I squeeze his hand so tightly that I’m sure I hear a few bones crick. ‘Either you’re seeing something that I’m not or you’re very different now.’
I feel his face move against my shoulder as he grins. ‘It was ten years ago. I’ve had a lot of time to straighten myself out. You know how people pay for therapists and stuff?’
I nod, my cheek moving against his hair.
‘Trees are surprisingly good listeners and digging over fields is therapeutic work. Evergreene was ten years older than when I’d left, so was my mum, they both needed help, and it’s good outdoor, fresh air, physical work. It helped. Also, Chihuahuas. Chihuahuas are good.’
I can’t help chuckling at the sentiment. Gizmo would approve.
‘Peppermint Branches is a strange place. You can hide from the world here, but at the same time, you can’t escape the world here. There’s a whole other life that exists only in our Elffield bubble, and you have no choice about being part of it.’
‘Because if you back away, Fergus and Fiona will come along and ply you with gingerbread rhinoceroses and village gossip?’
His entire body shakes as he laughs.
‘The weird part is that I understand what you mean, and in a strange way, I think it might be exactly what I need. I’ve definitely been hiding from the world.’
He looks up at me but I close my eyes and keep my head pressed against his to avoid eye contact.
‘Maybe you need a different world,’ he says eventually. ‘I think when someone you love dies, it changes you. Not on the surface, but deep down inside, there’s a part of you that will never be the same again. What you know doesn’t “fit” anymore. I can’t pretend to know how it feels to lose both parents in the way you did. I’d guess that you do whatever you have to do to get from one day to the next, and the only thing you have to cling onto is the hope that one day it will get better.’
I swallow around the lump that has suddenly leapt into my throat. ‘You’ve got to stop being so nice, you’re going to make me cry again in a minute.’
His fingers curl around mine and his grip on my hand tightens. I expect him to suddenly realise we’re holding hands and do the abruptly jumping up thing, but he doesn’t. ‘Fiona happened to mention you’d been in a relationship with someone who didn’t treat you right.’
‘Oh, she did, did she? I never said that. Her and Fergus have put two and two together and got a mince pie there.’
‘Have they?’ He looks up, forcing me to catch his eyes. His tongue wets his lips, and I have never wanted to cup someone’s face and kiss them so badly, no matter how impossible the angle. ‘Go on, your turn. Tell me about you.’
I groan, even though I’m kind of touched that he wants to know, and honestly, I’d listen to a three-hour seminar on the history of waiting rooms if it meant we didn’t have to move from this spot. ‘I got into a thing with my boss. It wasn’t even a relationship, not really, it was just nice to feel wanted again. It was nice to feel anything again, and he knew that. I was so lonely, and secret clandestine meetings with him gave me something in my life, no matter how pathetic. Everyone in the office knew what had happened to my parents and everyone treated me like I was fragile and liable to burst into tears at any moment.’
‘Yeah, that’s not like you at all.’
I snort even though he’s teasing me, grateful for the unexpected giggle.
‘No one knew what to say or how to act. If there was a joke in the office, no one would share it with me because people felt guilty for getting on with life, like treating me normally was somehow downplaying this monumentally awful thing that had happened. I felt like an outsider. Everyone was scared to talk to me because I was in a permanent state of being four seconds away from a complete emotional breakdown. I didn’t want to be there, but I knew I needed to keep busy. A couple of months later, Steve transferred in as the new head of department, and with hindsight, I can see that he wormed his way into everyone’s affections. He’d take everyone into his office individually and sit down for a cup of tea and a chat, and it seemed like a nice way of getting to know us, but looking back now, I can see that he was very cleverly finding out everything he could about everyone who worked there, their strengths and weaknesses, so he knew exactly what buttons to push when he needed to. He chose the women he knew were vulnerable. I can’t believe I didn’t see it at the time. He made each of us feel special and important, when all he really cared about was what he was going to get from us.’
‘It’s amazing how the most predatory men can spot the most emotionally vulnerable person in their vicinity and home in on them like a penis-driven missile, isn’t it?’
