‘I cried in front of him on the first night, Chels. I told him about Mum and Dad. He knew I was vulnerable. He—’
‘I know Steve took advantage, and I know catching him like that hurt you much more than you’ll admit, but not all men are like that. Noel could be a genuine good person who wanted to help someone who needed it.’
I pick up the doormat and jiggle it around to shake off the snow that’s blown in, then I close the door and wander back towards the kitchen with the phone to my ear. ‘No one is that kind. He’s invested in Peppermint Branches being a success this year because he wants a strong customer base ready for next year after the trees have all been cut badly and the saplings have all died because I planted them wrongly and I’ve run out of money to fix the problems, and he can swoop in to buy me out. He knows exactly how tight my budget is – I told him on the first night.’
‘Just because Steve was a git …’
‘At least Steve was honest about what he wanted. Noel wanted Peppermint Branches – he just conveniently didn’t mention it.’ I lean my elbows on the kitchen unit and look out at the blanket of white outside, the huge white flakes fizzing around in the air. ‘He let me share his market stall at no cost.’
‘I thought you said he didn’t need the space once pumpkin season was over.’
I ignore the little pang. He did say that, and Fergus and Fiona did tell me it was nice to see his stall in action after October because usually it goes quiet. ‘And what about the trees? The Peppermint firs, Chels. He’s been taking care of this certain type of tree that Evergreene grew. He said it was because they were a special, scientifically perfect variety, but how can I ever tell now? How can I trust anything he’s said?’ My voice wobbles and I have to stop myself and take a few deep breaths, because I did trust him. I trusted him so much, and now I keep going over everything he’s ever said and questioning his hidden motives. I wish I could go back to before I knew and carry on thinking how lucky I was to have moved in next door to the most generous and thoughtful neighbour in existence.
‘If you didn’t care about him, you wouldn’t be so upset,’ she ventures. I can tell from her tone of voice that she’s half-expecting me to hang up on her.
I did care about him – that’s the problem. I’ve never felt the way Noel makes me feel before. And now to find out that he’s hidden something that changes everything …
The wind howls, making such a screaming noise outside that it echoes how I feel on the inside. Half the roof of an outbuilding sails past, crashing into the skeletal trees and lodging itself on the wire fence on the opposite side of the road.
‘I don’t need him.’ I watch the fence slowly sag under the weight of the roof. ‘I bought this place because I wanted to run a Christmas tree farm, not because I had a sexy neighbour to help me. Nothing has changed from when I got here. I’ve already learnt loads – enough to get me through the first Christmas season, and then I’ll have plenty of time in January to learn what to do in the spring. I’ve got farmhands working for me now. I can put a trailer on my car and deliver trees to customers and transport them to the market. Stall leases will open up in the new year, and Fergus and Fiona are bound to have their ears to the ground about that one, so if I can get in quick enough then I’ll have my own stall. I don’t need him.’ I say it again for emphasis but I’m not sure which one of us I’m trying to convince. I was out of my depth six weeks ago, but I’m not now. I don’t need him, but it’s been nice to have him, and not just because he’s full of advice and he’s not entirely disagreeable to look at. It’s because he makes me laugh. He makes me feel special. He catches my eyes across the busy market and it makes me feel like we’re the only two people there. It’s because his kisses are so gentle but so full of passion and need and desire, and his hugs are something that should be sold as a cure for all the world’s ills, the way his arms wrap around me and squeeze just a little bit too tight and linger for just a little bit too long – just long enough to make me feel like the most precious thing he’s ever touched.
I don’t realise I’m crying until tears drip onto the unit.
No wonder I swore off men before I got here. This sort of thing doesn’t happen if you stay single.
Chelsea must hear me sniffle because she does that changing the subject thing when she isn’t really sure whether I want to change the subject or whether she should let me cry for a bit. We’ve had many conversations like this since my parents died. ‘I wish I was closer. I’d buy a tree for every room and proudly tell everyone that my best friend grew them.’
