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I looked up at his owner again. He seemed okay. And if the spaniel was happy there … I turned my most appealing look on the man, and waited for him to look down and notice. Because, of course, it wasn’t up to the pets who got taken in. That came down to the owners.
The man glanced down at me, brow furrowed.
‘Sorry, mate, I don’t really know them,’ he said, turning his attention back to Jack. ‘Don’t even remember seeing that dog around the street. And I’d definitely remember those ears!’ He laughed, and Jack laughed with him, so I resolved to tangle the lead around his ankles again sometime soon.
My ears are magnificent, thank you. Daisy says so.
It was the same story everywhere we went. Everyone nodded and said, ‘Hmm, yes, number 11 …’ but in the end, they had to admit they didn’t know Daisy and Oliver at all.
Inside every house, I saw glimpses of Christmas trees and lights shining, happy smiles and delicious smells. But none of it spilled outside their houses, out into Maple Drive. And none of it was for sharing with a poor, lost and abandoned French Bulldog.
I tried my luck with another dog – this one a much calmer Westie, who seemed apologetic, at least, for her owner’s comments on my appearance – and two cats. Unfortunately, both the felines were members of Perdita’s little gang, and one of them had scraped their back leg last time I chased them over the fence, so that was that.
The McCawleys and I officially had no friends in Maple Drive.
Well, except for Jack. I had Jack, for now, at least.
He’d told the man on the phone he’d think about it – think about whether he really wanted to leave? Probably. In which case, all I had to do was find a way to convince Jack that Maple Drive was worth staying for. None of the people we’d spoken to that afternoon had helped with that at all. But this morning … Holly had let him into her house, had welcomed him, talked with him.
Maybe that was a start. Maybe we just needed more people like Holly to talk to.
Because one way or another, I had to find Jack a reason to stay here on Maple Drive. Otherwise, I had no idea who would look after me.
The ferry lurched port-wards (or was it starboard? She never could keep those straight) and Daisy clung onto a row of chairs to keep her balance. Oliver and the kids were still bemoaning the lack of electronics while eating crisps in the bar, so Daisy had volunteered to go and find out about getting a seat on the next ferry home. She had a nasty feeling it might be an overnight crossing, and if they ever managed to get a table in the restaurant, she suspected they might not all keep their food down until they reached Portsmouth again.
There you go. A good reason to be grateful she hadn’t booked a table in the restaurant.
Mind you, no one seemed to be grateful about anything else. And yes, okay, she hadn’t pulled off the smoothest family holiday ever so far on this trip, but she had put a lot of work into it, whatever Oliver seemed to think.
She’d booked the ferry, ordered the M&S hamper, packed everybody’s stuff, bought and wrapped all the Christmas presents (well, most of them. There was still a bag or two of gifts in need of wrapping when they were somewhere that didn’t sway quite so badly) and decorated the damn house, even though they weren’t there to enjoy it.
She had done Christmas, and it wasn’t even Christmas Eve yet.
Still, if they could just get back to Maple Drive, back to Claude, and have a nice Christmas day with turkey and crackers and slobbing on the sofa watching a bad movie, it would all be worth it.
Daisy joined the queue at the information desk again, hoping against hope that whoever was manning it now would be more sympathetic than the idiot who wouldn’t turn the boat around.
No such luck.
‘Ah, Mrs McCawley, isn’t it?’ Henri smiled insincerely at her. ‘I do hope you enjoyed your free drinks.’
‘Not really. Listen, I need to book passage for my family on the next ferry from Caen to Portsmouth. Can you do that for me?’
‘Of course!’ he said, and Daisy’s spirits started to drift slowly upwards, in the manner of mulled wine steam. Until he added, ‘Normally. But not today.’
‘Why not today?’ Daisy ground out, wishing she had a vat of steaming mulled wine to pour over the odious man.
‘The seas, in case you failed to notice in your all-encompassing worry for your dog, are rather rough today, madam. All sailings after this one have been cancelled, until tomorrow morning.’
Tomorrow morning? That meant leaving Claude all alone overnight. They’d never done that before, not anywhere. He’d always come with them – every family holiday, every weekend away, even an overnight stay. The most he’d managed was a few hours with her parents one evening.
What was he going to do? Daisy hoped against hope that Claude had managed to sneak back into the house without them noticing – it seemed the most likely reason for his escape, wanting to get back to his comfy basket, or his food bowl.
But what if he hadn’t? What if he was all alone, hungry, and outside in this dreadful winter weather?
What would he do?
‘But tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,’ she whispered.
‘Very observant of you, madam,’ Henri said, crisply.
‘But you run ferries on Christmas Eve?’ It wasn’t ideal, but if
it got them back to Claude …
‘One ferry,’ he corrected her. ‘At 8.30 a.m.’
‘Well, can you book us onto that one?’
‘Of course!’ This time, Daisy knew better than to let her spirits rise. ‘Usually.’
‘Usually,’ Daisy echoed. ‘But not today.’
‘But not today,’ Henri confirmed. ‘I’m afraid tomorrow morning’s sailing is very popular – and fully booked.’
‘Is there a waiting list?’
‘A long one.’
‘Can you put us on it?’
‘I suppose so,’ he agreed, grudgingly. ‘But personally, I don’t think you stand a chance.’
‘It’s Christmas,’ Daisy said. ‘The season of miracles.’
‘Forgive me, but do miracles usually involve sea-going passage? Unless you’re planning on walking on water, of course …’
‘Just put us on the list,’ Daisy snapped.
Henri obliged, taking down her parents’ phone number in France – which Daisy fortunately had scrawled on the back of a receipt in her purse from when they’d called – and promising that someone would ring them if places became available on the ferry.
‘Now, if I can be of no further assistance …’
‘I think we’re done here,’ Daisy agreed, but before she could step away, she heard Bella’s voice.
‘Mum!’ Bella bounded up beside her, smiling at Henri. ‘Did you get us on the ferry?’
‘No, she did not,’ Henri answered, before Daisy could find a gentle way to break the news to her daughter. She scowled at him, and wished him a plague of Christmas tree needles somewhere very uncomfortable.
Bella frowned, and shook her head. ‘In that case, we need to get Find Claude up and running as soon as possible. If we’re not going to be back tonight—’
‘Excuse me. Find Claude?’ Henri asked.
‘It’s a social media campaign to try and find our dog,’ Bella explained.
