Not Just for Christmas: The perfect Christmas short romance. Alex Brown

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      ‘Sort of.’ Mack smiled and ran a hand through his cropped brown hair, as if pondering on a suitable answer for an inquisitive four-year-old.

      ‘Did they die and go to Heaven?’ she then added, in a matter-of-fact voice, tilting her head to one side.

      ‘Yes, yes, they did,’ Mack quickly confirmed on catching Kitty’s eye and subtle nod by way of confirmation.

      Silence followed.

      ‘Hmm, but that’s OK.’ Teddie shrugged, before gently patting the back of Mack’s hand. ‘My Daddy will look after them for you.’

      Fifteen minutes later, the three of them had finished their drinks and Teddie was sitting on Mack’s lap listening to a funny story about how he and Ed had ended up falling into a big cowpat one time on a training day in the fields surrounding the army base at Market Briar.

      ‘Stinky poo!’ Teddie giggled, pinching her nose in disgust and delight at hearing a story about her daddy from someone who actually knew him.

      ‘Sure was,’ Mack said, tickling Teddie some more, before his voice turned a little more serious. ‘OK, now I have a very important job for you, sweetheart.’

      ‘Ooh, yes, please, I can help you.’ The little girl slipped herself off Mack’s lap and started bouncing up and down, eager to please. Kitty smiled at her daughter’s enthusiasm – she was clearly enamoured with Mack, which was no surprise. Kitty had forgotten how easygoing he was, open and honest, the same old Mack. He always was solid and dependable, and it was refreshing to see that he was still the same, even after his terrible injuries. And Kitty thought it was good of him to be so kind to Teddie, especially after she had denied him that connection since Ed’s death. Kitty glanced at the floor and bit down hard on her bottom lip, an uneasy swirl of guilt creeping within her, wishing she hadn’t shut him out. She felt Mack’s eyes on her, and looked back up. He winked and smiled ruefully before turning his attentions back to Teddie.

      ‘Do you think you can pull my iPad out from the big pocket in the back of my wheelchair?’ Teddie nodded and darted round the chair. Kitty jumped up to help her.

      ‘Carefully now. Hold it with two hands, please,’ she said, not wanting Teddie to drop the tablet onto the tiles and damage the screen. Teddie did as she was told and carefully handed the iPad to Mack.

      ‘Thanks, pet. Now, how about you finish off your colouring while I chat to Mummy for a bit?’ And Teddie happily did as she was told right away, practically skipping over to the booth in the corner of the café.

      ‘Wow! How did you do that?’ Kitty shook her head in amazement. ‘Usually, when I ask my daughter to do something, she has a moan for at least ten minutes before reluctantly getting on with it.’

      ‘Ah, must be me special Mack charm.’ Winking, he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth and shrugged modestly, as if it were nothing. Then, after flipping open the iPad case, he swiped the screen into action. Kitty smiled, remembering how Ed told her one time during a Skype call that Mack often had a band of local Iraqi kids hanging around him whenever they were out on patrol. He’d tell them jokes and teach them English words, sometimes giving them sweets and pens and pads so they could write down what they had learned. Mack was a ‘good ’un’, that’s what Ed had always said. ‘I need to show you something, Kitty. It’s why I’m here − and to see you and Teddie, of course,’ Mack said, indicating for Kitty to sit down next to him.

      ‘What is it?’ she asked apprehensively, when a paused film clip appeared on the iPad screen showing a Chinook army helicopter – grey with two propellers, and just like the one Ed’s body had been flown home in. Kitty inhaled sharply.

      Sensing her anxiety, Mack placed a firm, reassuring hand on her arm.

      ‘It’s OK, I promise.’ He then said softly. ‘It’s Monty. He’s coming home.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Kitty couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. She leaned forward in her seat as Mack clicked on the arrow and the film started playing. The Chinook landed and she could see two soldiers lifting an enormous pet crate out of the helicopter and down on to the tarmac. The camera zoomed in close. Kitty held her breath. She pressed a palm to her chest. ‘Is that him?’

      ‘Yep.’ Mack turned to look at her.

      Kitty gasped on seeing the dog – the beautiful black Labrador, a highly trained and supremely intelligent army dog. Ed had been his handler. There was a big white bandage wrapped around his front left paw and there was something else too.

      ‘Oh, my God! What happened to poor Monty? His eye …’ Kitty could barely breathe now, her chest felt so tight. Monty had only one eye; the other was permanently closed, giving him a sad, forlorn look and in utter contrast to the proud, handsome boy that he had been. Kitty’s eyes flicked back across to the picture hanging on the wall of the café, of Ed with his arm around Monty, who was sitting up on his haunches with a noble but utterly devoted look on his face, clearly delighting in his master’s company.

      ‘He got hit by a flying piece of shrapnel,’ Mack stated, and then quickly added, ‘but he’s fine. He’s been back at the base under the care of the vet for a few weeks now, and … well, I’ll cut to the chase: he needs a home.’ Mack let the words hang for a few seconds. Kitty looked at him and then back at the screen. The film had stopped playing now and there was a picture of Monty sitting in a mound of lush green grass, just like the grass in the fields surrounding Tindledale. Kitty knew enough to know that these pictures weren’t taken in Iraq and somehow if felt strange to have Monty so close. In a way, it was as if a part of Ed had returned. They had been inseparable. ‘What do you reckon?’

      ‘Reckon?’ Kitty repeated, paused, and felt a shock of recognition as the proverbial penny dropped. ‘But I can’t take him!’ she immediately responded.

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Um, well, I … er, there’s the café to think about for starters. I can’t have a dog in the kitchen. Health and Safety would have a field day.’

      ‘He’d be no bother. Honestly, he just needs somewhere to retire. He’s getting on now: nearly seven years – and that’s old for a working dog like Monty. He could potter around out the back in your cottage. He probably wouldn’t even mind being behind a gate or something over there.’ Mack gestured to the corridor that separated the café from the private part of Kitty’s home. ‘Really, he just needs a warm, comfortable place to lie. Dogs sleep for most of the day, left to their own devices,’ Mack explained.

      ‘But wouldn’t he get bored? He’s used to working.’

      ‘No, the vet doesn’t think so, and he’s been assessed as suitable for rehoming in Civvy Street. He’s tired, he’s done his bit for Queen and country − lost his eye on the last tour. He’s done twelve in total – Iraq, and a few in Afghanistan with a new handler after Ed – but that guy is still on active duty and his parents are elderly so they can’t take him in. Monty just needs to put his paws up as it were.’ Mack smiled wryly.

      ‘But he’s used to being active, out on patrol, sniffing out explosives …’ Kitty stopped talking as the real crux of her issue with Monty crept malignantly into her thoughts. How come he didn’t save Ed? She swallowed and swiftly pushed the unwelcome thought away, knowing how dangerous it was to go back to that dark, lonely place.

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