I half-snort and half-laugh at the idea of Chelsea having a tree in each of her miniscule rooms. ‘At this stage, the trees are anything from five to ten years old. I didn’t have anything to do with growing them this time around. I’ve got my predecessor, Mr Evergreene, to thank for that.’
‘Probably just as well because we can barely fit a tree into the living room as it is, Lewis would lose the plot if I came home with one for each room. Unless they’re really tiny. Have you got any tiny ones that would survive a journey in the post? It seems wrong that my best friend’s got a Christmas tree farm and I’m getting a dusty plastic one out of the attic.’
I stand up straighter. ‘That’s actually an amazing idea. How many people would be thrilled to have a tiny tree? Loads of people must be without the space for a big one but would still like a real Christmas tree, and there are loads here. The years without shearing have allowed the mature trees to produce cones and their winged seeds have spread on the wind and sown themselves. Little trees are springing up everywhere. Noel said they need digging up and putting through the shredder because they’re not evenly spaced and they could’ve cross-pollinated with an unknown wild tree and grow up without the characteristics that customers want in their perfect Christmas trees. Why aren’t I selling them? I could slash them into the traditional shape, plant them into pots and sell them as little tabletop trees. Most of them are only about a foot tall. They’d be easy enough to pack and send in the post. I could have a website and sell them online.’
‘Are they going to grow big though? I’d love one but you’ve seen the size of my garden, I couldn’t plant it afterwards, and we’ve already had leaflets through the door saying the council are going to charge us thirty quid if we leave the Christmas tree out with the recycling. It’s a shame you can’t rent them out for Christmas and then take them back.’
‘Oh my god. Chelsea, that’s brilliant!’ I yelp in excitement as my mind is flooded with plans. Renting Christmas trees is a fabulous idea. There must be so many people in the same position as Chelsea who would love a real tree but stick to a plastic one because it goes neatly back into its box in January. A real tree is a big thing to have to find something to do with afterwards. If you can’t plant it in your own garden, you’ve either got the responsibility of taking it to the tip or paying the council to get rid of it for you. What if it could come back here? What if I could deliver it at the beginning of December and pick it up in January? People could rent the same tree every Christmas. They could watch it grow every year. My dad would’ve loved that idea. He was always so sentimental about his Christmas trees. They were planted in the garden every January until we ran out of space. When I was young, I remember him getting the arborists in to cut down the oldest ones which had shot up to thirteen feet tall. In more recent years, the tree would stay up until Mum shouted at him about it being bad luck to leave it up after Twelfth Night on the fifth of January, and then he’d carefully lay it in the back of the car and take it to the tip. He would have been delighted at the prospect of having one for Christmas, sending it back to the farm and having it tagged with our family name, and then having the same tree back again the following year, a little bigger and a little fuller – the family Christmas tree. ‘I’m going to look into this idea. I could block out a whole field for returning trees so they’re all in one place and not confused with the trees that are for sale. It’s too late for this year, but I’ve got ten months ahead where I�
�ve got to work out the best way to make this a successful business. I need to find out if this is financially viable and what kind of area I could cover. This is such a brilliant idea. Thanks, Chels.’
‘See?’ She says. ‘Girl power, circa the Spice Girls, 1996. You’ve got this. You don’t need some sexy Scottish pumpkin farmer to help you.’
The wind slams against the house again, hitting it so hard that the building shakes, and I watch in dismay as one of the dormant trees in the distance suddenly lists to one side and slowly crashes down onto a bed of silent snow, sending up a storm of mud and snowflakes as the huge rootball at its base lifts from the ground and covers the now horizontal tree with a shower of earth.
‘How can the weather be so bad there that I can hear it through the phone?’
Thunder cracks behind a far-off mountain even though it’s still too light to see any lightning, as if trying to answer Chelsea’s question for me. ‘It’s awful. We don’t have storms like this down in London. Apparently it’s a blizzard coming in from Scandinavia that’s hitting land right at the corner of Aberdeenshire, only about twenty miles from here. People at the market have been talking about it for days but I didn’t think it was going to be this bad.’
