I can feel Noel watching me as I look around in awe. ‘The middle line of this clearing is exactly the spot where our farms meet. It’s the only spot that doesn’t have a fence, wall, hedge, or border between us. Half of this clearing is yours and half is mine.’
It feels like a magical little hideaway, far removed from the rest of the farm. I follow the invisible line he points out. If it was there, it would run directly through the centre of the tree, cutting it in half.
‘Legend has it that a few hundred years ago, long before any of Evergreene’s ancestors owned this land, a boy from this farm was in love with a girl from my farm, but their warring parents forbade anything from happening between them. They secretly met here one autumn, at the point where the properties connect, each bringing a piece of fruit from their respective farms, and both had chosen an apple. They swapped and ate by the light of the moon, and plunged the cores into the earth, where they grew combined, two seedlings sharing their lives to become one huge tree, the only form of togetherness the lovers could ever share.’
‘Aww. You seem like the last person on the planet who’d believe romantic old fairytales like that.’
‘I was just telling you the story behind it. I didn’t say I believed it.’
‘Yeah, but you do. I can tell.’
A grin lights up his face. ‘It’s a nice story. I think if you find a tree that’s stood here for as many years as this one, it’s got to have some history behind it. Why shouldn’t it be a nice fairytale? Evergreene used to say that the apples were poisoned and they died out here, and the tree grew from the seeds in their stomachs when their corpses finally rotted into the earth.’
I laugh at the way his eyes light up. ‘Now that’s more like it.’
‘But my dad always told me the nicer version, so that’s what I’ll stick with. Life is miserable enough without taking the joy out of fairytales too.’ He walks over to the tree, dumps his rucksack on the ground, and sits down on the moss next to the trunk, his back against the aged bark. He looks up at me through his eyelashes and pats the ground beside him.
I don’t hesitate to go and sit there, surprised to find the moss is dry underneath me, the deformed branches and patches of greenery above giving it protection from the drizzle. The trunk is so thick that two of us can easily sit against one side, and Noel wriggles back until he’s leaning on it completely. He lets out a long sigh and tension drains from his body as he relaxes. His eyes drift closed and he inhales and exhales for a few long moments, and my eyes are drawn to him. The way he drops his head back to lean against the trunk, tiny droplets of drizzle coat his dark hair, and the straggly bits blow in the gentle wind, making my desire to tuck them back stronger than ever. I settle back against the trunk, the moss and bark combining to make a surprisingly comfortable seat, and try to follow his lead. I concentrate on my breathing, trying to keep it slow and steady despite the fact that now we’re sitting so close, his aftershave has taken over my senses again. Even the damp green scent of the moss is not as strong as the spicy juniper and patchouli, and the temptation to press my nose into his neck is definitely one better left unexplored.
‘Look up,’ he murmurs.
I tilt my head back and from this angle, I can see that the patches of greenery growing in the knotted old branches have elongated lined leaves with rounded ends and are covered in smooth white berries. ‘Is this a mistletoe tree?’
‘No. Mistletoe doesn’t …’ He shakes his head fondly. ‘Oh, you have so much to learn. Mistletoe doesn’t grow in trees of its own. It’s a parasite that leeches off the nutrients of other trees. This big old thing hasn’t got the energy to produce apples anymore, so the mistletoe grows in it instead. It’s pretty rare in Scotland, but it’s widespread further south.’
‘Wow,’ I mumble, stunned by his knowledge and feeling a bit fluttery at sitting in this beautiful place with this beautiful man who has somehow shared this with me. There’s a sense of magic in the air, a feeling that fairies might flit past our toes at any moment, and I can tell how special this is to Noel.
‘The ancient druids believed mistletoe grew from heaven because it doesn’t have any roots.’ He’s so relaxed that his voice is almost slurring. His hands are limp in his lap, and I wish I could pluck up the courage to trail my fingers down his arm until my hand touches his, but I can’t.