Tears sting my eyes and I turn my head away, determined to blink them back. Steve doesn’t deserve any more tears.
‘So, what happened?’ he asks gently. I know he knows I’m trying not to cry and is keeping me talking as a distraction.
‘Walked in on him shagging one of the other girls on his desk. Called him every name under the sun, poured hot coffee down his naked front, quit the job, vowed never to let a man take advantage of my weakness again, and sat crying in the stairwell for half an hour.’
‘And then drowned your sorrows, had a tipsy peek at an auction for a Christmas tree farm, and the rest is history?’
I nod, quite impressed by how much he’s paid attention to the throwaway comments I’ve made over the weeks we’ve known each other. ‘It was exactly what I needed. Packing and getting ready to come up here took my mind off Steve. It stopped me feeling used, and stupid and weak, because I was taking back control of my life and doing something I never imagined I’d have the courage to do.’ My voice is still shaky, but I realise the words are true as I say them. Buying Peppermint Branches empowered me. It gave me a chance to break the cycle of grief and guilt and move on with life on my own terms.
‘Well, I’m glad you did. Come up here, that is.’
I look down at the dark head of hair which is still resting on my shoulder. ‘I’m starting to think it might not be the worst mistake of my life.’
‘Starting to?’ He finally lifts his head and pushes himself upright, shifting around to face me as stray bits of hair fall across his face. ‘And you say that before you’ve cut hundreds of Christmas trees, learned how to grade every single one with colour-coded ribbon, and sold enough to replant another few thousand in the spring.’
‘What, that little job?’ I say with a grin. ‘Oh, that’s eas—’
He kisses me. His hand slides along my jaw and cups my face as he draws me to him and presses his lips to mine. It’s soft and gentle at first, just a chaste touch of lips on lips. I can feel the outline of his piercing against my skin and it makes me shiver in the most delicious way. I’ve been desperate to kiss him since the moment I caught sight of that silver ball glinting in his lip. My fingers come up and wind in his gorgeous hair and tug him closer and he takes the hint and kisses me harder, his thumb rubbing gently along my jaw, his stubble dragging against my chin. I let out a little moan of desire and he echoes it, and then he’s gone.
He scrambles back onto his knees and runs a hand over his face. ‘I’m so sorry. I think all those berries must’ve got to me. They probably release a mind-altering poison or something in such vast amounts. Hallucinogenic properties in those mistletoe berries, I’m telling you. It’s the only explanation. Or maybe this moss has got some dodgy mushrooms growing in it.’ He runs his fingers through the tufted greenery, looking for evidence.
He’s right, of course. Well, maybe not about the mushrooms, but kissing him is the last thing I intended to do. If mistletoe berries aren’t known for their psychedelic properties, then his aftershave might be.
He yanks the backpack over and starts clearing up the debris from our picnic, his fingers shaking so much that he keeps dropping things, his cheeks flaring so adorably red that I want to throw my arms around him, but I force myself to be sensible. I swore no men, only trees. Just because he’s got a tattoo of a tree, it doesn’
t count.
‘Well, you’re supposed to kiss under a sprig of mistletoe, you certainly have to kiss when you find a whole tree of the stuff, don’t you?’ I say, desperate to ease the weird tension that’s shot through the clearing. It’s not like he did anything wrong because I wanted to kiss him too. But running a Christmas tree farm is complicated enough without adding Noel to the mix, and I can’t make another mistake like I did with Steve.
‘Aye. Wouldn’t want to anger any ancient druids.’
It makes me giggle and he looks up and meets my eyes with a grin that looks forced, but it does ease the atmosphere between us. It’s just because we were both a bit raw and exposed after talking so openly. It didn’t mean anything.
On the plus side, if there are any ancient druids looking down on us, we definitely made them blush.