‘It sounds awful.’
‘I’m going to go and have a look around. I’ve already lost at least one tree, probably more judging by the amount of creaking wood I can hear, and whatever’s in the shed where that roof came from needs to be protected from the elements. I’ll talk to you later, okay?’
‘Leah, be careful,’ she calls after me as I hang up.
I shove my arms into a hoodie and shrug a waterproof coat over the top of it, pulling it tight around me. I yank my welly-boots on and brace myself to go outside.
The blizzard slams into me from all sides as I spit out a mouthful of snow and pull my hood back up from where it’s flapping behind me, trying to make a break for freedom from the rest of the coat.
The wind tears the gate out of my hands as I go to open it, and I have to chase it until it clatters against the fence on the opposite side of the lane and drag it back to secure the latch. I pull my hood tight and shove my hands into my pockets as I trudge down the lane, the depth of the snow making it hard to walk. I told Iain and the other two workers not to come in today, even though there’s still so much to do and we really need all hands on deck. According to the news, there’s transport disruption across the whole east side of Scotland, there are trees down across roads and railways, and it seemed too dangerous to work amongst trees when the wind is this strong.
I tell myself it’ll be better tomorrow while I peer into the Nordmann fir field, the wind banging the heavy wooden gate against the post like it weighs nothing, clattering with every gust. Two trees are down and one of the tallest ones is leaning precariously against its neighbour. It’ll be extra work to remove the fallen and damaged ones before Saturday and make sure it’s safe again, but there aren’t as many casualties as I expected given how bad it sounds out here.
Further around the track, the Peppermint fir field looks pretty much unscathed, and as I turn away from the gate and start traipsing towards the bridge, I hear a shout.
‘Leah!’
Bollocks. Bollocks bollocks bollocks. Noel’s through the hedge and dashing between the Peppermint firs before I have a chance to turn and run. I should have known he’d be out checking things on his farm too and been more careful to avoid him. I’ve seen him in the distance a few times since Friday and managed to sneak away before he’s caught sight of me, but there’s nowhere to hide this time. I’m going to have to face him.
My heart is hammering in my chest at the thought of seeing him again, and not in the same way it was last week.
He puts a foot on the gate and vaults over it rather than pushing it open, landing with a thud in the deep snow. At least he’s dressed for the weather in snow boots up to his knees and a thick padded coat down to his thighs, a red scarf is wrapped across his face, under the hood of the dark coat which is curled around his face like an Eskimo.
He pulls the scarf down so he can speak. ‘At the end of this, we’re going to wake up in Oz with a witch’s legs sticking out from under the house.’
‘I’m sure we are.’ I give him a tight smile.
I see the hurt cross his face. He’s not stupid. He knows I’m not pleased to see him and it makes something ache inside of me. ‘What are you doing out in this?’
‘Making sure everything’s battened down. Did you see half the shed roof go flying off just now? Have you got any damage?’
I wave my hand vaguely towards the Nordmann firs. ‘A few trees down. Nothing I can’t handle.’ The cold air bites my fingers and they’re tingling within seconds. I quickly pull my hand back inside my sleeve as he turns around to survey the area.
‘I did a circle of my land this morning to check for damage, I couldn’t help noticing you’ve lost a few in the lower fields too, and that was only the parts I could see. There’ll probably be more before this blizzard ends.’
I shrug and look down. ‘Oh well, these things happen.’
When I look up, he’s turned back and is watching me with a raised eyebrow. He knows there’s something wrong, and I try to hold his gaze, to challenge him, because he has no right to act like I’m the one who’s done something wrong here.
‘Things are going well at the market. Visitors are up, and the whole of Elffield is busier than it has been in years because of the news coverage, the tourists are loving it all, and the main Christmas shopping season hasn’t even started yet. No one’s going to knock down something this profitable. They’ve already taken Elffield off the list of contenders for the bus interchange. It’s not the answer to all our problems, but we’ve saved ourselves for now, and the council have agreed to a meeting with the stallholders in the new year to make a plan going forward.’
