoor. ‘Back in a sec,’ she said.

Hobo removed his jacket and inhaled the air likea dog sniffing out its favourite bone. ‘That smells out

14

of this world, Mrs Wilson,’ he said.‘Hi, kids,’ said Dad as he strode in, chucking his

car keys on the side. ‘Something smells good,’ hesaid.

‘It’s chilli and it’s ready now,’ Mum replied.Lucy and Hobo quickly set the table before taking

their seats.‘How did the Fayre go today?’ asked Dad.‘Great,’ Lucy mumbled through a mouthful of

hot chilli. ‘There were lots of people, so hopefullythey made a profit.’

‘I’ll donate a tenner. Got to do my bit,’ Dad said.Lucy licked her lips, ‘Thanks, Dad.’ Sometimes

Dad could really surprise her.They ate the rest of their food in silence. After the

meal, they all went into the lounge to watch TV.As they all watched the Christmas special The

Billy Bandril Show, Hobo noticed something moveacross the room.

‘I didn’t know you had a cat,’ he whispered toLucy.

‘We don’t.’‘Really, erm, I’m just going to get a glass of

water,’ Hobo said, jumping up. He was back in aflash. ‘Er, Luce, can you help me find the glasses?’

‘You know where we keep them,’ said Lucy,giving him a funny look.

‘Um, I’ve forgotten.’ He gestured for Lucy to

15

follow him.Sighing, she pulled herself up off the sofa and

followed him into the kitchen.He shut the door behind her.‘What are you doing?’ said Lucy, raising her

eyebrows.‘I didn’t want to say in front of your parents, but

look!’ ‘Yes, it’s the cracker box,’ she said looking

puzzled.‘It’s empty, Lucy!’‘So?’‘Earlier on it had at least twenty toy soldiers in

it.’Lucy grabbed the box and tipped it upside down.

Hobo was right. It was empty.‘Maybe Dad emptied the box out?’Hobo wiped the kitchen window with his hand

and peered out into the darkness, using the torch onhis phone to illuminate the garden. Suddenly hejumped up and flung open the back door. Lucyfollowed close on his heels.

There were tiny footprints in the snow leadingup the garden path.

‘Aliens!’ said Lucy in excitement.‘Or toys that have come to life,’ agreed Hobo.‘Either way, we have to follow them.’Lucy jumped into action, grabbing her coat and

16

shoving her feet back into her wet trainers.‘Hurry, Hobo,’ she said as he fumbled with his

zip.Lucy quietly shut the back door behind them.

‘That explains the holes in the box.’ She kicked at thesnow with her shoe, swirling it around like a cloudof ice white dust.

‘Stop it, Lucy! We won’t be able to follow theirtracks.’ Hobo shone the torch on his mobile to theground, and sighed with relief. The footprints werestill there.

‘Over there!’ Hobo pointed. Ahead were thesmall soldiers marching in a line, like a battalion ofants collecting food. They appeared to be climbingup a phone mast. There was a few sparks as one ofthe soldiers began to fire its tiny gun into the pole.

‘I think they’re trying to disrupt the signal.’‘The little blighters,’ said Hobo.‘Blighters,’ said Lucy. ‘How old are you?’‘Saw it in a war film!’The soldiers were heading to the top.Lucy grabbed a handful of snow and threw it at

the mast. ‘Take that,’ she roared.Hobo quickly followed suit, throwing one after

the other, his arms spinning like sails on a windmill.‘It’s working,’ yelled Lucy as she dashed over to

the bottom of the mast. Most of the little plasticsoldiers lay in a heap at the bottom.

17

But some were still climbing.Copying Hobo’s windmill-like action, she started

hurling snowballs with all her strength at the strangeplastic invaders.

Hobo stopped suddenly, and stared inamazement, his jaw dropping like a stone down awell. Some of the plastic soldiers had deployed theirparachutes and were gently being carried away onthe breeze. Suddenly an intense yellow light filledthe sky and the plastic soldiers disappeared. All ofthem, carried away into the void.

‘What just happened? Where did they go?’ Lucyshouted as she gazed into the inky black sky.

‘Don’t know. But I think we should start usingour mobiles again,’ said Hobo.

‘Why?’ asked Lucy.‘We can’t cut ourselves off. I’m sure I’d have seen

the signal loss if I’d been checking my mobile.’

Back at Lucy’s house Lucy and Hobo tore open thelast remaining crackers and all the boxes were empty.

‘They’ve all gone,’ Hobo said. ‘But where?’‘No idea, but I think we’re safe now.’In the warm kitchen, Hobo shook the snow off

his coat like a dog caught in the rain.‘Hey!’ Lucy jumped back. ‘You’re soaking me.’‘You were already wet.’ Hobo gave her a cheeky

grin.

18

Lucy flung her coat over the chair and they wentto join her parents on the sofa.

‘Where have you two been?’ asked Dad‘Just having fun in the snow,’ said Lucy. She

winked at Hobo.‘Your mum and I couldn’t resist pulling a cracker

each,’ said Dad.Lucy and Hobo exchanged worried looks.‘What was in them?’ asked Lucy nervously.‘I got a spinning top,’ said Mum.‘And I got a nail file,’ laughed Dad. ‘We saved

one for each of you,’ he held them out.‘I think we’ll keep these for Christmas Day.’‘You two are bonkers,’ said Dad.The screen on his mobile phone lit up.‘Ah, my signal is back. I expect it was the heavy

snow on the telephone mast.He couldn’t for the life of him work out why she

and Hobo dissolved into fits of laughter.

19

To order Christmas Crackers clickon the image above.

In the next article Terry Cooper discusses histribute to Tom Baker. His initial idea to include a

multi-coloured scarf within his story Crimes ofFashion really helped shape the entire book. Thank

you and Merry Christmas, Terry.

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Tributes

Terry Cooper

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Everything I do or create is usually inspired bysomeone far greater than me. In the case of my

first three books, the Kangazang! trilogy, they're bothinspired by and a tribute to the genius of DouglasAdams.

So when it came to writing a Lucy Wilson story,I thought back to my best Christmas ever –1976 wasarguably the height of popularity of Tom Baker'sFourth Doctor, and for that year, I got a whole slewof Doctor Who toys, made by Denys Fisher. I had aDoctor figure, a TARDIS, a red-domed Dalek, astumpy red talking Dalek (by Palitoy) and a K9. I'dmissed out on the Leela, Giant Robot and Cyberman,but for a relatively poor family, this was an absolutegoldmine.

I grew up with Tom Baker as MY Doctor, and soI thought this would be a good a way to tie hisDoctor with Christmas and Lucy Wilson.

I came up with the idea of Lucy inheriting theunmistakable Doctor's scarf – presumably left to theBrigadier at some point, then handed down fromhim to Conall and finally passed on to Lucy. I thinkit looks very fitting to see her wearing it, with hermop of curly hair, just like Tom! Due to my storybeing set on Boxing Day, it made sense to mentionLucy receiving the scarf on Christmas day in theprevious story, Christmas Crackers, but it wassomething I thought would be a good tribute to Tom

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Baker, Christmas 1976 and my late parents.Also, more recently I was sad to learn of the

tragic passing of my friend Lee Clements a few daysago. Lee was one of the country's top tattoo artistsand was based in South Wales. He inked me with agreat VOC Robot tattoo, from the Tom Baker storyin 1977, which incidentally was the year that Lee wasborn.

We were planning to work on more art projectstogether in 2020. It was a huge shock to me andcountless people who knew him, and he'll be sorelymissed. The Christmas book had already beenprinted before this awful event, so I'd like to dedicatemy story, Crimes Of Fashion, to his memory.

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To order God Bless Hooky Street clickon the image above.

The next chapter is taken from Grant Bull’s andRichard Colleran’s Only Fools and Horses

companion, God Bless Hooky Street.Read on. You know it makes sense...

24

Thicker Than Water

Series 3. 1983 Christmas special.

It’s Christmas time again only this year the Trotters aregetting an unexpected present; the surprise return of theirfather, Reg Trotter, with news that he may be sufferingfrom a hereditary disease…

Rodney and Grandad are at home at Christmas watchingTV. It’s looking like it’s going to be a boring evening untilDel and Rodney’s father turns up unexpectedly…

R: Del is out for the night with a new girl. Rodneycompares her to a dog. The brothers are constantlybelittling each other’s respective dates this way.Maybe it’s a form of sibling rivalry. They can neveracknowledge that the other one is dating anattractive girl. Well, except for Janice in ‘A Slow Busto Chingford’ but even then, the rivalry goes toanother level by Del stealing her from Rodney.G: You’re right there, Rich, aside from Janice, neitherone of them is impressed with each other’s choice inladies, unless it’s a little bit of jealousy, rivalries tendto cloud visions after all.R: Rodney, thinking it’s Del at the door shouts out,‘I suppose you forgot your Bob Martin’s again.’ This

25

is a reference to the pet care products made by BobMartin.G: This is one of those jokes that works well wheneducated in such matters, but otherwise can be alittle confusing.R: Despite him walking out, and all the badmouthing over the years, Grandad is genuinelypleased to see his son. It’s quite a touching moment.G: This is a really nice moment. Grandad’s reactionis one of pure emotion.