‘Thank you for showing me this,’ I whisper, because speaking normally will break whatever spell we’re under and we’re definitely under some kind of spell because there’s no way I’m really contemplating holding his hand or that he’d contemplate letting me.
‘It’s half yours.’ He shifts his head and looks over at me. ‘And just so you know, the only other person I’ve brought here is Gizmo. Well, not person, canine. You know what I mean. Although to be fair, Gizmo’s a better person than most of the humans I know.’
‘Same,’ I mumble, wondering why he has brought me here. Surely we both know what you’re supposed to do under mistletoe …
‘There’s plenty of it if you want to cut some and sell fresh bunches this year.’
It takes me a moment to realise he’s gone back to the mistletoe. ‘I could use it in the wreaths too. It would look amazing twirled up with some red holly berries.’
‘It’s easy enough to propagate if you want a crop of it. You make a nick in the branches and press the seeds into it. It takes a couple of years to get established and then it takes off. It won’t do well in the Christmas trees, but it will enjoy itself out front in your windbreaker trees, and it’ll provide a point of interest from the road when all the leaves are gone in the winter and only the mistletoe remains.’
How much better would this place have looked on the first day if all those skeletal trees had been full of glossy mistletoe? Just the thought makes me smile. It would look like the entrance to a winter wonderland. ‘It’s perfect. I’ve never seen mistletoe growing before.’
He reaches over and lifts my hand to his mouth, touching his lips to the back of it. The cold metal of his piercing presses against my skin, at odds with the burning heat coming from his touch, and I let out a completely involuntary whimper that wasn’t supposed to be audible.
‘Sorry, just a peace offering to the ancient druids given what you’re usually supposed to do under the mistletoe.’
I genuinely would not have minded at all if he’d done it in the traditional way.
Either he can tell what I’m thinking or he’s thinking the same thing. ‘I could sit here all day but we should eat.’ He drops my hand and pulls himself upright, leaning over and tugging the backpack towards him. ‘Hope you’re not sick of pumpkin yet.’
I sit forward too and give myself a shake. ‘’Course not. But I’m going to get a bit worried if there are any apples in that picnic …’
He laughs as he starts unpacking the bag, setting out Tupperware containers and a flask along with packages of various things. ‘Pumpkin biscuits sprinkled with sea-salted roasted pumpkin seeds, sliced local cheese with pumpkin dip on the side, and tea. Not pumpkin-flavoured.’
He hands me a paper bag containing a fresh loaf of pumpkin and hazelnut tear-off bread, which he knows is my favourite. He’s been feeding me often, probably too often. No takeaways deliver this far out in the countryside, but I’m not even missing them because he usually pops over in the evenings with Gizmo and something Glenna’s made.
It doesn’t even seem weird to be having a picnic in November. It’s cold, but my feet are warm in layers of fluffy socks inside my boots, and my coat is snuggly, and I think there’s some sort of heat-by-osmosis science behind sitting so close to someone as hot as Noel. This beautiful big tree protects us from the drizzle, the moss is soft underneath us, and the world around us is peaceful as we eat in comfortable silence, smiling every time we look up and catch each other’s eyes.
He leans back when he’s done and I can feel the heaviness of his body as he relaxes against the tree trunk again. I expected him to jump up and carry on with cu
tting, but he’s clearly happy to sit here a bit longer.
I settle back too. My hair is in a loose plait that’s gradually fallen down over the course of the morning, and I can feel it catching on the peeling bark at my back. I lean forward and drag it over my shoulder. My hair is straight and super thick, it doesn’t allow bands to hold it for long before they slip out and I’m used to having to put it back up multiple times a day.
I can feel his eyes on me as I pull the band off the bottom of the plait and fingercomb it, splaying it across my shoulder. Before I have a chance to get any further, his hand comes up and tangles in it, the backs of his fingers unintentionally brushing against my chest.
