Claude’s Christmas Adventure: The must-read Christmas dog book of 2018!

As he trudged back up the driveway, grateful for his winter coat in the bitter December cold, his phone rang. Jack fished it out from his pocket, while Claude danced around his feet, wrapping the lead around his ankles.

‘Hello?’ Jack said, carefully stepping out from the tangle of lead again.

‘Jack? It’s Bill.’ His boss. Jack tensed. Even though he knew this probably had to do with the email he’d sent Bill last night, there was always the chance that it was something worse. But then Bill said, ‘About this email,’ and Jack let himself relax, just enough to head to the bus shelter at the end of Maple Drive and sit down while they talked. Claude entertained himself sniffing around the base of the bench legs, before curling up on Jack’s boots.

‘Yeah. What do you think? Is it possible?’

‘A transfer? Yeah, I guess so. Probably. It might take a while, but … to be honest, Jack, I’m more interested in why you want one.’ Bill sounded personally affronted. Maybe he should have gone and talked to the guy in person, instead of just emailing. It was just that it had been late, he’d been frustrated, and he’d wanted to do something – anything – to feel like he was moving forward again.

‘It’s nothing to do with you, or the job,’ Jack said quickly. ‘Honestly, I’m happy working here. Very happy.’

‘Except for the part where you want to leave,’ Bill commented. ‘So again, I have to ask … why?’

Jack sighed. How to explain it? ‘I guess … you know when you have an idea of how things are going to be? What your life will be like when you reach a certain point, a certain place?’

‘Yeah. Sure.’

‘Well, I thought being here, living on Maple Drive would be … different.’

‘Different how?’ Bill asked.

That, Jack knew he couldn’t explain. Maybe to someone else – someone like Holly, perhaps. But not to Bill – gruff, contented Bill. Bill had lived in the local area all his life, he’d told Jack proudly on his first day, and worked for the post office since he left school. Bill had his children, his grandchildren, his siblings, his nieces and nephews, his cousins, and every school friend that ever mattered to him, all living within a twenty mile radius. Bill didn’t just live here. He belonged.

And Jack hadn’t belonged anywhere since he left the army. But he was determined that he would.

It just seemed that Maple Drive wasn’t the place for belonging. Nobody wanted anything to do with each other, as far as he could tell. And that wasn’t the sort of place that Jack wanted to call home.

‘I thought I could make this place my home,’ he said, at last. ‘But I think maybe I’d have better luck somewhere else. I think it’s time for me to leave. Move on, you know?’ At his feet Claude looked up, his eyes huge and his oversized ears strangely droopy, as if he understood every word Jack was saying and didn’t like it one bit.

Bill sighed down the line. ‘Son, I’ve not known you all that long, and I wouldn’t presume to try and guess your life story. But I know you were in the army, and I reckon that probably meant moving around a lot, right?’

‘Right,’ Jack said, wondering where the older man was going with this.

‘And now you’re looking to put down roots,’ Bill went on. ‘But the thing is, roots take time to grow. They need to settle in, get comfy like, before they can stretch out and really take hold in the dirt. It’s like the weeds in my allotment. If I get hold of them quick, when they’ve just arrived, they come up easy as anything. But if I let them stay too long …’

‘They take root,’ Jack finished for him. Was that what he needed to do? Take root? Maybe … but not in Maple Drive.

‘Exactly. But it does take time. And if you just up and leave every time something doesn’t seem quite like you expected, well, you might never get those deep, strong roots you’re looking for.’

‘So you’re saying no to the transfer.’ Maybe Bill had a point. But as Jack looked around Maple Drive – at the darkened windows, the empty driveways, the locked front doors – he couldn’t help but think that none of the other people living on the street had real roots either, no matter how long they’d lived there. Why would he be any different?

‘I’m saying think about it some more, that’s all,’ Bill said. ‘It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, son. At least give it until the New Year.’

That was fair, Jack supposed. After all, he’d already been there for months. What was another couple of weeks?

‘Okay. But if I still want to leave then?’ Which, as far as Jack was concerned, was a dead cert. Claude shook his little head and got back up on all fours, padding over to the edge of the bus shelter, pulling his lead taut.

‘Then I’ll fast track your transfer myself,’ Bill promised. ‘Deal?’

‘Deal.’

‘Good. Now get on with your round.’ The phone line went dead, and Jack smiled as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Bill was right; he had deliveries still to make. And a dog’s family to find – even if it already seemed like the McCawleys were another family that didn’t have roots here in Maple Drive, he still had to try.

‘Come on, Claude,’ he said, tugging the dog away from the corner of the bus shelter, where he’d found something very smelly to investigate. ‘We’re not done here yet.’

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The afternoon was fading into evening before Jack had finished making his rounds. Turned out, he didn’t just deliver post on our street, but all