Christmas for Beginners - Carole Matthews Page 0,111

happened. I’m still worn out and drift in and out of sleep.

Then my phone rings. It’s Lucas. ‘Hi,’ I say.

‘I don’t know what to do.’ He’s slurring his words and it sounds like he’s crying.

‘Lucas, are you OK? What’s the matter? Where are you?’

There’s snivelling down the line. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Aren’t you with Aurora? What’s happened?’

‘I’m in the park,’ he says. ‘Please Molly, come and get me.’

Then, helpfully, his phone goes dead.

Chapter Seventy-Three

Despite calling Lucas repeatedly, there’s no answer. I don’t know if his battery is dead or whether, for some reason, he’s unable to answer. Why does technology never work when you need it most?

In a panic, I jump out of bed and hurriedly get dressed, my own problems instantly pushed aside. Still punching his number into my phone, I take Little Dog with me for company and comfort, then head for the car. He said he was in a park, but where?

Hands shaking, I sit in the driver’s seat googling parks in this area and it’s surprising how many there are. When you live on a farm, there’s not really a great need to go to a park so I’m not familiar with them. I scroll through the list.

Shitshitshit! Where do I start? Which is the most likely one for him to be in? And where the hell is Aurora? I wonder if they’ve had an argument. Seems the most feasible explanation. Shamefully, I realise how little I know about Lucas’s girlfriend. I don’t have her surname, her telephone number or even know where she lives. I should know these things and I don’t. Damn.

Taking a few calming breaths, I try to think about how I’m going to approach this. I come to the conclusion that I’m simply going to have to visit each local park, slowly, methodically until I find him. There’s no other way. Checking there’s a torch in the car, I set off.

Little Dog and I search the first two parks nearest to Hope Farm but that proves fruitless as, quite sensibly, no one is hanging around in a park on a cold winter’s night. I decide, instead, to head straight to the main park in the town. It’s not the best place to be after dark, but needs must. Little Dog, when riled, is an excellent barker and, though he’s tiny, it feels nice not to be doing this alone. I’m sure, if provoked, he’d be a great ankle-biter.

When I reach the town park a few minutes later, I leave the car in a deserted side street and head through the gates – which, thankfully, aren’t locked. It’s pitch black, freezing and I’d rather be anywhere else than here.

‘Come on, boy,’ I say. ‘Do your stuff. Find Lucas.’ Little Dog trots ahead of me, sniffing everything. I follow behind, grateful for the comforting beam of my torch. ‘Go on. Find him.’

When I reach the main grassy area, I call his name at the top of my voice. ‘Lucas! Lucas!’

Then I follow the footpath, heading deeper into the worryingly empty park, shouting as I go. My torch beam lights on a scruffy man coming towards me out of the darkness and, for a moment, my heart stops. I hear Little Dog give a low growl and he backs up to be by my side.

‘If you’re looking for a kid,’ the man says, ‘there’s a lad up on the playground by himself.’

‘Thanks. Thank you so much.’ In different times, I might ask why he didn’t stop to find out what was wrong, but I can only hope that this is Lucas.

Little Dog, running ahead of me, starts to bark. I put a spurt on and, a minute later, come to the playground. There, sprawled in one of the nest swings, head hanging down, is Lucas. I feel sick with relief that I have found him and that he is safe.

I go over to him and he raises his head to peer at me. When I shine my torch at him, he winces.

‘Hey,’ he says and raises a hand in greeting.

‘What the hell, Lucas? You scared the life out of me.’

‘Soz.’ He goes to get out of the swing and only succeeds in tipping himself onto the floor. Little Dog goes to lick his face and Lucas lies there, inert, while he does.

I help him up. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘Very,’ he says, struggling to focus his glassy eyes.

Of course he is. And, now that I look, there’s a plethora of Stella Artois cans around the area. ‘Are all