Sunday mornings, Amy had always believed, should be time for lie-ins, coffee, and quiet contemplation. Or, in weeks of great stress, at least a time for pancakes.
After the disaster of Jim’s phone call the night before, Amy had decided this was definitely a pancake morning. So, while the coffee percolated on the kitchen counter, she mixed the ingredients for her famous breakfast pancakes, and hoped there was enough maple syrup left in the bottle to serve all three of them.
Sookie, normally disinterested in cooking unless there was fish involved, twined around her legs as she moved about the kitchen. Amy was starting to get the feeling that the cat had appointed herself family guardian in Henry’s absence – or maybe she was just taking advantage of the lack of dog to spend more time indoors.
Either way, Amy was glad of the company, even if it wasn’t quite the same as having Henry home. Sookie didn’t like walks, for one thing, and Amy was missing the daily fresh air and thinking time. She supposed she could take a walk without a dog, but somehow it never seemed to happen. Luke had even let her borrow Daisy the day before on her lunch break, but the Dalmatian wasn’t nearly as interested in squirrels and smells as Henry was. Plus, Amy had been so terrified of losing someone else’s dog, she hadn’t been able to relax the whole walk.
Luke had laughed when she’d told him that. ‘I’ll have to come with you too, next time, then,’ he’d said, and Amy had smiled.
‘It’s a date,’ she’d replied. Only to then spend the next three hours wondering how much he’d read into that easy slip of the tongue.
She shook her head. She had to concentrate on cooking – not mooning over a divorced doctor who was just being kind to her because he knew what she was going through.
‘Ooh, pancakes!’ Claire’s enthusiasm as she hopped up onto one of the stools by the breakfast bar was enough to brighten Amy’s morning – and distract her from fretting about what she’d said to Luke.
Even Jack looked slightly less grumpy than he had when he thumped down the stairs. He looked at her for a long moment, and Amy held her breath, waiting to hear what he’d have to say. Would it be another rant about his father? Or – heaven forbid – an apology?
Neither, as it turned out.
‘I’ll go fetch the Sunday papers, shall I?’ he said, already grabbing his trainers.
‘That would be lovely,’ Amy said, neutrally. ‘I’ll start flipping pancakes when you get back.’
The Sunday papers were another family tradition. Jim had always liked to have the real thing on a Sunday, rather than just reading the news on their phones or tablets like they did the rest of the week. Jack liked the cartoons and the film and music reviews, Claire liked looking at all the fancy, expensive photos in the colour supplements. And Amy liked that everyone tended to be quiet and happy for half an hour on a Sunday morning, while they all sat around the table together.
‘We haven’t done Sunday papers in months,’ Claire commented, as Jack slammed the front door behind him. ‘Not since … well, not since Dad left.’
‘No,’ Amy said. ‘We haven’t. But it was nice for Jack to offer to fetch the papers, don’t you think? Especially since he’d normally take—’ she cut herself off before she said the name ‘Henry’.
Because Jim wasn’t the only thing still missing from the perfect family portrait, was he?
Amy sighed, and turned back to her pancake mix. One thing at a time.
Jack returned with the papers – and an extra music magazine, Amy noticed – and he and Claire sat at the table divvying them up while Amy heated the pan and added the first dollop of batter.
‘Oooh, look!’ Claire held up the front of the colour supplement for Amy to see. ‘Christmas at Windsor Palace! I bet they have fantastic decorations. Even better than the trees we saw outside Buckingham Palace.’
They had to be better than the tiny fake tree and half a holly garland that she’d put up, Amy thought. She hadn’t even managed to dig out that wicker reindeer of Claire’s. It was just as well the kids had eaten the chocolates she’d bought for the tree, too. When she’d looked at the tree after they’d all been munched, she’d realised it didn’t even have enough branches to hold them all. And the fake holly garland that she usually wound around the bannister had lost half its leaves – something she suspected might have been Henry’s fault, actually. So now, whenever she looked at it – half bare and still shedding – she thought of Henry and missed him all over again. Which was ridiculous. No one should get that teary over fake greenery.
Claire was still oohing and ahhing over the pictures of Windsor Castle, and Amy leant over her shoulder to take a look as she placed the first plate of pancakes on the table.
‘Oh, look at the corgis!’ They looked so much like Henry it made Amy’s heart hurt. ‘And the Dorgis are pretty cute, too.’
‘Look at this one wearing a crown!’ Claire pointed to the page, then frowned. ‘Wait …’
She leafed quickly through a few pages to find a close-up of the corgi in the crown, this time seated on a throne-like chair, panting up at the camera.
‘Look! Jack, look! It’s Henry!’
Amy’s heart lurched at Claire’s words, at the certainty behind them. Could it be?
But no. That was crazy. Henry had run away, sure – but he hadn’t somehow made his way to Windsor Castle, right?
‘It’s a corgi, Claire,’ Jack said, dismissively. ‘Of course it looks like Henry.’
‘It doesn’t just look like Henry. It is Henry.’ Claire’s mulish certainty didn’t waver for a moment. ‘He’s even wearing the collar I bought him for Christmas last year!’
The collar, Amy had to admit, was distinctive. A red, mock croc leather one with a gold buckle, and a gold tag that just read ‘Henry’. Claire had saved up to buy it for him herself, so he had something special to open on Christmas morning, too. Of course, Henry had been far more taken with the chocolate doggy drops that Jack had bought him, but still. It was the thought that counted.
And in this case, the similarity.
Amy leant closer, peering at the photo, noticing that the dog’s name tag had been twisted so she couldn’t read the name. ‘It does look a lot like him …’ Like, exactly like him. But then, she’d never really been great at telling one dog from another, unless they were lined up next to each other. She’d once almost taken the wrong corgi home from puppy training class, when Henry was little. She probably shouldn’t be trusted on this one.
Amy shook her head. ‘It can’t be him, Claire. It’s just not possible.’
‘Why not?’ Claire asked. ‘These are the Queen’s Corgis – and we lost him at Buckingham Palace. Of course it could be him!’
‘Don’t you think the Queen might have noticed if she suddenly had an extra dog?’ Jack asked.
‘Maybe not! It’s a big Palace …’ Claire was clutching at straws, and everyone knew it.
Well, everyone except Claire.
‘I’m going to write to her. Ask for my dog back.’
‘Write to who?’ Amy asked. ‘Wait, you’re going to write to the Queen?’
‘Yes!’ Claire jumped down and ran to the junk drawer where they kept the envelopes and stamps (along with used batteries, torches that didn’t work and half-used birthday candles). ‘No, that’s stupid.’
‘Very stupid,’ Jack agreed, as he tucked into a plate piled high with pancakes drenched in maple syrup.
Claire shot him a sharp glare. ‘I meant because it’ll take too long to get a letter there and read. Christmas post and all. I’ve got a much better idea.’
‘Which is?’ Amy asked, suddenly nervous.
‘I’m going to do what everyone does when they need to get the attention of a big company or important person,’ Claire said, happily. ‘I’m going to tweet her!’