Page 57 of The Secret Christmas Bookshop
‘Hello?’ she called, and a couple of pigeons flew into the sky from their tree perches nearby. ‘Anyone here?’
She was met with silence, so she stepped into the large hall. It was cold since the door had been left open, the fireplace still and dark. ‘Harry?’ she called. ‘May?’
There was no reply, no sound of a door opening deeper within the house.
‘Is anyone at home?’ she shouted, louder now, her words echoing off the walls.
And then she heard barking, loud and vigorous, from behind her – from outside. She pushed back through the front door, onto the wide step, and surveyed the grounds: the clusters of stark trees, the grass running towards the cliffs, the sea a hazy line on the horizon. She took a couple of steps, and then Darkness appeared through the trees, barking non-stop, followed by Terror. They raced up to her and Clifton, danced in circles around them, and Sophie could tell, from the way they were prancing and pawing at her, that something was wrong.
‘What is it?’ Her sense of foreboding grew, and when the dogs skittered towards the lawn, looking back at her every couple of seconds, she followed. The grass was squelchy underfoot from the recent rain, and she slid a couple oftimes as she strode across it. The dogs had reached the far left of the lawn, and Sophie saw, behind a thin copse of young trees, the dull, flat surface of a lake. It was small, clearly man-made, with a low fence around it. She picked up her pace as the dogs wove through the trees.
‘Harry?’ she called. ‘Are you here?’
At first there was nothing, just the rhythmic sound of the far-off waves crunching on the sand, then she heard a distant, shouted, ‘Hello?’
Relief sliced through her and she started jogging, following the dogs through the trees, past the crumbling, distorted shapes of what looked like a couple of old statues and out the other side, until she was standing next to the lake, and could take in the scene in front of her.
‘Oh my God!’ For a moment, she couldn’t do anything but stare.
Harry was standing on the steep bank of the lake, one welly-clad foot inches from the water’s edge, the other further up, as if he was practising his surfing stance. He was holding tightly onto the fence, his gaze trained on the water. It was baffling, his position too precarious, and Sophie wondered why he didn’t just haul himself up the bank, back onto firmer ground. Then she took a couple more steps, and saw what the problem was.
Of course. It was Felix. He was about fifteen feet out into the lake, standing on what looked like a mound of earth – a tiny island protruding from the water, big enough only for him. His jumper – which might once have been blue – was slick with mud, and he had what looked like a thick, slimy rope wrapped around one leg. He was bleating as if his life depended on it which, at this moment, it might well do.
‘Sophie,’ Harry called, and her name on his lips, a mix of frustration and panic, shook her out of her stupor, and she hurried over to him. The dogs were already there, barking frantically.
‘Harry!’ She tied Clifton’s lead around one of the fence posts. ‘Are you OK? Are you stuck?’
This close, she could see how worried he was. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and she didn’t know how long he’d been there; how long he’d been standing like that.
‘Can you get up the bank?’ she asked.
‘I could,’ he said breathlessly, ‘but I can’t leave Felix.’
‘How did he get out there?’ She climbed over the fence so she was on his side of it, holding on to the top rung with both hands.
‘He swam,’ Harry said. ‘He swam out there and got up on that stupid little island, and any moment now he’s going to get back down and try to swim back, but he’s got weeds wrapped around his leg. If he tries to do that, he’s going to get stuck, and then he’s going to drown. Honestly. This fucking goat.’ His usual tenderness was gone, and Sophie didn’t blame him. ‘I could wade in, but the bottom is thick with vegetation, and the mud’s like quicksand.’
‘And it looks cold.’
‘Cold is an understatement.’ They snagged gazes, and she was the first to look away. His knuckles had gone white where he was gripping the fence.
‘We have to do something,’ she said, trying to think through her panic.
‘I’m going to have to go in.’ He loosened his grip.
‘No!’ She held out her hand. ‘No, Harry. You can’t.’
Felix bleated plaintively.
‘I should just leave you here!’ he called, and Felix’s bleated reply was so forlorn that, despite the seriousness of the situation, Sophie had the urge to laugh.
‘Right.’ She took off her coat.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m lighter than you. I’ve got less chance of getting stuck in the mud.’
‘No, Sophie—’