Later that night, Del comes bursting in to the flat in a fitof rage. He’s ready to throw his dad out until he revealsthat he’s been ill with a potentially hereditary blooddisease…

R: Reg has only been there a few hours but he’salready made himself right at home. This is similarto Del’s behaviour in ‘The Second Time Around’when they descended upon ‘Auntie Joan’s’ house.G: Yeah, Rodney gets a little taster of the real RegTrotter early on. Rodney braces Del telling him thathe is a changed man and how ‘dishevelled andpathetic’ he looks only to be presented with this.R: Del is furious in this scene. Unlike Rodney andGrandad, who have both bad mouthed him in thepast but are now happy to see him, you can tell thatDel has held onto this anger for the past seventeen

26

years.G: The raw emotion is brilliantly played by DavidJason, all those years of hurt really pour out.R: There’s a great moment here where Del startslaughing at Rodney for maybe having a hereditarydisease, before realising that means he may have itas well.G: That wicked side of Del we saw in ‘Wanted’ raisesits head here only to be shot down when he realiseshe could be affected. The man sure has a sick senseof humour at times.

Del and Rodney have gone for blood tests. When theycome back, someone has opened the envelopes. The goodnews is that they are both all clear, the bad news is thatthey realise they have different blood groups…

R: Del and Grandad discuss Rodney not being Reg’sson. Without giving too much away, we can see atthe end of the episode how this gets resolved, butthe idea is planted into the audience’s mind forsomething later.G: Don’t get premature on, my Richie… all in goodtime. But I know what you mean.R: Grandad mentions how Rodney is ‘different’,meaning tall. Del tries to subtly measure his heightagainst Rodney. It’s almost as if, until Grandad saidit, he hadn’t realised the height difference. This isn’t

27

surprising though. Del carries himself like he’s tenfeet tall.G: Absolutely, it’s as if they haven’t daren’t mentionthe fact that Rodney is taller than them all before,the thought has been there yet no one has wanted toquestion it. That’s a good point though, Del clearlydoesn’t see himself as a little guy, he is a giantamongst men, confident and strong.

Reg comes back in the flat and accuses someone in thefamily of being ‘a lone ranger.’ In an ironic twist, it turnsout to be Del…

R: This reveal is not only hilarious because of theunexpected twist, but doubly so as Reg delivers theline dressed in Del’s clothes, with the same height,hair style and stature. It’s like looking at Del intwenty years time.G: I have to say the casting of Peter Woodthorpe asReg is wonderful. There is a real likeness betweenDavid Jason and him. It adds so much to the piece.

A few days later at the Nag’s Head, Del is moping aloneat the bar when Reg and family enter. Rodney tries tocheer Del up and tells him that you can still be brotherseven with different blood groups…

R: We have our second appearance of Karen thebarmaid tying Joyce’s record. Let’s see how long she

28

lasts.G: 2-2 and all to play for...R: The costume design in this episode is excellent.Reg enters the pub dressed in Del boy’s iconic furcoat and hat, bedecked in jewellery. Without sayinga word, you can see how obvious it is that Del Boyis his son. It begs the question though, if Del hashated him all these years, then why has he ended upemulating him so much?G: Reg even holds court in the pub like Del too,shouting over the bar, he’s at home already. That’sa good question. Perhaps he doesn’t hold issues withthe mannerisms of Reg, but with his mistreatmentof his family. We know how dearly Del holds hisfamily. I get the impression it pains him that hisfather turned out the way he did. Perhaps Del isdetermined to be him, but in the right way. The wayDel would have loved his father to be.R: I’m a bit torn on Rodney and Grandad’s actionsin this episode. On one hand, Reg is their son/dadrespectively, and I appreciate they want to make upfor lost time, but I also find it hard to believe, afterhow much they have hammered home theimportance of family values over the years, that theywould let Reg treat Del like this, regardless of hisblood type.G: Yes, I totally agree. It moves very quickly andunrealistically in that respect for me too. The only

29

thing I can think is that Reg has created a real holdover them, using that family card to the point ofbeing made to choose sides. Still, though, they owetoo much to Del in my eyes to dump him the waythey have.R: In response to Rodney asking Del to get doctor’sadvice on the blood groups, Del tells him that he’s‘oeuf sur le plait. ‘Which means ‘egg on the plate.’G: So, do we count that as a French phrase used inthe right context this time? Eggs and fertility and all.R: Bit of a stretch there, Grant.G: I do like the way Del refuses to contact the doctoras he doesn’t want him to think bad of his latemother; beautiful notion.R: When Rodney tells Del not to let Reg think he hasbeaten him, he adds, ‘Come on, Del. He who dares,wins.’ You can see the smile creep on Del’s face beforehe decides the Rodney is right. I think it’s partially thepoint about letting someone else win, which just isn’tin Del’s nature, but I think also hearing Rodney usehis catchphrase reminds Del of how much influencehe had on Rodney when raising him.G: This is a really nice moment. Rodney picks Del upwith one of his own lines. It’s a confidence booster forDel.

The next day at the flat Reg has spent all of Rodney’s andGrandad’s money and used Rodney’s GCE as a betting slip.Del returns to confront him, explaining how the doctor saidthat you can be brothers with different blood groups, but Del

30

and Rodney’s are the same. Turns out someone had changedtheir letters after opening them…

R: Rodney has got a right face on him. It’s like youwhen you have to put your hand in your pocket fora round.G: Right, just for that you can get the next round in…face on, my arse.R: See, you’re doing it now!G: Let’s just watch it shall we… OK, I did a bit! Git.R: Even though Del kicks Reg out the house he stillgives him some cash to send him on his way. Eventhough he hates him and wants him gone, it’s justnot in his nature to see family go without.G: There is a lovely little sign of affection in amongstthe anger too, as he puts the money in his shirtpocket and pats Reg’s chest. Even after all of thispain and hurt, there is love there. For all Del’sbravado the man is a softie at heart. Bless him.R: Everything returns to normal and Grandad endsthe episode by telling Del he has burnt his pizza. Hepronounces it ‘Pitza’, which is exactly how myGrandad used to pronounce it. And speaking ofGrandad this is his last appearance as LennardPearce died during the filming of the early scenes ofseries four. Grant, I think a toast is in order, don’tyou?G: It most certainly is. Watching this in order like

31

this has made me love Grandad even more and thatis down to the outstanding performances of LennardPearce. So, to Lennard... thanks for the laughs andfor the memories. Cheers.R: Cheers!

32

To order Lost in Christmas clickon the image above.

The next chapter is taken from Michael Sloan’sLost in Christmas. Michael Sloan created The

Equalizer, BJ and the Bear and was theproducer/writer of The Hardy Boys and

Nancy Drew Mysteries.

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Kelly Elliott felt a little guilty. It was late for her to bebuying a Christmas card – it was already Christmas

Eve! But she knew her grandmother would appreciatereceiving it. Kelly’s intention was to dash into Macy’sChristmas department and grab a card that caught hereye. The individual Christmas cards were displayed oneight shelves in the centre of the department. Oppositethem were more boxed cards in clear cellophane.

Kelly was a pretty girl of seventeen, with long blondehair and cornflower blue eyes that had stopped many ahigh school boy’s heart – at least, that’s what her friendsLinda and Maddie told her. Kelly had left her friends inMacy’s City Studio Boutique, looking at way-cooldresses. There was a glitter lace dress that Kelly had saidwas to die for, and she wanted to get back to her BFFsbefore she had to return home. She had promised hergran that she would be no later than 5:00pm, whichwould give them plenty of time to go out for a Christmasdinner somewhere.

Kelly thought that Macy’s Christmas department wasbeautifully decorated. Everywhere Christmas treessparkled with rainbow lights, and a Santa train travelledthrough an ornate snowy landscape built in a circle

PROLOGUE

34

around the service counters. The place should have hada magical feel to it, but any sense of wonder had beendispelled by the frenzy of last-minute shoppers. Kellyhad been prepared for Macy’s to be crowded, but not thiscrowded!

A gang of teenagers was blocking the Christmas cardshelves. Kelly was undaunted. She wasn’t about to let alittle pushing and shoving stop her finding the perfectcard for her grandmother. She had noticed a beautifulcard of Rockefeller Plaza with its massive Christmas treein the centre, golden angels holding six-foot-long brasstrumpets on either side. Her gran loved going to the icerink there.

Kelly pushed her way to the front. She reached outfor the Rockefeller Christmas card, but out of nowhere ahorde of teenage girls descended upon her. Two of themactually pushed Kelly to one side. One of them mumbled,‘Sorry, my bad!’ then snatched up a card of some micegladiators fighting each other, with Santa as the RomanEmperor looking on.