‘That’s good.’ That’s not just good, that’s brilliant. We did it – the one thing we set out to achieve, even if it’s only for a year and next Christmas we’ll have to do something bigger and better. I want to jump on him and cheer and celebrate, but what I actually do is burrow the toe of my welly-boot down into the snow until I can press it against a stone.
‘The Cinderella tree went viral on Twitter, and the council sent workmen out to decorate the big tree near the motorway. My phone’s been ringing off the hook with enquiries for next year. I’ve already signed contracts with two more shops to stock my pumpkins next October.’
‘Good. You work hard. You deserve it.’ It sounds disingenuous even though I mean it. He does work hard and he deserves success.
He looks frozen as he hovers there, and I know he’s trying to figure out what to say. There have never been awkward silences between us before. I’m being off with him, but I can’t bring myself to come out and tell him I know. He knows I’m being cold and clipped, and any other day, I’d have thrown my arms around his neck and squealed in excitement at the good news, but I don’t know what to say to him, and I was hoping to avoid him for a bit longer while I figured it out.
He looks around like he’s desperately searching for words to fill the silence, his eyes eventually settling on the bridge I was about to walk across. He takes a few steps towards it. ‘The river’s frozen solid. It’s been a long time since I saw that happen.’ He brushes snow off the bridge railings with glove-covered hands and gestures for me to come closer. ‘It’s a picture-perfect winter postcard.’
I shuffle towards him, knowing he can tell how reluctant I am. He turns to give me a soft smile, and his hood blows down which is nearly my undoing. His hair is up in a ponytail but more bits of it have blown out than remain in and the wind tangles them around his face. His ears are red from the cold, and the snow lands in flakes on his hair, and it’s so cold that they don’t even start to melt from body heat like snow usually does when it lands on you. He doesn’t bother to put the hood back up, and every part of me is screaming to wrap my arms around his neck and pull him
down to me. He looks completely dejected as he lingers, waiting for me to clue him in on what’s changed between us.
‘Do you want to give the hot chocolate machine a final test run to warm up?’ I offer against my better judgement.
‘No, because I can see how much you don’t want me to and I’m not about to push myself in where I’m not wanted. I just want you to tell me what I’ve done wrong.’
‘Noth …’ I go to tell him it’s nothing but I cut myself off because being the other bidder in the auction isn’t nothing, but I can’t find the words to tell him what it is, and I don’t want to hear his excuses. I hate seeing him looking so hurt. I want to hug him so badly that I’ll believe anything he tells me, and I can’t fall for it again.
He shakes his head when I don’t answer. ‘I had to mess it up sooner or later. I suppose I should be grateful that it was sooner. I must’ve saved us both a lot of heartache down the road.’
‘Noel …’ I look out at the frozen river, snaking its way across the farm until it disappears under a hedge and through the empty land next door. It’s an impressive sight and looking at it is easier than trying to think of what to say to Noel.
‘Is it because I kissed you? I thought you were into it, but if I overstepped a mark or something … I’m so sorry.’
Oh god, Noel, don’t apologise for kissing me. I swallow around the lump that springs to my throat at how sincere he looks. He genuinely thinks I’m annoyed with him because of that breathtaking kiss the other night. If only it was that simple.
‘I know you’re avoiding me.’
‘I’m not avoiding you.’ My voice comes out hoarse and unstable. ‘Just busy. Preparing my Christmas trees, for my business, which I bought, for me.’
I can see the cogs turning in his head as he tries to figure out what I mean. ‘Every time I catch a glimpse of you out in the fields, by the time I’ve climbed across the hedge and come over, you’ve disappeared. I know better than anyone how easy it is to hide in these trees. I just didn’t expect you to be hiding from me.’
Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm Page 27