Chapter 13
I open my eyes and groan when I see 01:03 blinking from my alarm clock on the cabinet. It’s Thursday night, and we’re taking the first of the cut Christmas trees to the market tomorrow, alongside the Christmas tree competition, which is being judged at lunchtime. Market traders and people from local businesses have been rushing around all week putting the finishing touches to their trees, and tomorrow is the day that local schools have arranged trips to the market so the children can pick their favourite tree. The winner will get the new town Christmas tree decorated with their winning design. The council came to collect the tallest Peppermint fir and have installed it on one of the hills between the market and the road, clearly visible from the busy dual carriageway. It’s something a bit different when it comes to exposure and advertising, and most local businesses have jumped at the chance to get involved in the festive fun at the market, even if they don’t win.
It’s the right time to start stocking pre-cut trees on the stall. After all the cutting practice yesterday, today Noel and I left the farmhands shearing and weeding, and went to cut a selection of trees, brought them back to the barn, tagged them with species and size, and netted them with a big tunnel-type machine that Evergreene had in one of the outbuildings. It’s a metal contraption that you thread net around the edge of and pull the cut tree through by its trunk so it picks up the net on its way out, covering its branches and holding them in tight to make the tree stackable and easier for transporting. A pile of trees is waiting in the driveway to load into Noel’s truck in the morning, a few of each variety – the Norway spruces, the Nordmann firs, the Blue spruces, the Balsams, and the Peppermint firs.
We didn’t talk about the mistletoe kiss.
I’m exhausted after such a long day of cutting, hauling, heaving, pushing, pulling, and stacking. I never thought I’d be able to say that driving a tractor was the easiest part of my day, but with so much cutting practice, my tree stumps no longer look like they’ve been chewed off by a hyperactive beaver, and I’ve found bones in my shoulders that I didn’t know existed before because every inch of them aches. I should be asleep by now, but the excitement of actually selling a tree tomorrow is keeping me awake. This will be the first time I find out if strangers think my trees are good enough to buy, and it’s a scary prospect. In the past few weeks, I’ve worked harder than I ever have before in my life, but none of it will matter if no one buys.
After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, I give up and go downstairs for a cup of tea. Sleep is clearly not happening anytime soon. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hear a noise coming from outside. I stand inside the door and listen for a moment, just to be absolutely certain that it’s not the growling of mountain lions, then I open the door and go down the three steps to the driveway.
It sounds like the whirr of an electric sander on wood. It’s intermittent, like someone is stopping and starting again, and it’s coming from somewhere behind the house. I go across the garden, past the caravan, and walk down the narrow path towards the patch of wasteland where nothing grows. On my side there’s the barn and Evergreene’s collection of stone outbuildings and tin sheds, and on Noel’s side there’s one huge barn and a couple of old stables that he uses for storage.
The main double doors at the front of the barn are closed, but the side door is cracked open and there’s light spilling from under it, and I step over the short wall dividing the land to get a bit nearer.
When the sanding noise stops for a moment, there’s the low hum of Christmas music coming from inside. I stand still and listen to the dulcet tones of Cliff Richard’s ‘Mistletoe and Wine’ before the sander starts up again. It can only be Noel.
Somewhere in the trees, an owl is hooting persistently. He obviously appreciates Cliff’s Christmas classic too.
I go to invite myself in, but a shiver makes me realise how cold I am. I didn’t think to put a jacket on over my pyjamas, and it’s freezing tonight, and I know that if Noel’s got any heat in there, it’ll only be the little heater he brought me on the first night. Instead of going straight in, I go back to the house and pull on the coat that’s hanging by the door and wrap it around myself, freezing after only a few short minutes outside on such a cold night. In the kitchen, I make two large mugs of tea and grab a packet of biscuits. If he’s outside working on a sub-zero night like this, you can guarantee he needs a cuppa and a chocolate digestive.
I’m purposely quiet as I carry the two mugs back to the barn, the packet of biscuits leaning precariously out of my jacket pocket as I slide the door open with my foot and freeze in shock.