‘That’s gnarly!’ she said, and her friends laughed.Kelly stepped back from the mêlée, her hands

clenching into fists of frustration.She shouted, ‘I hate Christmas!’The teenagers, the other shoppers, the harassed

Macy’s staff took no notice of her whatsoever.But it appeared to Kelly that someone had heard her.A breath of movement had caught her eye. Just for a

moment, she thought that one of the Christmas cards onthe top shelf had moved! Kelly stared up at it – Three WiseMen riding their camels toward the shining star ofBethlehem – but of course, the Christmas card was rightwhere it had been a moment before. Kelly moved back

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to the shelves, determined to grab her Rockefeller Plazacard and get out of this madhouse!

But before she could take another step, she wassuddenly assailed by a white light that flowed right overher. It was so piercingly bright that she had to close hereyes.

None of the other shoppers around her noticed. Theydidn’t notice the light. They didn’t notice that, when itcleared, the teenage girl who been stood angrilyclenching her fists was no longer there.

Kelly Elliott had vanished.

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The Angel flew high above the New York City trafficthat crawled along Fifth Avenue. It would have made

no difference if she’d skimmed directly over the heads ofthe pedestrians, hurrying with their shopping bags filled

CHAPTER ONEANGEL

37

with brightly wrapped gifts. No one could see her.The Angel had been thinking about escaping from

Macy’s for many Christmases, but this was the first timeshe’d found the courage. She had simply soared right offthe shelf, and no one had even noticed. She knew she’dbe reprimanded, but she didn’t care. This was herfavourite time of year, and she simply had to see the realpeople in the real city celebrating the real Christmas.

Snow clung to the streets from a storm the nightbefore. There were Santas-on-sleighs hanging suspendedabove the crush of traffic. Brilliantly lit Christmas treesglowed in store windows. Gold tinsel fluttered fromdoorways. Tiny white Christmas lights gleamed in thewindows of restaurants and around signs for every kindof shop imaginable. Santas, with their red suits andflowing white beards, were standing on street cornersringing bells for donations. The Angel smiled to herself.She would love to see her Santa doing that!

When the Angel reached Central Park South, thePlaza Hotel was ablaze with light. Sleigh bells had beenput around the harnesses of the horses pulling thecarriages into Central Park. The Angel dived and rolledbetween the skyscrapers, like a giddy child, enjoying therush of the air through her wings. She knew thatChristmas bound all races, colours and walks of lifetogether. It spread a contagious joy from street corner tostreet corner.

She swooped down toward Fifty-Seventh Street,where a restaurant with big windows was decorated withwhite Christmas lights and swirls of holly leaves. Thename ‘Karollers’ was written above the windows instylised script. Through the glass, the Angel could seepeople sitting at the tables, talking and laughing, as

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waiters in black uniforms with red aprons brought traysof food. Faintly, she could hear the joyous sounds ofChristmas songs.

The Angel noted an attractive man in his fortiesshaking hands with some of the patrons. She thought helooked like the owner. She flew down to the window, butthen a FedEx truck almost ran her down and she had tosoar away!

Inside the restaurant, Thomas Karoller pushed into thekitchen, which was a madhouse. He moved over to hismaster chef, a big, florid man named Frank, who washanding plates to two servers.

‘Remember when it was just you, Alicia and me inhere?’ Frank said as the servers rushed away with theirmeals. ‘Sometimes I wish those quiet nights were back!’

‘Be happy we’re busy!’ Thomas snapped, but then hesighed. ‘Sorry. If you have that order for Mr and MrsStevens, I’ll take it out to them.’

‘Right here!’Thomas grabbed a tray of turkey and stuffing and

brought it out of the kitchen to the first table in front ofthe long, mahogany bar. He set it in front of a heavysetman who was sitting with his petite wife.

‘Good crowd today, Thomas,’ Bill Stevens said. ‘Ofcourse, you’d expect that on Christmas Eve! How do youkeep up with this and the architecture job at the sametime?’

‘All smoke and mirrors, Bill.’‘Does your wife still do some of the cooking?’Thomas was preoccupied and shook his head. ‘No,

Alicia had to give that up a while ago. She has her ownhome decorating business now. Please enjoy!’

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Thomas hustled back into the kitchen, sampling asalad dish as he passed. ‘The basil in this salad has wilted,Frank!’

‘It’s “François”, please. The patrons want to think I'mcooking recipes from my last restaurant on the Champsde Élyées. We ran out of basil. Mike’s gone down to themarket. Aren’t you supposed to be meeting your wife atMacy’s?’

‘Yeah, Alicia can’t even pick up some Christmas cardswithout her hand being held,’ Thomas said. ‘I'll be backas quickly as I can.’

He moved away. Frank went back to cooking, shakinghis head. ‘That’s the Christmas spirit, Thomas,’ hemuttered.

The Angel flew down to Lexington Avenue andwatched the shoppers emerge from Bloomingdales. Bigsnowflakes glided down to the street. The Angel saw abeautiful woman, her face aglow in the cold, walkingwith an older woman. It could have been her mother, butthere were so many people jostling for space on thesidewalk, the Angel soon lost sight of them.

Alicia Karoller was an attractive, elegant brunette in herforties. Her mother, Paula, a forceful personality whodominated her daughter even at her age, cleared a pathfor them through the mêlée, brandishing her twoshopping bags filled with gifts. Paula was chattinganimatedly, but Alicia wasn’t really listening. Her mindwas back with her husband’s brother Robert, a renownedartist. He had presented her with an oil painting of theirtownhouse in Brooklyn, which he had also reduced downto the size of a Christmas card.

‘Here’s the first part of your card, Alicia,’ Robert had

40

said. ‘Sorry it’s taken me so long to paint it. It's nearlyChristmas!’

‘It’s gorgeous, Bob,’ Alicia had said.He had picked up a photograph of the five members

of the Karoller family – Thomas, Alicia and their threechildren, Johnny, Megan and Tim – against a plainbackground. ‘Here’s the photo of you guys,’ Bob hadsaid. ‘Take both of these photographs to Macy’s, andthey’ll digitally marry them together. So the Karollerswill be standing outside their Christmas home!’

‘Isn’t that false advertising?’ Alicia had asked.‘Thomas moved out this weekend.’

There was fragility to her that Robert had notedbefore. ‘I’m sorry,’ he had said, quietly. ‘Maybe I can talksome sense into him.’

‘Once your brother’s mind is made up, nothingchanges it. Like buying Karollers Restaurant when he’salready so snowed under with work he can’t come up forair.’

‘Maybe this will stir his emotions,’ Robert had said,proffering the Christmas card.

‘It’ll take more than a Christmas card, I think.’‘Are you listening to a word I’m saying?’ her mother

said, jerking Alicia back to reality. ‘I don’t know whyyou’re even buying Thomas a gift when he’s dumpedyou.’

‘Everyone gets a gift, Mom. Even you.’‘You don’t stand up to him. That’s the problem. I have

the name of a marriage councillor my friend Debbie usedwhen her marriage was falling apart. She said the gal wasfabulous.’

‘They got divorced,’ Alicia observed, wryly.‘Sure, because the husband was a creep, but the

41

councillor was very good. You need to see a therapist.’‘I tried that.’‘Maybe you talked to the wrong shrink.’‘I’m dealing with this situation the best way I can,

Mom.’ Alicia sighed. ‘Look, I have to get to Macy’s nowand pick up our Christmas cards. Thomas and the kidsare meeting me there. See you later at the restaurant.’

‘Maybe you should forgo the Karoller Christmasdinner this year,’ her mother suggested.

Alicia had been thinking the same thing. It would bevery bittersweet. But there was no way she was going toadmit that to her mother.

Paula hailed a yellow cab that slushed over to thecurb. She climbed into it with her Christmas packages,waved to her daughter and the cab pulled away. Aliciaheaded for the subway.

The Angel soared over to Central Park. There was oneslope in particular where the kids were sledding downto the bottom. The Angel cartwheeled above it andnoticed a boy standing at the crest of the hill. It didn’tlook as if he was going to take the plunge. He looked alittle scared. Then the Angel had to zoom away beforeshe smacked right into some tall trees.

Tim Karoller was twelve, small for his age, with adelicate, almost pretty face. He felt like a complete loser.He had dragged his snowboard right to the edge of thehill, but then hadn’t had the courage to launch it downthe slope. He turned back with it under his arm andsuddenly found himself facing four big teenagers makinga half circle around him. He couldn’t believe he had runinto these guys here in Central Park! It was bad enough

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they bullied him at school.One of them grabbed him and he dropped his

snowboard. ‘Aren’t you going to snowboard down thehill?’ he said, taunting him. Tim looked away, avoiding eye contact with the bully.

‘Maybe I should give you a little shove?’Tim shut his eyes as two of the bullies grabbed his

arms and dragged him to the edge.Then the grip on his arms loosened. Tim opened his

eyes and saw that his older brother had come to hisrescue. Johnny Karoller was seventeen, a big, good-looking kid. The bullies had backed away. Johnnygrinned at them. ‘Hey, guys, wassup?’

