I ignore his sarcasm. ‘Can you climb up the bank now it’s like this?’
‘No, there’s that wee beach by the bridge, I’ll go up there.’
‘You cannot stay on your feet and walk all the way back there! Give me your hands and I’ll pull you out.’
He looks dubiously between me and the bridge. The shallow stone beach where we sat when he showed me around for the first time is around a curve in the river from here and you can barely see a hint of the bridge’s railings peering through the rain and mist.
‘Don’t stand there thinking about it!’ I shout at him. ‘Now!’
The bank is steep where he’s dug the sides away, a far cry from the gentle slope he helped me up the other day, and I end up lying down in the mud to anchor myself and holding both hands out to him, wet skin slipping on wet skin when he takes them, inching backwards on my belly as he struggles to get purchase with his feet under the water.
Somehow I manage to pull him far enough until he can get his elbows on what’s left of the grass and wriggle the rest of the way up until we’re both lying in the puddled water, gasping for breath.
He instantly goes to get up, but thinks better of it because he sways before he gets as far as his hands and knees, and he stays in that position, his chest heaving as he pants, his arms shaking from the exertion of the digging and the effort of holding himself up, and probably from the cold too.
I push myself onto my knees and shuffle across until I’m near enough to reach over and brush his dripping hair off his face, unable to not touch him, even though nothing’s right between us.
‘Thank you.’ His voice is wrecked and barely above a whisper, but he turns his head into my hand instead of pushing me off like I expected him to, so I keep tucking the same bit of hair back. He’s breathing hard, and I want to throw a warm blanket over him and wrap him up. ‘You’re freezing.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘No, you’re not. Sod the trees, Noel. You’re more important. Trees can be replaced – you can’t. Go home to dry off and get warm. I’ll stay here and carry on.’
He yanks his head away from my hand and pushes himself up onto his feet. ‘Trying to get rid of me? In case I was in any doubt about how unwanted I am on your farm, trying to save your trees?’
It stings me, probably just as much as it stung him when I said something similar the other day. ‘The opposite, you prat! I bloody love you, Noel, I don’t want to see you hurt.’
He looks down at me sitting in the mud and I look up at him and it takes a few seconds for me to realise what I’ve said and panic. I didn’t even realise I felt that way until the words came out, I certainly didn’t intend to say it to him. After all this, that’s the last thing he was supposed to know and the last thing I was supposed to feel. I decide to carry on from the previous sentence, eschewing that one completely. ‘I mean, these trees are my responsibility, not yours.’
He’s quiet for a minute before he speaks. ‘Sometimes people can help other people out. They can share their problems and their responsibilities because they’re neighbours, friends, or … more. Not because they want anything out of it.’
‘You can’t blame me for thinking what I think. You’re the one who didn’t tell me. I’ve been honest since the day I met you – you haven’t.’
Instead of responding, he walks around pushing at the grass with the toe of his boot, assessing the area. I take it for what it really means – he obviously isn’t going to say anything more.
I try to ignore him, to not watch him or think about what he’s doing when he disappears into the trees. I get to my feet, retrieve my shovel, move further along the riverbank and start digging another channel.
‘The ground’s saturated,’ he calls over when he comes back. ‘Balsams are tolerant of wet soil, but I don’t think the closest ones are going to survive this. The ones further back might be in with a chance if we can stop the river reaching them.’
I look up at the sky, letting the rain batter down on my skin and rinse away some of the mud.
Noel disappears into the trees again, and when he comes back this time, he’s hauling a fallen Christmas tree. He drops it and runs back up the track, disappearing from sight and returning minutes later with a bow saw from the barn. I try not to watch as he starts sawing through the trunk of the fallen tree, separating it from the clump of roots and earth at its base. He looks between the ground, the trees, and the river, and seems to make a judgement before he rolls the trunk of the fallen tree into position.
I can’t pretend I’m not looking. ‘What are you doing?’