Inside the barn, Gizmo is wearing a purple knitted hoody and sitting on the bench of a huge wooden sleigh while Noel sands the side. Neither of them have heard me come in above the noise of the sander, and it gives me a chance to look it over in awe. It’s huge. Plain, unfinished wood, with a bench at the front easily big enough for two people, and another two benches facing each other in the back. There’s metal glinting from the wide ski-like runners, and smoothly curved edges all around that make you want to run your hand over them. The barn is heavy with the scent of freshly sawn wood, and above the noise of the sander, I can hear a hint of Paul McCartney singing ‘Mull of Kintyre’. I can’t tear my eyes away from the sleigh. I can instantly imagine it painted red with gold edges and sparkly snowflakes, happy families sitting on the benches, drinking hot chocolate with their chosen Christmas tree propped up nearby. He must have built the whole thing from scratch … but why? Why is he making a sleigh?
I wait until he stops sanding the rounded side before I speak. ‘Wow.’
Gizmo barks and jumps up, instantly diving off the bench and down the step from the sleigh to the floor. ‘Hello, lovely,’ I say as he rushes over, his tail wagging like a propeller. My hands are full so I balance on one leg and gently pet him with my foot.
When I look up, Noel’s put the sander down and is pulling his gloves off. ‘Sorry, I was trying to be quiet. I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘You didn’t.’ There’s a metal tool cabinet near the door so I put the teas and biscuits on that, and crouch down to give Gizmo a proper rub. When I stand back up, he dashes across to the sleigh, jumps up the step and back onto the bench, and I follow him for a closer look at the festive masterpiece.
Noel steps away while I walk around it, running my fingers over silky curves and edges carved into smooth swirls. The lines and knots in the wood make it look rustic and pretty, and beautiful in an imperfect way. ‘How can you be so talented that you can make a sleigh?’
He picks up a mug of tea and hides his face behind it. ‘I hope one of these was for me because I’ve just hijacked it if it wasn’t.’
‘You’re allowed take a compliment, Noel.’
‘I was making it for Evergreene. The wood is from his own fallen Christmas trees. I didn’t get it completed before he died, but now it looks like you’re staying, I thought you might like it instead. I’ve been out here for the past few nights to see if I can get it finished by December. It’s really nothing.’
I look over the top of the sleigh at him but he just stands there breathing in the steam from the
hot tea without looking up. Building a sleigh from scratch is not nothing.
‘How did you know these were my favourite biscuits?’ He opens the packet of biscuits and stuffs a whole one into his mouth.
I roll my eyes at his determination to never take a compliment. ‘They’re chocolate digestives – they’re everyone’s favourite biscuit.’
Gizmo is sitting in the sleigh with his nose twitching in the direction of said biscuits, so I reach over and rub his ears again and he turns into my hand. ‘What are you two doing out here at this time of night when I know how early your start is?’
He checks his watch like he’s got no idea what the time is. ‘Well, it was much earlier when I started, and I’ve just carried on.’
I watch the way he’s mainlining chocolate digestives like they’re going out of fashion. ‘Have you had anything to eat or drink?’
‘No, that’s why I love you.’ Panic flashes across his face and he frantically nods to the tea and biscuits. ‘For these, obviously. Not for anything else. I didn’t mean …’
I blush almost as much as he is, but I don’t know why I’m blushing. Obviously he didn’t mean anything else by it. ‘Can I get in?’ I gesture to the sleigh to stop myself thinking about why either of us are blushing so fiercely.
‘Of course. That’s what it’s designed for. If I can get it finished in time, I thought it would make a great place for the Santa you’ve hired to sit and meet kids, a cool backdrop for photographs taken with him. I know you were thinking of hiring a grotto, but I think it’s too late in the year for that.’
I’ve managed to book a man to play Santa through an agency, and Glenna suggested either hiring a grotto or putting up a little shed myself, but I ran out of time to do either. And now he’s made me a sleigh. ‘Noel, this is …’ I trail off as tears fill my eyes. This is unreal.
‘Evergreene was intending to take on a herd of reindeer. There are a lot of concerns about reindeer being used for entertainment purposes now so it’s probably not such a good idea, but if you ever wanted to keep horses in the future, it’s light enough to be pulled by a working horse. You could offer sleigh rides around the farm in a real “one horse open sleigh”.’
Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm Page 22