‘We were just helping your stupid little brother gethis courage up to slide down the hill,’ one of the bulliessaid.

‘Maybe you’d like to go down the hill before him?’Johnny suggested. ‘Make sure there aren’t any rocks inhis way. What do you think?’

‘Come on,’ one of the other bullies said, and theyretreated back through the trees.

Johnny turned to Tim. ‘You okay?’‘No, I’m not!’ Tim snapped. ‘So my big brother comes

to my rescue, sends the bullies packing. So what? They’lljust find me when school starts up again.’

‘They’re big and dumb, but I know you, Timmy. AndI’ve seen you on a soccer field. You’re quick and you’resmart. You can outtalk and outrun any of those bullies.’

‘Yeah, whatever,’ Tim said. Then he addedreluctantly, ‘Thanks. Aren’t you supposed to be meetingMom, Dad and Megan at Macy’s?’

‘I’ll get there when I get there. But you should be ontime.’

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‘Why? I don’t even want to celebrate Christmas thisyear! What’s there to be happy about? Dad has movedout and Mom’s a mess.’

‘That’s why you need to be there. For moral supportI’ll walk you down Fifty-Ninth Street. You can take thesubway down to Herald Square. I’ll take your snowboardhome.’

He lent over, scooped up the snowboard in one swiftmovement, and tried to ruffle Tim’s slicked-back, Elvis-style hair. His younger brother threw up a protectivehand. ‘Watch the hair!’

Johnny grinned and hustled Tim through the trees.

The Angel had found Rockefeller Center. She wasawestruck by the huge Christmas tree which toweredabove a golden statue and all of the lit-up Angels. Skaterswere having a great time on the ice, weaving in and outof each other, but the Angel was starting to regret herstolen excursion into the real world. She knew she wouldbe missed! She soared down Sixth Avenue, noting abrunette girl hurrying towards a Starbucks that wascrowded with young people.

Megan Karoller was sixteen. She joined her friends at atable under a bright blue canopy to keep out the fallingsnow. One of her friends, Lisa, had a hot chocolatewaiting for her.

‘Okay, so tell us!’ Lisa demanded. ‘Has yourboyfriend actually got the ring?’

Megan’s boyfriend since junior high, KevinO’Donnell, was ready to take their relationship to thenext level.

‘It’s only a friendship ring,’ Candace said, another of

44

Megan’s friends. ‘But I swear it’s got two smalldiamonds. And it’s set in onyx!’

‘Debbie says she saw it in his backpack in school,’Megan said, conspiratorially, ‘but she couldn’t very welldrag it off his body and search it!’

‘I’d search his body anytime,’ Candace said, grinning.Megan ignored her. ‘I think he’s going to give me the

ring at the Christmas party tonight!’‘Don’t you have your big Christmas Eve dinner at

Karollers tonight?’ Lisa asked.‘That’s at seven o’clock. Plenty of time for me to get

to the Christmas party!’Danielle, Megan’s closest friend, piped up, ‘So tonight

is the big night! I can’t wait!’‘You can’t wait!’ Megan exclaimed. ‘OMG. I’m going

to be a wreck until I’ve got that ring on my finger!’Another teenager, Sally, was headed toward their

table. Megan’s friends crowded together, forcing Sally tosit at an empty table farther on. Megan leaned inconspiratorially. ‘Did you see what Sally was wearingtoday? Where did she get that outfit? A thrift shop on theLower East Side?’

Her friends laughed. Then they were onto other topicsof derision. Candace said, ‘Did you guys check out thenew Santa working at Macy’s right now? He’s so hot! Iwouldn’t mind sitting on his knee for a while!’

Megan glanced at her watch and suddenly leapt upfrom the table. ‘I’m late for Macy’s! I promised my momI’d meet her in the Christmas department to pick up ourChristmas cards. She and Dad can’t get through aconversation without screaming at each other.’

‘See you tonight at the Christmas party, Megs!’Danielle called after her. ‘It’s going to be awesome!’

45

‘Yeah, later guys.’Megan made her way across the square. She stole a

glance at Sally sitting alone at her table, and saw that shewas crying. It gave her a moment’s pause. Maybe she andher friends had been a little too cruel to her. But Sally justdidn’t fit in. Anyway, there wasn’t time to dwell on itnow. Megan hurried on toward the subway, basking inher friends’ congratulations and looking forward to herbeautiful new friendship ring.

The Angel headed down Broadway to Herald Square andMacy’s. Her flight had been wonderful, but now she wasanxious to get home.

Below her a cab pulled up and Alicia Karoller steppedout into the swirling snow. Some distance behind her,Thomas got out of another cab. A shopper opened one ofMacy’s big doors, and the Angel slid in sideways andthrough another open door into Macy’s ground floor. Shewas still invisible. She swooped up one of the escalators,passing right above Megan Karoller, one of her gauzy wingsgrazing the young woman’s shoulder. Megan swung roundand glared at a hapless teenage boy standing behind her.The Angel followed the escalator up to the fourth floor,where she zoomed toward the Christmas department.

She was barely going to make it back to her Christmascard in time.

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Macy’s wondrous Christmas department was stilljammed with shoppers.

The Angel descended down onto a card whichshowed a lute lying discarded on the snowy ground. The

CHAPTER TWOMACY’S

47

Angel grabbed the instrument and flew up into herposition in the centre of the card, as if she had never leftit. She glanced guiltily at the other cards around her. Onone card the carollers were oblivious to her absence.She’d got away with it! She looked over at the twelve-year-old boy standing by the shelves, and recognised himfrom the sledding hill in Central Park. She was struck byhis sense of sadness.

No one should be sad at Christmastime, the Angelthought.

Megan approached her younger brother, looking aroundthe frenetic Christmas department. ‘Where’s Johnny?’she asked.

Tim shrugged. ‘He said that he’d get here when hegets here.’

‘That sounds like him.’Tim knew Megan was uptight, and not about the

usual stuff: her stupid trigonometry teacher, her stupidhair not curling, her stupid boyfriend and his stupidfriendship ring, whatever. She was uptight about thebreak-up of their family.

Idly, Tim picked up a Christmas card from one of theshelves, a polar bear standing on an ice floe.

‘What’s a polar bear got to do with Christmas?’Megan shrugged. ‘Who cares?’‘Maybe because he’s as white as snow?’ Tim

suggested.‘Whatever.’That’s your answer to every question, Tim thought,

rolling his eyes.‘There’s Mom!’ Megan said suddenly.Tim turned to see their mother talking to one of

48

Macy’s harassed female sales assistants. Alicia wasnervous, her hands fluttering like wounded birds. Megannudged an elbow into Tim’s ribs. ‘And here’s Dad. Thisis going to get squirrelly.’

Thomas Karoller strode through the Christmasdepartment. He reached Alicia and the sales assistant,whose gold nameplate read: ‘Ms Rodriguez’. Aliciaturned to her husband. ‘There’s a problem,’ she said.

‘What problem?’ Thomas asked. ‘You’re picking upa box of Christmas cards. How tough can that be?’ Heturned to Ms Rodriguez. ‘Our Christmas cards are ready?’

Ms Rodriguez kept her voice well-modulated, asshe’d practiced over years of Christmas madness atMacy’s. ‘Mr Karoller, I was just explaining to your wifethat there appears to have been a misunderstandingand—’

‘What kind of misunderstanding? We supplied youwith one painting of our house and one of our family.You marry the two of them together digitally, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Ms Rodriguez said, patiently, ‘butsomehow the photograph of—’

Thomas leaned across the service counter andsnatched up a Christmas card lying there. It was thegorgeous painting of their townhouse, three snowy stepsleading up to an ajar door with a Christmas wreath on it,a glimpse of the hallway beyond. Thomas explained thefacts of life to Ms Rodriguez as if she were four years old.

‘I own a restaurant in Manhattan, but I’m also anarchitect. I draw squares and rectangles and rearrangethem into designs that might one day get built into homesso the people in this overcrowded Christmas departmenthave somewhere to live. My brother is an exquisite artistwhose paintings sell for thousands of dollars at the

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Manhattan Gallery around the corner on Broadway. Thisis a painting of our townhouse that he did for us as afavour. But unless my family is standing outside it, no oneis going to know it’s our house, are they?’

‘Thomas, it doesn’t matter,’ Alicia said. Then, moreto herself, she added, ‘You don’t even live at home now.’

‘I’m sure Ms Rodriguez doesn’t want to hear thedetails of our marriage.’ Thomas was still in the salesassistant’s face. ‘This is our last Christmas together, sowe want the cards to be special.’

Ms Rodriguez dropped the Karollers’ Christmas cardonto the bottom shelf of the individual Christmas cards.‘It’s the other card that has been misplaced, Mr Karoller,’she explained. ‘The one with the five of you standingtogether. But we found it just now and—’

‘Let me talk to a manager,’ Thomas said, cutting heroff.

