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

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.

      Mack picked up on her hesitancy. ‘It’s OK,’ he said gently, seemingly knowing what she was thinking. ‘Monty had detected the explosive and was running back to warn Ed. It was just bad luck that it then went off when the disposal guys moved in. It was—’

      ‘Please, you don’t have to explain,’ Kitty said, seeing Mack’s shoulders tense on reliving the terrible moment that killed his best friend and left him disabled. ‘I’ll take him,’ she said decisively, staring at the Labrador’s glossy black coat and lovely, soulful face. How could she not? What happened to Ed and to Mack wasn’t poor Monty’s fault.

      ‘Thank you, Kitty. I’d look after him myself but I’m hardly up for taking him out for a walk, now am I?’ Mack grinned, looking at where the bottom half of his legs used to be. Instinctively, Kitty nudged Mack’s shoulder as if to console him.

      ‘I’m so sorry.’

      ‘What for?’ Mack nudged her back. A short silence followed.

      ‘I dunno.’ She paused to ponder for a few seconds, and then added, ‘For shutting you out, I guess.’

      ‘Ah, don’t be daft, pet. It was a tough time for us all.’

      ‘Yes, it was. But, still, thank you.’ She smiled, grateful to have cleared the air.

      ‘Right.’ Mack rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ll let the lads back at the base know that Monty’s coming home for Christmas.’

       Chapter Three

      The next day arrived, and Kitty glanced at the wall clock. Almost time. Monty was due to arrive imminently and she still hadn’t got all of his kit ready – bed, blankets, bones and whatever else dogs needed. She hadn’t looked after a pooch before, so wasn’t entirely sure.

      She untied her pinny and looped it over the chair in the little staff room at the back of the now-closed café, and, seeing that Teddie was out on a play date, she decided to nip along the High Street to the Paws Pet Parlour to see if they could give her some tips on what Monty would need on arrival.

      ‘Kitty! Hello, what can we do for you?’ Amber, the owner smiled, yelling over from a metal table in the window where a magnificent honey-haired Afghan hound was being blow-dried with a giant hairdryer attached to the ceiling on a bendy hose.

      ‘I’ve come to buy all the essentials for a dog, but I can see that you’re busy.’ Kitty hesitated and glanced over to the big day-care pen towards the back of the pet parlour where several dogs were chasing each other around, sniffing bottoms, teasing each other with rubber toys and generally having the times of their lives. ‘Shall I pop back in a bit?’ She guessed that Monty wouldn’t need everything right away, as long as he had a bed and bowl for his food; the rest she could pick up later.