His wet hair flies around his shoulders as he turns to look at me like he genuinely didn’t realise I was watching. ‘Using the casualties to protect the others. These are already lost to the storm. The best thing we can do with them is build them up as a dam to save the rest.’
Once again, I think about how lost I’d be without him. From the moment I arrived until right now. How much of this would I have been able to learn on my own? Even now, after six weeks of absorbing his knowledge, I still wouldn’t have thought of something like that. There’s still a voice in my head saying that if he wants Peppermint Branches for himself, of course he’s going to do everything in his power to save the trees, but there’s another part, growing by the second, that trusts him.
When he comes back from another run into the Balsam firs, he’s got another fallen tree, which he saws at the base and rolls alongside the previous one.
I can tell he’s flagging when he goes to get the third one. His shoulders sag and even from this far away, I can see how rapidly his chest is rising and falling, how every time he bends over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath, it takes him longer to get back up.
By the time I’ve dug the second channel all the way out to the edge of the land and back to where Noel is, I’m knackered. My limbs are shaky from the exertion, my legs are burning, my arms are trembling from the frenzied digging, and my fingers are cramping after being wrapped so tightly around the handle of the shovel for so long. Noel’s panting for breath but he doesn’t stop working, pushing a third huge tree trunk into a formation between the river and the Balsams.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says without looking up.
The words hang in the air between us. No emphasis. No explanation. I’m not even certain that he’s talking about the auction.
I push my shovel into the ground and lean on it, letting out a huge sigh. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because of this. Because I knew what it would look like. Because I didn’t intend to get involved. I certainly didn’t intend to fall in love with you.’ He sinks to his knees and leans over, his elbows on his thighs, his chest heaving. He looks so shattered he could collapse.
Every part of me is sodden and heavy with rain, but his words make me feel like the sun has just come out. Butterflies in my belly take flight under sunny skies and rainbows.
‘You’re wrong, you know,’ he says. ‘About everything you’re thinking. I know what it looks like, and I don’t blame you for thinking it, but it’s not that at all.’
The rain is bouncing off his shoulders and all I want to do is wrap myself around him and give him a hug. I force myself to think sensibly and get to the bottom of this while he’s talking. ‘You’ve done so much for this place, spent so much time helping me and teaching me. You’ve let me use your land for the caravan and the space on your stall. You’ve grown trees for me. You’ve gone out of your way to make sure customers come back this year, and from day one, you’ve said I don’t belong here. Why would you do any of that if you’re not planning on being the next buyer? You’ve made it blazingly obvious that you don’t think I’m going to stay.’
‘I thought that. I don’t still think it. You’ve surprised me every day. You’ve impressed me every day with your fresh ideas and positivity. You’ve made me feel excited about life again because of how much you’re excited about this place. I was trying my hardest not to get close t
o you, because the last time I fell in love with someone …’ His voice breaks and he stops.
‘They took everything they could get out of you and then left?’
He looks away.
‘How could you ever think that?’ I ask, even though I already know the answer is because of how badly he’s been hurt before. ‘You’re amazing, Noel. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. You’ve made me believe in myself. You’ve made me believe in magic. You’ve made me laugh when it was the last thing I felt like doing. You’ve made me feel capable of jumping headfirst into this huge life change and like I wasn’t crazy for doing it. And you’ve made me feel like I’m home.’
‘You’ve made me feel things too, Lee. You’ve reminded me of what it’s like to feel, to connect to someone other than a Chihuahua. I was existing in a closed-off box until you got here, and you reminded me of what it’s like to have someone to share your life with, to let someone be part of the good times and the bad. I never thought I’d want to let anyone in again, but I didn’t have a choice with you. You were under my skin from the moment you walked off with my dog on the first day, and I’ve been falling for you every moment since then. You think I haven’t been aware of this lie between us for every second of every day? I missed the opportunity to tell you when we first met, and it just got worse from there. I knew what it looked like. I knew what you’d think because I’d think exactly the same thing. And I was too head-over-heels to risk what I knew would happen when you found out.’