‘I’ll get my supervisor,’ Ms Rodriguez said.She pushed through the crowd. Thomas stood

awkwardly beside his wife. ‘They take on too manyspecial orders. Cram as much money as possible into thebig Macy’s stocking. That’s the spirit of Christmas, Alicia.Big business and big profits.’

‘Just let it go, Thomas. We don’t have to send outChristmas cards this year.’

‘We are sending out those damned cards! I’d bettercall Monica at the restaurant. I told her I’d only be goneforty minutes.’

He took out his cell phone and dialed. A moment laterthe crowd swallowed up his figure.

Alicia moved over to where Megan and Tim werestanding. Megan squeezed her arm. ‘Is Dad being acreepazoid?’

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‘Your father doesn’t believe in Christmas,’ Alicia said.‘It’s all a commercial sham, but God forbid the Christmascard he’s created isn’t ready on time!’

Tears welled up in her eyes and began to spill downher cheeks.

‘Don’t let Dad see you cry,’ Megan said, softly.‘Maybe he could use a little guilt,’ Tim said.Alicia looked at her younger son, wiping the tears

away, surprised by his perception. ‘I wonder if heremembers what guilt feels like.’

‘He moved out,’ Megan said, flatly. ‘I don’t hear anyapologies.’

‘He’s gone from the house, Megan, not from our lives.He loves you both very much.’

‘And what about you, Mom?’ Tim asked.‘Your father loves me,’ Alicia said. ‘He just can’t work

out how to live with me.’‘If we can live with you,’ Megan said, ‘he can.’Alicia stifled a smile. ‘You’ve got a point.’‘I just meant—’‘Maybe Mom shook you when you were a baby?’ Tim

wondered aloud. ‘Maybe that’s why your brain isn'tconnected to your mouth?’

‘Bite me,’ Megan said.‘Enough, you two.’ Alicia looked around the crowded

department. ‘Where’s Johnny?’‘He wasn’t in a big hurry to get here,’ Tim said. ‘He

knew Dad would go ballistic if our Christmas cardsweren’t ready.’

Thomas walked back through the crowd. MsRodriguez arrived at the same moment, with an olderwoman who looked as if she’d been a supervisor atMacy’s when horse-drawn milk carts were still being

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pulled down Broadway. She was dressed in black, andher gold nameplate said, ‘Mrs Carter – supervisor’.

Megan said, ‘Let’s go, Mom. Leave the Christmas cardfiasco to Dad.’

‘We need to get the situation resolved,’ Alicia toldthem. ‘Just wait here.’

Megan rolled her eyes. Alicia walked back to theservice desk. Mrs Carter plastered on a fake smile forThomas, squaring herself for whatever was coming.

Up on the first shelf of Christmas cards, there was a redcard depicting the three wise men sitting on camels,heading toward the bright star in the sky over Bethlehem.They were in an upper panel, red brocade around themwith the words ‘Wise Men Still Seek Him’ on the bottomof the card. Two of the wise men were in the distance,but the third wise man was at the front of the panel,holding the reins of his pale gold camel. He wore a crownon his head and was dressed in brown robes with a largeyellow shawl around his chest. He had a reddish-brownbeard and kind eyes.

Then the Wise Man did an extraordinary thing.He turned his head.No one standing around the shelves noticed, but the

Wise Man was looking out onto Macy’s Christmasdepartment. The colours of the lights and the decorationsand all of the gifts seemed kaleidoscopic and blurred tohim. The intermingled conversations and music soundedlike they were coming through an echoing tunnel. Butthe Wise Man could discern enough to tell that ThomasKaroller was arguing with Mrs Carter, the departmentsupervisor, who was trying to placate him. He couldn’thear their actual words, but the supervisor was obviously

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promising the man something. The Wise Man glancedover at Alicia Karoller and her two children, Megan andTim. They looked isolated and resigned.

The Wise Man on the golden camel raised his righthand.

White light erupted from his fingertips.The Angel, standing on her Christmas card,

strumming her lute – not that anyone in Macy’s couldhear it – knew exactly what had just happened. Not thatthere was anything she could do about it.

The bright radiance engulfed Alicia, Megan and Tim.It spread over Thomas, who had just shaken hands withMrs Carter and Ms Rodriguez and turned away. Thenthe Wise Man lowered his hand and turned his head backtoward his other two companions. He did not moveagain.

The Karoller family was no longer standing in Macy’sChristmas department.

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To pre-order The HAVOC Files 3click on the image above.

The following story Home for Christmas is ayuletide story featuring all the Lethbridge-Stewartcharacters. It can be found in the upcoming revised

edition of The HAVOC Files 3.

54

‘Here we are as in olden days,Happy golden days of yore,

Faithful friends who are dear to us,Gather near to us once more.

Through the years we all will be together,If the fates allow…’

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

The sound of the doorbell interrupted Alistair’s attemptto swipe a second mince pie. He exchanged a glance with

Sally. Who on earth…? Alistair grimaced. Could be someoneor something not of this earth for all he knew, whichaccounted for Sally’s frown more than the thought thatsomeone had interrupted their quiet Christmas Eve evening.

‘Is that for me?’ his mother called from the hallway.Before he could answer, Alistair realised his mother was

on the way out of the flat door and down the steps to the frontdoor. He made a quick exit, hurrying after her, Sally on histail. If only he had his gun handy, but he would throw himselfbodily in front of the women if needs be. He opened hismouth to tell his mother to stop, thoughts of those alienspheres still fresh in his mind, but was too late. A billowingcloud of frosty air rushed in, chased by a whistling wind. Fora moment he couldn’t hear what his mother was saying andthen a man’s voice filtered through.

‘It got overlooked. Not far out of my way.’The man broke off as Alistair made it to the front door

and took his mother’s place. ‘Evening,’ the man said, puttinghis hand to his cap as if to tip it. ‘Just delivering a parcel toone Mr Lethbridge-Stewart. Would that be you, sir?’

‘It would.’‘Terribly sorry. This one got missed as it’s been sitting on

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the shelf a while, as per instructions. I didn’t want you goingwithout, and I was passing quite near so I thought…’

Alistair took the package, tipped the man for his troubleand gave him thanks. There weren’t many who would go outof their way on Christmas Eve like that, especially after thechaos those spheres had wrought in London earlier in theday. Even though he took the parcel into the house and upthe stairs to his flat, suspicion won out until he recognisedthe writing on the label.

‘It can’t be…’‘What can’t be?’ his mother asked. ‘Alistair, are you well?’‘Very well.’ Despite the reassurance intended to ease his

mother’s concern, no one needed to tell him he soundedchoked. ‘An unexpected gift.’ He wasted no more time,tearing into the package. The highly-polished walnut boxinside glowed, as did the expertly carved pieces inside.

‘What a lovely chess set!’ Sally exclaimed. ‘Who sent itto you?’

‘A dear friend no longer with us.’ He handed the note tohis mother, who read it quietly.

‘Oh,’ she said, once she saw the name at the bottom of thenote. ‘Your dad always spoke highly of him. I’m sorry.’ Hismother laid a hand on his arm. ‘He had exquisite taste.’

‘That he did.’ Alistair fingered the pieces as his motherleft the kitchen.

‘But…’ Sally’s frown was back on her face as she read theaccompanying note. ‘If he’s no longer alive…’ Her unspokenquestion hung in the air.

‘How did he know to send me this? That is a story in itself.’Alistair drew in a deep breath, reached for his glass. ‘Join mein a toast to a good man?’

‘Of course, Alistair.’

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He could see she was puzzled, but she would let him tellher in his own time. They walked into the living room, andall three of them raised a glass.

‘To Air Commodore Benjamin Dumont-McCulloch.Never one to forget his duty, and always a brilliant game ofchess well-played.’

Sophia Montilla sniffed the milk. Still good.No kallikantzaroi had visited to sour her supply. Islanders

warded such evils off with wooden crosses, wound with basiland dipped in holy water. Sophia tended to find a smile justas effective, although ‘bad spirits from the centre of the Earth’weren’t quite so easily dismissed this year.

She filled several saucers. And watched for thecongregation of shining cats’ eyes, before retreating into thehouse. They would be out in force later for the leftovers fromher fish supper.

No sign of Athena tonight. Perhaps she was somewherehaving her litter. More mouths to feed in the New Year. Anda belated Christmas gift for the mother: a visit to the vet.

Out in the street, the night rang with the voices of children.Sophia wandered to her front door, from where she watchedthe young singers perform in the torchlight. Armed withdrums and triangles, they sang their kalanda through big,bright grins. Several of the boys carried model boats,decorated with gold-painted almonds and walnuts. Anotherthread to their fascinating tapestry of customs. Carols meantas much as kallikantzaroi to Sophia, but they did carry withthem a few childhood memories: the times her parents haddressed her up to take part in the Epiphany parades throughthe winter streets of Sevilla. Festivities were rarely so festivewhen you were obliged to join in, but the boys and girls of

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Santorini appeared to be throwing themselves into thecelebrations with the sort of enthusiasm usually reserved forplayground games.

