‘Claire, can you give me a hand with these bags?’ Amy struggled through the front door, shopping bags making her too wide to fit easily through the gap. Where had Claire even gone? She’d been sitting in the car with her just moments ago, but by the time Amy had opened the boot to retrieve the Christmas food shop, Claire had disappeared into the house already. When, exactly, did children learn that skill of being a million miles away at the precise moment they could actually be helpful?
‘Hang on!’ Claire called, from somewhere inside the house.
‘Kind of hard to,’ Amy yelled back. ‘These bags are really heavy!’
Where was Jack when she needed him? Teenage boys weren’t generally the most useful of creatures, but they were really good at carrying shopping bags – if you could find them. He, too, usually managed to turn up just as she finished unpacking the shopping, stopping just long enough to snaffle some sort of snack that would ruin his dinner.
Amy dumped the bags she had onto the kitchen table, then turned round to go back for the rest – only to be stopped by Claire’s squeal.
‘They’ve replied!’ she cried, across the hallway.
Amy hurried through to the lounge, where her daughter was sitting on the sofa with her laptop open on her knee.
‘Who’s replied?’ And to what? With Claire, it could be anything from a new friend at school, to a boy one of her friends liked, to a teacher answering a question about homework. Or, in this case …
‘The Royal Family! Or, well, whoever manages their social media accounts, I suppose.’ Claire turned the screen to show the notification. ‘It’s probably not actually the Queen, is it?’
‘Probably not,’ Amy agreed. ‘She’s probably a bit busy for Twitter. So, what does it say? “@TheRoyalFamily replied to your tweet.” That’s not very informative.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Claire said. ‘That’s just the notification. The actual message should be around about … here.’
Amy couldn’t help the tight, anxious feeling in her stomach as she waited for Claire to open the right tab in her browser and read the tweet. As much as she wanted to believe that this would lead to Henry coming home at last, it seemed like too much of a long shot. Even Christmas miracles were few and far between these days. It was hard to believe that the Walker family would get one, when so many others didn’t.
Just as Amy had been afraid would happen, Claire scanned the message, and her face fell. ‘They say I must be mistaken, but that they hope we’re reunited with our pet soon.’ There was no emotion in her voice, no feeling at all, but Amy knew the disappointment she must be feeling. Mostly because she was feeling it too.
Oh, Henry. Where are you?
Amy hugged her daughter tight, the shopping in the car forgotten for the moment. ‘At least you tried. It was always a long shot, sweetheart. But you gave it your best. That’s all you can do.’
‘But, Mum! They’re wrong!’ There was a desperation in Claire’s voice Amy didn’t like. She was pinning all her hopes on this ridiculous idea of Henry being at Windsor Castle, and as fantastic as that would be, Amy knew it wasn’t going to happen. And now she had to convince Claire of that, too – if only so it didn’t hurt even more later, when it became clearer that Henry was never coming home.
Amy sighed and wished, just for a moment, that she had someone to share this burden with.
‘Claire, think about it logically, sweetheart,’ she said, as gently as she could. ‘Buckingham Palace is one of the most tightly guarded places in the world. But even if Henry had somehow found a way in, someone would have noticed that he didn’t belong there. The Queen must know her own dogs. The Palace staff certainly would. The chances of a strange dog just being allowed to stay at the Palace … they must be astronomical.’
‘I know it’s Henry,’ Claire said stubbornly. ‘And I’m going to prove it.’
So much for talking her out of it, then.
Pushing Amy away, Claire turned back to her laptop.
Amy watched for a moment, then she got to her feet and went back to carrying in the shopping. Alone, since it seemed everyone else had other priorities tonight. She’d done what she could, for now. Claire was a sensible girl. Eventually she’d realise how ridiculous this idea was. And Amy would deal with the crying and the upset when she did.
Amy was just putting the last of the shopping away when she heard Jack come in. When she’d finished, she headed back through to the lounge to check on Claire – and stopped in the doorway.
There on the sofa were her kids, Claire curled up beside Jack, who seemed to have taken over control of the laptop. They were both talking quietly, pointing to things on the screen, debating something or another.
Amy smiled softly. It wasn’t the way she’d have wanted it to happen, but if nothing else, at least all the turmoil of the last few months had brought Jack and Claire closer together.
She just hoped they’d let her in, too.
‘What are you two up to?’ Amy made her way in, and settled onto the edge of the sofa beside them.
‘Getting proof,’ Claire said, sounding determined. That usually boded trouble.
‘Proof of what?’
‘That the Queen stole our dog,’ Jack said.
Amy winced. ‘I’m not sure that—’
‘Look!’ Claire spun the screen round so Amy could see what they’d been working on.
It was two side by side photos of corgis – one, the dog with the crown from the Sunday papers, the other the shot of Henry from last Christmas, wearing a paper cracker crown and the collar Claire had bought him. The same collar that the Queen’s dog seemed to be wearing.
‘How can they deny it?’ Claire asked. ‘It’s clearly the same dog!’
‘And other people are starting to see that too,’ Jack said. ‘I posted the side by side photos online, and people are already sharing and commenting on the Hunt for Henry page.’
Oh, that didn’t sound good. Amy was all for anything that would bring Henry home safely – as long as it didn’t also bring the police to her door on Christmas Eve because she’d accused the Queen of dognapping. Did this count as treason? She wasn’t sure – but it wasn’t really the sort of risk she wanted to take.
‘Maybe we don’t want to make too big a deal about this,’ Amy started, but Jack interrupted her with an uncharacteristic whoop of joy.
‘And it just got picked up by an online news site I sent it to!’ he crowed. ‘Henry is totally going viral.’
‘Oh good,’ Amy said, weakly, and wished she’d bought more mulled wine.
There was just no way this was going to end well.