Page 80 of The Secret Mistletoe Promise
‘Felix has gone missing,’ Imogen rushed out.
‘Oh dear.’ Birdie’s gaze landed on sad, bedraggled Lucy.
‘We need to search, but …’
‘We can do a few things here to help him find his way home,’ Birdie finished. ‘Come on Lucy, bring the pup and let’s go and look at my spell book.’
‘Thank you.’ Dexter’s voice was thick with relief.
‘No problem. Now stay safe, you two. Don’t go near the cliffs or the sea. Keep as warm as you can. Come here for breaks, andhat, Imogen. There aren’t any Pret A Mangers to shelter inside on the coast path.’
‘Course.’ Imogen grabbed her woolly hat, then Dexter’s hand, and they went back out into the snowstorm.
‘Thank you.’ Dexter’s words were muffled as they trudged through the falling snow. ‘Lucy wanted to help so badly, but I don’t want her out in this.’
‘It is pretty epic,’ Imogen said. They had to keep their heads down, eyes focused on the snowy ground while they battled along Perpendicular Street, towards the narrow lane that led to the cliffs.
Mistingham was quickly disappearing, street and shop signs obliterated by white, the pavement at turns crunchy and slippery. Imogen and Dexter clung onto each other tightly, and sometimes grabbed a wall or door frame. The scents of fish and chips wafted out as they passed Batter Days, and Imogen tried not to think ahead to being by a cosy fire, a plate of vinegary chips in front of her, her feet in Dexter’s lap. Could that be her life? Her long-term future, not just a temporary escape?
‘Here,’ Dexter said, as they turned onto the lane. ‘Some of these houses have garages and outbuildings down the side. We should check if any are open.’
‘OK.’
‘Split up?’
‘OK.’
‘I’ll try this one, you try the next, then we’ll go on together.’
‘OK!’
Dexter let go of her hand, and she watched him stride up the driveway of the first house, before she headed to the next one along. She couldn’t see the driveway: what if there was a gnome or a plant pot or a spade hidden beneath the snow? She shoved her fears aside and walked up to the garage door. She tugged on it, but it was locked, the house alongside in darkness, because so many of these were holiday or second homes. Satisfied that Felix couldn’t have sneaked in, she retraced her steps, the footprints she’d made only moments ago already disappearing under fresh powder.
‘Anything?’ Dexter was waiting for her, his cheeks pink, snowflakes stuck to his eyelashes.
‘Nothing.’
‘Next two, then.’
They repeated the process, and somewhere along the way Imogen started calling out, as if shouting his name would help. But maybe it would? Maybe Felix had learnt the sound of it and would bleat loudly if he was trapped.
They made their way along the lane, checking garages and sheds, all of them steadfastly locked, their hope dwindling. With only two houses left, Dexter fumbled his phone out of his pocket and checked the WhatsApp group.
‘Nobody’s found him yet.’ He sounded so despondent that Imogen felt awful for her earlier amusement.
‘We will.’ She put her hands on his shoulders. His hat was covered in snow, and she supposed hers must be too. She’d stopped being able to feel her toes a while ago. ‘We’ll find him, Dex,’ she said, snow landing on her lips as she spoke.
‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ He leaned in and gave her a snowy kiss, a moment of shared warmth before they pulledaway. ‘We’re nearly at the cliff path.’ He sounded worried, not needing to reference the long drop to the sand or the icy, unforgiving sea. But Felix was agoat. Surely he had survival instincts? She was genuinely worried now too. She didn’t want to think about how it would affect the whole village, just before Christmas, if their search didn’t have a happy outcome.
‘I’ll do this one.’ She pointed at the next drive along.
‘I’ll take the end house,’ Dexter said.
They split up again, and Imogen trudged past another set of dark, lifeless windows. At first, she thought there was no outbuilding – she could barely see anything at all, now – but then she realized it was tacked onto the back of the house, more like a large shed than a garage, the door facing the next house along instead of the road. Imogen grabbed the handle and, expecting resistance, cried out in surprise when it swung inwards. She steadied herself, then slipped through the gap. It was as cold in here as it was outside, and also dark, with a musty, unused smell.
‘Felix?’ She groped around for a light switch, her fingers tangling in cobwebs, making her shudder. ‘Felix?’ She found the switch, and the bare bulb made a pathetic attempt at illuminating the space. Imogen blinked snow off her eyelashes and looked around, at what must be a motorbike covered with a tarpaulin, toolboxes up against the walls, a guitar case turned grey with dust. ‘Are you in here, little goat?’ She heard something a lot smaller than Felix scuttle across the floor, and longed to be outside in the snow again.
‘Felix, are you—?’