Sophia had a few bags of nuts and figs, tucked away onthe sideboard, ready to reward the children in case anystrayed her way. Normally they passed on by. Probablywarned to stay away from the crazy cat lady.

She was about to turn and head back inside, when a groupof girls and boys approached. Trading nervous looks, it mustbe said, but one of the boys presented himself as theirspokesman. ‘We sing for you?’ he offered.

Sophia tipped her head. And smiled. ‘Please do. I’d likethat.’

The children all nodded happily. And they struck into theirsong.

Leaving Sophia to listen and wonder.Had their parents put them up to it? The town – the whole

island – had been left shaken by the quakes and more inNovember. Maybe that fear had brought their communitycloser. Even to the inclusion of outsiders like her.

Maybe a few more bad spirits had been banished that year.And such thoughts naturally turned her mind to Owain

and his uncle, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. Wherever theywere, whatever they were doing, she hoped that they bothhad a chance to slow down for the holiday.

December 25th. Oh-seven-hundred hours.The monument was simple, secluded and private. The

flowers, a garland of poppies. And the moment wasn't forprayer or out of respect. The truth was, Lethbridge-Stewartchose to think of the scale of loss, and how it continued to beunending.

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He wore no uniform. This was personal, but his tie borethe colours of his first platoon, and his camel coat was black.If he caught someone’s eye, he would be just another mournerin a churchyard, and you wished him peace. There was noreason to know that the grave was empty and the headstoneheld no name.

For every child through to adult who'd been lost in theincursions, the manoeuvres and hostile encounters that he'dseen, this was a moment of tribute that nobody knew about.He’d paid for the stone anonymously, and the drive from hishome was brief, but every year was the same, and he knewthe numbers the stone represented were continuing to grow.Although this was for so many names and faces he'd neverseen, it was just to say that he knew, and that he would neverforget.

Sometimes, the shadows moved, but maybe it was just agust of leaves. As he left for normality and Christmas onceagain, he liked to think he was doing the right thing.

Christmas in prison had its perks. Stanley would never haveadmitted that of course. Especially not to his wife.

She assumed that he would spend the day in misery,missing her and the family, wishing he could be at homeenjoying turkey and the trimmings, drinking sherry andpulling crackers.

Now, if he was honest (which over his life he rarely everhad been), Stanley would admit that he missed the sherry,and he certainly missed the presents. On the other hand, beingbanged up in the Scrubs for Christmas meant he didn’t haveto spend a day sitting through his old lady’s dad telling thesame war stories he told every year, and he didn’t have to putup with her mother glaring at him and saying he was a failure.

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Being fair, Stanley would admit that he had failed in manyways as a husband and as a father. But his missus had knownhe was a bit of a dodgy character when they met and she’dmarried him anyway. Well, there hadn’t been much choice,had there? Not with their daughter on the way. He did wishhe could have been at home these past years to watch his littlegirl grow up. Or more accurately, to make sure none of themrandy little gits in their street were watching too closely howshe was growing up. He might have been a waste of space,but he was still her dad.

Nosh in the nick was usually pretty rough fare, but atChristmas they made an effort and the lags did get a fairattempt at a Christmas dinner. The turkey even tasted liketurkey. More or less. The wing was decorated with colourfulpaper chains and there’d be some singing. It would be bloodyterrible singing, but that would just remind him of home whenhis old lady and her mother had necked one sherry too manyand got sentimental over White Christmas.

Returning to his cell after breakfast on Christmas morning,Stanley was surprised to find a brightly wrapped packagesitting on his bed. A handwritten tag was taped to it.

You’ll need these. Alistair.Confused, Stanley gave the parcel a squeeze. Solid at the

bottom, squashy at the top. That sounded like his missus.Ripping the paper open, he found a very comfortable pair

of carpet slippers sitting on top of a few bars of chocolate. Asmile spread on Stanley’s round face. That was a very nicegesture from his former cell mate. For a toff and somebodywho was on the ‘them’ side of the prison divide, BrigadierAlistair Wotsit-Something-or-Other wasn’t half bad. He’deven apologised, after a fashion, for lying to Stanley abouthis time in the Scrubs.

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Stanley started unlacing his boots but was halted by avoice at the doorway.

‘What are you doing, Stanley?’ Mr White, the new prisonofficer, asked. ‘Your car’s due any minute.’

‘Car?’ Stanley asked. ‘You haven’t got me confused withRock Hudson, have you? It does happen from time to time.’

Mr White produced a sheet of paper from his pocket. ‘No,haven’t they told you? That brigadier fella you shared a cellwith is sending a couple of his lads to collect you. Somethingabout a debriefing.’ The officer shook his head. ‘I said it wasa bit rotten for them to do it on Christmas Day, but apparentlythe Ministry of Defence doesn’t care about the holidays.’

Stanley looked at the slippers sourly. So, they were a bribeor a guilt payment. Maybe Alistair wasn’t so great after all.

‘Come on,’ Mr White said. ‘Take your present with you.’‘Best not leave it here,’ Stanley agreed miserably. ‘Can’t

trust anybody in here. They’re a bunch of crooks.’

Anne was busy in the kitchen checking the turkey andpreparing the vegetables. The table was laid with paper chainsand crackers. She took a sip of sherry (it was early, but thenit was Christmas Day, so why not?) and was about to makeher final checks when there came a sharp sound from thehallway. The telephone.

‘Father,’ Anne called out. Alun and her father were sittingin the living room listening to records, their presents waitingto be opened under the angel pine Christmas tree.

‘Father!’ she called again. But the only reply was themuted strains of Burl Ives singing A Holly Jolly Christmas.Then Anne noticed that the turkey resting on the sideboardhad attracted someone else’s attention. Sasquatch sat on thefloor looking up at it, her haunches rocking from side to side

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as she prepared to launch herself towards its delicious carcass.The telephone continued to ring.

‘You stay here,’ she instructed Sasquatch, before makingher way out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

‘Hello, Travers’ residence.’‘Merry Christmas, Annie!’‘Patricia.’ Anne was delighted to hear the sound of her

friend’s voice. ‘Merry Christmas to you, too.’‘I just wanted to catch you before the hustle and bustle of

Christmas Day begins. I won’t keep you long. How are yourfather and brother?’

‘Both well.’Anne hesitated. This was strictly true, although her

father’s health had begun to decline in recent months.‘Is Charlie with you?’ Patricia continued.‘No, he’s with his family in London. I extended the

invitation for him to join us, but I am pleased he managed toget back home.’

‘Christmas is all about family,’ Patricia said.‘Yes,’ Anne agreed. ‘I think I can hear yours in the

background.’‘Baby’s first Christmas.’Then there came a crashing sound and a flash of black

darted out of the kitchen as something unseen toppled over.Her father and Alun appeared suddenly together from theliving room, Sasquatch struggling in Alun’s arms, hiswhiskers smeared with turkey grease.

‘Oh dear,’ Anne said. ‘It looks like we have an unexpectedguest at our Christmas lunch after all.’

Sasquatch let out a plaintive meow and Patricia laughed.‘Brendan and I send love. See you soon, Anne.’‘See you in the New Year.’

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*Changed into civilian clothes for the first time in… ooh, toolong, Stanley was marched to an Army Land Rover by aWelsh corporal and a surly private. A minute later they wereon their way, passing through unusually empty Londonstreets.

‘What’s this all about?’‘Can’t say,’ came the reply in a Welsh lilt.‘Can’t say or won’t say?’‘Official Secrets Act, see?’Stanley gave up on trying to start a conversation and just

enjoyed seeing scenery that wasn’t the inside of a prison. He’dseen enough of brick walls and metal doors for a lifetime.Oddly, some of the sights started to look familiar. There wasa pub he drank in. The church his missus went to when sheneeded people to think she was a good Catholic woman. Anewsagent he’d knocked off during the night once. He wasn’tquite so proud of that.

A few minutes later the Land Rover turned into his homestreet and pulled up in front of his house. A few curtainstwitched at the sight of an army vehicle.

‘For you, this is,’ the Welsh driver said, handing Stanleya phone of sorts.

‘Hello?’ Stanley said.A recognisable rich, clipped voice replied quickly. ‘It

didn’t seem fair that I got out but you didn’t,’ AlistairLethbridge-Stewart said.

‘You sprung me?’The soldier’s laugh crackled through the phone. ‘No.

Officially you’re debriefing my men about prison life in casethey become PoWs. Unofficially, I’ve reassigned the mento… Christmas lunch and the pub, I think. They’ll be back to

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pick you up at 7am on the twenty-seventh.’ There was a briefpause. ‘Don’t try to run. The British Army will find you ifyou do.’