‘Love your hair,’ he says quietly, sounding completely entranced. He leans his head down to rest on my shoulder and his relaxation spreads through me as well, and I slouch against the tree with him leaning against me.
His fingers keep stroking through the lengths of my hair, and it’s so weird, so innocent – he’s completely unguarded and vulnerable. I’ve never seen him like this before.
‘Love yours,’ I find the courage to whisper back. It takes everything I have not to press my lips to his forehead. Instead, I tilt my head until it rests against his, and the only sound is the rustle of needles blowing in the breeze in the nearest Christmas trees.
I’m not sure if mutual hair compliments are the strangest thing I’ve ever done with a guy, but I’m definitely the most contented I’ve ever been, sitting here leaning against a tree to the back and a gorgeous Scotsman to the left, so relaxed it would be easy to fall asleep – unless that’s just exhaustion from all the saw-wielding – and his fingers are still weaving themselves through my hair.
‘Tell me about London,’ I blurt out.
‘Capital of England, UK’s largest city, population of about eight million …’
‘Ha ha.’ I reach over and whack his thigh. ‘I meant tell me about what happened to you there. You obviously hate the place.’
‘I don’t hate it.’ He sighs. ‘I hate the person I became there. It wasn’t the city’s fault, it was my own.’
I nudge his arm with my elbow where he’s still leaning against me. ‘You know you have to elaborate on that, right?’
Without moving his head from my shoulder, his eyes shift up and catch mine. ‘Somehow I don’t mind that with you.’ He closes his eyes and settles his head until it’s more comfortable. ‘I was slowly killing myself there. I got a job straight out of university, and I drowned myself in it so I didn’t have to think about the farm and the family I’d left behind. If I was there, working, I could pretend that my dad was still alive and well up here, and if I just didn’t come back, it wouldn’t be real.’
‘What did you do there?’
‘Investment banker.’
‘You?’ I say in surprise. I want to see his face so I can work out if he’s joking or not, but nothing in the world could persuade me to dislodge the way we’re leaning against each other. I settle for my voice rising to a pitch usually reserved for the dolphin species. ‘You were an investment banker? That’s the furthest thing away from anything I can ever imagine you doing.’
‘I think that’s what attracted me to it in the first place. I wanted something that was a million miles from the farm I was supposed to take over after my dad died.’
The hand that’s not tangled in my hair has gradually crept across his lap until it’s resting against my thigh, and I find myself automatically rubbing my fingers over his palm as he talks, my nails catching on the grooves in his work-rough skin.
‘I thought I had my life all under control, but looking back now, I can see I was a total mess. I was working literally every hour in the day. I was existing on energy drinks and scotch from bottles that cost more than my car that we used to impress clients and celebrate good deals. We had a lot of international clients and conference calls and Skype meetings had to be done on their time, so I was often in the office until three or four in the morning. I had the most incredible flat in Canary Wharf and I barely saw it. I’d get in and pass out facedown on the bed, come round a couple of hours later, take off yesterday’s clothes and have a cold shower to wake myself up. Then I’d throw a couple of energy drinks down my throat and start all over again. The only thing I ate was maybe a salad if we had a meeting when a salad cart came round. I was a really horrible person. I was angry all the time, I yelled at people who didn’t deserve it, I was grouchy, skinny, drunk, and so constantly exhausted that I couldn’t think straight. No one in London ever saw me smile.’
I can’t imagine him like that. He seems so strong, solid, and dependable. He’s good-natured and fun to be around even when he’s being grumpy. ‘What made you come back?’
‘Mum had a fall and needed help with the farm. She called me at work, and I was having a really bad day. I was in such a flap that I seriously thought the stress was going to kill me, and she said she’d fallen out in the fields and broken her hip and ankle. Evergreene had found her and got her to hospital, and was sending his workers over because she couldn’t do the physical farm work while she recuperated. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I couldn’t work out what the hell I was doing there, playing with money for people who clearly didn’t need any more of it, and hating every second. I suddenly realised my mum was old, alone, and in need of help, and I hadn’t been home in over ten years.’
