19. Henry
19
HENRY
H enry had showered and dressed quickly, then pulled on his raincoat and boots and hurried to Christopher’s just as the storm was really getting going. He’d knocked on the front door, but there had been no answer, so he’d gone around the back and found the door open. After calling for Christopher, he’d gone inside and called again and heard a noise deep within the bowels of the house.
He’d found Christopher in the cellar holding a candle as he searched for camping lights. He helped him look and after they’d located some, they’d gone back upstairs using one of the camping lights to guide their way.
‘Where’s Bobby?’ he’d asked, realising that he hadn’t seen the dog since he arrived.
‘He went out to the garden and then the power went off. I knew we’d need a light and as you can see, there are candles here, but then I remembered I had camping lights in the cellar. Hasn’t Bobby come back inside?’ Christopher’s brow furrowed, the harsh white glow of the LED lamp etching deep shadows into the lines of his face, turning his wrinkles into narrow ravines.
‘I’ll do a quick check around downstairs.’ Henry placed the camping lights on the kitchen table and turned the rest of them on. ‘Why don’t you take one of these and go and sit by the fire in the lounge and stay warm?’
‘He could be upstairs so it’s worth checking up there too,’ Christopher said.
Henry was concerned because the elderly man looked gaunt, his face seeming thinner than usual as the bright light accentuated his cheekbones and sharp jawline.
‘Let’s get you warm first.’ He led Christopher to the lounge and settled him into a chair by the fire, then wrapped a blanket around his bony shoulders and draped another over his knees. At least the fire would keep him warm, and he wasn’t reliant on an electric one.
He went from room to room, searching for Bobby but he wasn’t anywhere inside, not even the cellar which he checked twice just in case he’d gone inside a box or underneath a shelf. Despair filled him because it was clear that the dog must have gone outside and possibly run off.
Back in the lounge, he said, ‘Christopher, I’m going out to look for Bobby. He’s not in the house, so he could be in the garden somewhere, perhaps sheltering under a bush.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Christopher pushed himself up, but Henry shook his head.
‘Stay there in case he comes back inside. I’ll be quicker alone.’
He went to the back door that was propped open in case Bobby had come back while he was upstairs and grabbed a towel from the radiator to mop the floor. The rain lashed in and he knew he’d need to close the door or the kitchen would be flooded. If Bobby came back while he was outside, he’d have to wait.
He pulled the door closed behind him and looked around at the garden that was lit only by brief flashes of moonlight that appeared between the racing clouds. The trees bowed low, their branches creaking and groaning. Leaves, twigs, and other debris swirled in a dizzying, chaotic dance, and a gritty, earthy smell rose in the gusty air. He pulled his hood up and tightened the strings to stop it blowing down, then he began his search of the garden.
Every time he called for the dog, the storm swallowed his voice, and he knew it was futile trying to be heard. He stayed as low as he could, not wanting to be knocked over like the deck chair he saw flying through the street on his way there, and scanned under bushes and trees, trying to work out where the small dog could be hiding.
He was about to go back to the house and start again when something caught his eye at the far end of the garden near the shed, so he fought the wind to get over there.