‘Run?’ Stanley chuckled. ‘Do me a favour. That’s exercise,that is. You trying to do me a mischief? Nah, I wouldn’t dothat to an old cell mate. Besides, me and the wife are boundto have fallen out by the twenty-seventh. I’ll be desperate toget back inside.’ The glib words came easy. Others were moreof a struggle, ‘Here, Alistair… you know. Thanks and that.’

‘Merry Christmas,’ came the reply and then the line wentdead.

The Welsh lad opened the door for Stanley to get out. Ashis feet hit the pavement, his front door opened and his wifelooked out in surprise.

‘Stanley?’The Welsh lad saluted Stanley. ‘Back for you in a couple

of days, sir.’‘Carry on Sergeant.’‘Corporal,’ the driver corrected.‘No, Carry On Sergeant.’ Stanley pointed through the

window at the flickering TV screen inside. ‘Bound to be onat Christmas. It always is.’

Stanley turned and went into his house. It was turning intoa pretty good Christmas.

For a toff, that Alistair Double-Barrelled-Hyphenatedwasn’t a bad lad.

‘No, Father, you can’t wear your hat at the table.’ Anne sentan apologetic look to Bill, who she had invited to join themfor Christmas dinner. He had been invited to spend ChristmasDay with his sister and her family, but his duties didn’t allowhim the time it would have taken to travel to London and

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back on Christmas Day. And so here he was, sharing a festivemeal with the Travers family.

Her father grumbled, but took his usual hat off andreplaced it with a bright green paper hat. ‘Happy now, dear?’he asked. And turned to Bill. ‘She’s as bad as her mothersometimes.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ Anne said, carrying theturkey over to the table. She placed it centre, and handed thecarving knife and fork to her brother. ‘If you’d care to do thehonours.’

Alun stood and started carving. Anne finally sat down andtook a well-earned sip of her sherry. She looked around thetable, and listened to the men talk their nonsense, pullingcrackers and sharing jokes.

‘You are staying for the meal tomorrow, aren’t you?’ sheasked Alun.

‘I haven’t decided. I’m sure I’ll feel out of place.’‘Rubbish,’ said Bill, helping himself to some roasties. ‘This

is the perfect time for families, and I’m sure you have somegreat stories to tell about Anne.’

Anne glared at Bill. ‘Don’t you start him off.’ The menlaughed. ‘Seriously, though, I want you there,’ she continuedto Alun. ‘It’s not often we see each other.’

‘Anne’s right,’ their father said, spitting bits of potato ontohis beard. ‘The family rarely spends time together. It will benice to have both my children together for a few days.’

Such emotion from her father, Anne thought she wasgoing to cry. She was still worried about him, about the resultsof the tests due after the New Year, but for right now she wasjust pleased to see him in high spirits.

Anne raised her sherry glass. ‘To family, and extendedfamily,’ she said, looking at Bill pointedly.

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‘I’ll drink to that,’ he said, and raised his can ofBelhaven’s. The other men raised their own glasses. ‘Tofamily!’

Alistair winced to find the song inside his head. Like beer andcigarettes penetrating the fabric of the nation’s public houses,the tune was all-pervasive. Whatever the singer’s name mightbe, he was no choirboy and the sentimental story cloyed.Alistair knew only too well that war against any enemy,human or otherwise, was brutal. He didn’t suppose it hadever been anything else, or was likely to be. Yet in his brainthe two little boys rode their wooden horses, and it unsettledhim. Might growing up have been less painful with a bigbrother to mind his back, fight his corner?

Christmas Day was the one above all others that he’drather devote to work – family not being his strongest suit.Of course, this year was different; for the first time in a longtime he was spending it with family – his mother and fiancée.He supposed he would get used to it.

The telephone rang unexpectedly. He left the kitchen topick it up.

‘Happy Christmas, Alistair.’Somebody sounded a little tipsy and he didn’t identify the

voice at once. ‘Ah, thank you. You too,’ he replied, hopingfor clues to follow.

‘Henry sends his best. We shouldn’t let another year goby. Life’s too short as they say, and we’re not getting anyyounger.’

Jemima Barns. Had she always talked exclusively inclichés or was this the brandy butter talking? Technically shewas an old friend now, and old was how she looked last timehe saw her, in her middle-aged Nylon and Crimplene, her

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hair moulded by rollers. And she’d been such a spirited girl,one of the boys. People couldn’t help being dull and he washardly one to talk, once he shed the uniform and the purposethat went with it. What was Jemima’s purpose now?

Behind her a country singer begged Ruby not to take herlove to town. Jemima Barns, who used to have taste, prattledon as if determined to give the impression that the season wasone long social whirl. He couldn’t think what had possessedher to break in on the day like this, and was tempted to tellher he must go now, that Sally and his mother awaited, whenshe stopped talking. The silence fell thickly like snow. Hehadn’t the heart to wade through it.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve hung the mistletoe,’ she said. Hervoice was thick too. She really was very drunk, and Alistairfelt oddly unsteadied.

‘Well, no.’Sally had wanted to, but he had drawn a line at that. It

was still his flat, at least for a few more weeks.‘Well, then consider yourself kissed anyhow,’ Jemima

said.With no idea what to say to that, he chose lightness, as

bright as possible. ‘Merry Christmas to you, Henry and theboys,’ he told her, the military crispness breaking through.

Alistair had learned to operate in dimensions no one couldname, but the present and future were so much moremanageable than a past that existed only in memory, andcouldn’t be trusted.

Jemima Barns! Who was she, after all? And who did shetake him to be? History wasn’t as solid as people liked to think– and sometimes the things that might have been, seemedquite as real.

*

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Walter Douglas pulled himself out of his chair, and playfullytapped his son on the head. ‘Come on, sport, dinner’s ready.’

Jacob looked up from his new toys. ‘Aww, Dad!’‘You know the rules. Dinner at the table on Christmas

Day, then more presents to open.’Spurred on by the promise of more presents, Jacob

clambered to his feet and ran out to the kitchen. Walterremained where he was for a moment. Their first Christmasin Scotland. It wasn’t what he’d have expected a year ago,but Penny and Jacob had settled into their new life quite easilyenough. Jacob was making friends at school, indeed there’dbeen more children at his eighth birthday party than Walterhad expected, so that was good. Penny had made friends withsome of the mothers, and now that Sally had moved up toScotland, too, she wasn’t at a loss for things to do. She stillhadn’t met Anne, but that would be remedied at the mealtomorrow.

‘Walt! Dinner!’Walter smirked. It had been a crazy year, but some things

never changed. He picked up his glass of port and called out,‘Coming, darling!’

In the muzzy afterglow of too much turkey and an extra glassof sherry, Anne plopped herself happily into an armchair andlet the conversation buzz about her. Her father was indiscussion with Bill about something or other, and she didn’thave the energy to follow. Obviously it wasn’t too intense,because Bill never lost his grin, so she was glad her father hadalso mellowed over the meal. The telly was on in thebackground – Alun had switched it on for the Queen’s Speech– and there was Larry Greene, droning on as he always did.Something about ‘the year’s most interesting people’, which

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was journalist-speak for ‘people you’ve seen too much ofalready this year’. She was debating whether to expend theenergy to turn the idiot box off when she realised who he wasinterviewing.

It was Mary Wilde!Rousing herself from her turkey-induced torpor, Anne sat

up. She hadn’t spoken to Mary in a couple of months, butshe’d seemed to be healing from her adventures. Now hereshe was, on the telly and even managing to smile. Apparentlysomething good had happened to her and Anne wanted tofind out what.

Her father clicked the box off and stood in front of her.‘Anne, this young man of yours is very muddle-headed. Willyou kindly help me straighten him out?’

She was about to protest that she’d wanted to see thatprogramme, but realised her father wouldn’t understand why.Oh well, it would probably be repeated soon enough, anyway.

Alistair felt the arms around his waist and winced slightly.‘Sorry,’ Sally said. ‘Still hurting then?’He removed her arms gently and turned to face his fiancée.

‘I don’t think rushing around on horseback yesterday reallyhelped them heal.’

It had been one of the oddest Christmas Eves of his life.Chasing alien spheres around London, breaking intoBuckingham Palace, all while he was dressed like SantaClaus. Could his life become any crazier? Alistair didn’t wantto ask out loud. He’d seen the result of careless wishes, andwas quite sure that the following year would offer up its ownset of challenges to test his resolve.

He leaned forward and kissed Sally, feeling a new warmthin his belly. Things had changed in the last month, and it was

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because of his stint as a prisoner in Wormwood Scrubs andhis subsequent escape. Talking to Stanley, seeing men cut offfrom their wives and girlfriends. Alistair hadn’t expected itto affect him so much, but being reunited with Sally after themission was over was a huge relief. There was still the issueof her working at the Corps, which didn’t sit well with him,but for right now he felt an incredible fondness for her andwas very glad he had her by his side.

‘How’s Mother?’ he asked, once they had pulled apart.Sally reached down and picked up the sherry glass from

the counter. ‘She wants a top up.’ Sally smiled. ‘She has quitesome stories.’