‘Is this where the girl you brought back comes in?’
He lets out a laugh. ‘I’m glad to see Fergus and Fiona don’t gossip about me at every chance they get.’
I can’t help giggling too. ‘They may have mentioned it. Once or twice.’
I’m too close to see him blush, but I can feel the heat emanating from his face. ‘And yeah, there was a girl. I thought she was in love with me, and that I wasn’t so closed off and cold that I was capable of loving someone too. With hindsight, I basically paid her to love me. I had money to spare because it was a well-paid job and I never had a chance to spend anything other than the rent. I hardly ever saw her because I was working so much and so bone-crushingly exhausted the rest of the time. I’d give her a call whenever I had an hour free, and then make the mistake of sitting down for a minute, and I’d be unconscious on the sofa by the time she arrived. I was handing her money to make up for it. It would be like, “You’ve come all this way and I can barely open my eyes. Pay for a cab home and here’s a little extra to treat yourself to something nice because you’ve got such a crap boyfriend.” Sometimes I’d have a Sunday afternoon out of the office and we’d go for a walk, but I never put my phone away. I’d constantly be online, watching the stock market, emailing clients, taking calls, and she’d be waiting for me outside a shop with a pretty dress in the window, and I’d feel so bad that I’d send her in to buy it and whatever else she wanted.’
‘Fergus and Fiona said she took advantage of you.’
‘Oh, to be a fly on the wall in that market.’ He laughs again. ‘Looking back now, I can see that I was an emotional wreck and it wasn’t really love, but at the time, I was head-over-heels, and I could somehow convince myself I was normal because I had a girlfriend.’
My fingers rub the fleshy part at the base of his thumb. I love that he trusts me enough to open up, because I get the feeling it’s not something he does very often.
‘I don’t know what I was thinking asking her to come back here with me. She thought it was a joke at first. I made the decision in an instant. Within five minutes of hanging up the phone to Mum, I’d put my resignation letter on my boss’s desk and walked out. I hadn’t shared any part of my life with her before then, she’d had no idea that I’d grown up on a farm or that my dad was dead, it came as quite a shock. And yes, I do now see how unhealthy the relationship was, but I thought we were in love. I knew I hadn’t treated her right in London, and this was going to be a fresh start for us, a new life away from the distractions of the city. I thought that was what she wanted. I thought I was what she wanted.’
I move from
stroking his palm to playing with his slack fingers, trying to be bold enough to slot mine between his and properly hold his hand.
‘Once we got here, I changed instantly. The invisible weight I’d been struggling under lifted the moment we crossed the border into Scotland. I’d been running away for years. I’d always felt like I was trying to outrun something in London, a crushing steel fist of the grief I’d never acknowledged. Here, everything felt right for the first time in years. I slotted back in like I’d never been away, but all she wanted to do was go shopping. She didn’t seem to realise that I wasn’t earning the money I’d had before or that there wasn’t a Harvey Nicks five minutes down the road. I kept trying to get her involved, but she hated every inch of it. It was like she was humouring me, waiting for me to come to my senses and go back to London. I see how it looked like she was taking advantage, but I felt like I’d ruined her life by bringing her here. I tried to make up for it by paying for treats and days out shopping and spa days, but the farm needed investment and what was left of what I’d earned in London had to go on that. When the money ran out, she realised that it was the only thing she’d ever liked about me and left. Turns out that everlasting true love is about as deep as the bottom of my bank balance.’
This time I do slot my fingers between his and his hand closes around mine. ‘I’m sorry, Noel. That’s horrible.’
He shrugs. ‘The only surprising thing was how hurt I was. Somehow I never saw it coming. I’d fooled myself into thinking I was okay because someone loved me, and then I had to face the fact that I’d got so lost along the way that my bank balance was the only thing anyone could possibly like about me.’
Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm Page 21