‘I imagine so.’Alistair stood by the kitchen sink, and watched Sally pour

another sherry for his mother. He had almost second guessedhimself when he thought of inviting both Sally and his motherto Christmas dinner, but he now knew it was the rightdecision. They got on splendidly, and if nothing else itstopped his mother going on about the elusive fiancée whomshe had still not met.

The phone rang. Alistair dried his hands and went toanswer it.

‘Is it for me?’ a voice called out from the living room.‘No, Mother, I rather suspect it isn’t.’ Alistair spoke into

the receiver and was pleased to hear Owain’s voice.‘Hi, Uncle. Just a quick call; you wouldn’t believe how

expensive it is to call from Japan.’‘Japan? What the blazes are you doing there?’Owain told him, and Alistair listened. It was a shame the

lad couldn’t be in England, as Alistair was sure that his familyin Bledoe would have liked to have Owain home forChristmas.

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It transpired that Owain had only just arrived in Japan,after spending a few weeks in Thailand. He sounded well,finally recovered after his experiences on Santorini lastmonth. Alistair was relieved. The lad took far too much onhis shoulders.

‘Have to go now. Give my love to Sally.’‘Of course. But, Owain, please do make the effort to—’

The line went dead. Alistair looked at the receiver in his handfor a moment. Probably ran out of money. A shame. Still itwas good to hear from him.

Alistair put the phone down and, as he walked backtowards the living room, a strange feeling came over him.

What if the call hadn’t ended due to lack of change?

BANG! Anne laughed, not just at the sound, but at thereaction from the man on the other end of the Christmascracker.

‘What?’ Bill’s mock indignation was endearing.‘The look on your face,’ Anne confessed. ‘It’s only a

Christmas cracker, soldier.’Bill laughed now. ‘Oh, I see.’‘How do you get on with grenades?’Bill folded his arms defiantly, a thin wisp of smoke still

rising from his half of the Christmas cracker. ‘I’m muchtougher when I’m in uniform.’

‘Of course,’ said Anne, enjoying teasing him.Bill checked inside his fragment of exploded cracker and

triumphantly pulled out a green plastic ring, topped with thesmiling face of a frog. ‘If you’re nice, I shall present you withthis most splendid gift, fair lady.’

‘A plastic frog ring?’ Anne shook her head. ‘Amazing!What far off land did you sail to for such treasure?’

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‘Anything for you.’ Bill took her hand and she laughed ashe slid it onto her ring finger, like some suitor from an oldromantic movie.

‘Something to remember you by?’‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Bill.He sounded so earnest. Anne couldn’t resist teasing

further. ‘You might not be, but I might.’With mock hurt, Bill gestured at the remains of their

Christmas dinner. ‘After a feast like this? It was fit for aprincess!’

Anne regarded his handsome features. Her cheeky sideenjoyed this game. ‘And what if I did leave for some reason?What would you do?’

Bill frowned, but he was still wearing a smile. ‘I’d followyou, of course. To the ends of the Earth.’

Anne pushed him further. ‘What if I disappearedcompletely?’

Bill laughed. ‘I’d search for you until I found you.’Anne nodded. Then a new thought occurred. ‘What if you

found no trace of me?’Bill stopped smiling. ‘That’d be odd. I guess I’d ask other

people. Witnesses. See if anyone saw anything.’Anne pressed on. ‘And what if there was no one to ask?

No one who could help?’Bill laughed incredulously. ‘Wow, quite a scenario! I guess

I’d look for clues, some evidence of where you went, whathappened. I’d find something. I wouldn’t give up.’

‘And if you couldn’t find any clue?’ Anne asked.Bill blinked at her. ‘Nothing? So… If you were gone, no

trace, no witnesses, no one to help and no clues or evidence?’‘Yes.’Bill looked at his feet. ‘Hate to think. It sounds impossible,

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but if it ever came to that… I don’t know what I’d do. Iwouldn’t want to face a day like that.’

Anne smiled. ‘You’re very sweet.’Bill looked up at her, smiling. ‘I’ll go and see if your father

and brother have finished with their glasses,’ he said andmoved to the door. He stopped in the door way and lookedback. ‘You won’t go away, will you?’

Anne smiled and shook her head. Bill smiled back andheaded out.

Anne studied the little plastic frog ring, then slipped it offand popped it in her pocket for safe keeping.

Samson glanced at his watch. Almost 11pm. It had been avery long Christmas Day, but Evans and his family had beengreat hosts. He was, however, looking forward to getting backhome and snuggling up with Maggie – assuming she was free.

Thoughts of Maggie brought to mind Alistair and Sally.They seemed to be going through a rough patch of late, notthat Alistair was one to talk about it, but Samson knew. He’dbeen friends with Alistair a long time now, ever since thatlong night on the Kent coast in that pub. With that woman…Oh, what was her name?

Pearl!Yes, that was it. Pearl Hammond. She’d been soft on

Alistair; all the lads could see that. Whether anythinghappened between the two of them was anybody’s guess. ButSamson imagined not. Alistair wasn’t that kind of man, evenback then.

Samson smiled, his eyes on the dark road ahead. Oh yes,Alistair had come a long way in thirteen years. They bothhad. But Alistair probably more. And now he had a lovelydolly bird on his arm in the shape of Sally Wright.

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Samson had seen a change in both of them the last coupleof weeks, since Alistair had returned from his undercovermission as a criminal. A good change, too.

It was nice to see. Alistair deserved a bit of personalhappiness.

Samson laughed at himself, getting all soppy and maudlin.He turned the radio up. Radio 1, and Rolf Harris was

singing about two little boys gaily playing on a summer’s day.Not what Samson would call a Christmas song. He twistedthe dial until he found Radio 2, and something moreappropriate. Soon his car was filled with the silky tones ofFrank Sinatra. With much gusto, Samson joined in.

Lethbridge-Stewart glanced back at the man calling him. ‘Ah,Samson, glad to see you made it back. How was Wales?’

‘It was lovely,’ Samson said, putting on his best Welshaccent. ‘And surprisingly, I think Captain Younghusbandmay make a decent soldier out of Evans yet.’

The two men fell into step, and continued on to the messhall. ‘I have wondered what to do with him ever sinceHamilton insisted we take him on. Dougie had no luck. Goodtest for Younghusband, as much as Evans.’

Samson nodded, and they continued on in companionablesilence. Samson opened the door, and Lethbridge-Stewartwalked in. He stopped immediately, pleasantly surprised bythe sight that greeted him.

It had been Bishop’s idea; have a Boxing Day meal for thecommand staff and their families. A reminder for all of whythey were protecting the UK.

Dougie was there in the corner, talking to ProfessorTravers and, Lethbridge-Stewart supposed, Travers’ son.Sitting at the end of the long table, sharing a pint, were Majors

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Bartlett and Leopold, no doubt discussing the respectivestrengths of 1 and 2 Battalions. The women were all busypreparing the table, carrying food out of the kitchen. Herecognised a few of them; Sally, of course, and Miss Travers,Penny Douglas, Jean Maddox and two other womenLethbridge-Stewart didn’t know; presumably Bishop’s sisterand Mrs Bartlett. There were young children running aroundand playing; Jacob Douglas, Maddox’s daughter, Bishop’snephew, and a couple of others unknown to him. A manapproached Lethbridge-Stewart and Samson; short, greyinghair, quite bookish in his look.

‘Bob Maddox,’ the man said, introducing himself.Lethbridge-Stewart smiled and shook his hand. ‘A

pleasure to make your acquaintance, Bob. How are youfinding Scotland?’

Bob looked around the hall. ‘Have to say I wasn’t too keenwhen Jean first mentioned moving up here, but, you know,the people of Dalry have been very welcoming.’

It was a story Lethbridge-Stewart had heard from many,including Dougie and Miss Travers.

It had been quite a year, one of big changes for many. Butnow, everybody was settled, and the Corps was beginning toperform like the proverbial well-oiled unit. They all had along way to go, and who knew what dangers lurked aroundthe corner. One thing Lethbridge-Stewart knew was, thebetter his command staff knew each other, the better theywould work together.

Lethbridge-Stewart was not a man given to sentiment, butit was the season for such, and he had to agree that Bishophad been right. This meal was a good idea. After all,sometimes it wasn’t just about the chain of command,following orders; sometimes it was about family, belonging

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to something bigger. And, for better or worse, everybody inthe mess hall were now part of something much bigger thanall of them.

‘Maybe we should give the women a hand with theturkey?’ Samson suggested.

Bob chuckled. ‘Well, it is a big one.’Samson looked at Lethbridge-Stewart. ‘Alistair?’‘You two go ahead. I feel like I should go and mingle.’‘Right you are.’ Samson and Bob left to help out the

women, leaving Lethbridge-Stewart to simply observe histeam and their family.

He smiled to himself. Yes, the future, whatever it may turnout to be, was in good hands.

‘Merry Christmas to you all.’

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