His words make my legs feel weaker than they do anyway. The urge to throw my arms around him doesn’t dissipate, and I kind of hate myself for thinking the worst of him without even giving him a chance to explain. ‘Why didn’t you buy it yourself?’
‘I tried, but Evergreene’s son refused to sell it to me. He hated my guts because Evergreene was like a grandfather to me, but their relationship was strained and uncomfortable. He wasn’t interested in this place. He ransacked it for valuables and handed it over to the estate agent, but no one wanted it. I remained the only offer, he still refused to sell to me, they got fed up with him, he got fed up with no one falling over themselves to throw money at him, and it ended up going for auction.’
‘And you were going to win the bid.’
‘I wasn’t giving up without a fight. Even though he’d refused my offer, I had every right to bid on the auction, and the winning bid is a legally binding contract. He knew it and I knew it. That’s why it took so long for him to give up and send it to auction – because he knew there was a good chance I’d win.’
‘Why didn’t Evergreene just leave it to you?’
‘Because he had more faith in his son than he deserved. He thought that inheriting it would inspire some as-yet-undiscovered sentimental side and bring him back here to become a Christmas tree farmer. All he wanted was for this to stay a family business, for his son to take over from him like he’d taken over from his father and his father from the father before him. I’ll always be second best to his real son, but I love this farm as much as he did, and he would’ve loved you. You’ve got the relentless enthusiasm a place like this needs. And buying a Christmas tree farm without even seeing it is exactly the sort of thing he’d have done.’
‘You’re not second best.’ I sink down beside him and my knees splash droplets of mud over us both. I slide my hand down the side of his face and lift his head, forcing him to look at me. ‘You’re knackered, but you’ll never be second best.’
He closes his eyes against the relentless rain and lets out a long breath, and I brush his hair back where I’m still holding his head up. ‘I’m sorry. I should have told you when I found out and given you a chance to explain. I knew you weren’t like that, Noel, but I shut down and pushed you away.’
‘I should have told you. God, I know I should have, but I knew it would make you question my—’
I kiss him. I half-expect him not to respond, but I can’t stop myself doing it anyway, and my hands tighten in his hair when he surges up and kisses me back, letting out a moan of desire that echoes how I’m feeling too.
His arms slide around my waist and he overbalances, pulling me down with him until I’m lying on top of him in the mud, our wet clothes dragging against each other’s as his lips don’t leave mine.
His hair is wet, tangled, muddy, and so is mine as his fingers stroke through it and pull it aside. His lips trail across my jaw and down my neck, his wet skin sliding against mine, my fingers curling into the sodden material of his long-sleeved T-shirt. Everything’s wet and slippery and I’m pretty sure we’re both covered in more mud than you would generally want from a kiss, but none of it matters, because he’s here and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Everything but his kiss has faded away. I’ve forgotten how cold I am, how wet I am, and how much water is still pooling around us. I haven’t forgotten how shaky my limbs are but I’m not sure if that’s from the digging or just a side-effect of kissing Noel. I vaguely register the rumble of cars on the road and the slamming of doors, but I don’t think anything of it.
‘And you tried to tell us there was nothing going on between you.’ Fiona clears her throat and Fergus lets out a whoop.
‘See? I told you they were getting jiggy with it!’
I’m not sure whether to be horrified or impressed that a man as far into his seventies as Fergus knows the term ‘getting jiggy with it’ and isn’t afraid to use it in public.
Noel and I scramble apart and get to our feet, and I shout across the river to them. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Glenna phoned. Said the farm was in trouble and you needed help. We’re the cavalry.’ Fiona glances behind her as Glenna, Iain and the other two farm workers, the baker, the bookseller, and the candle woman appear. ‘The mostly elderly cavalry who aren’t quite sure what they’re doing and need a bit of direction. And tea!’ She starts dispatching people towards the house for tea, coffee, and pumpkin bread duties, but I interrupt.
‘It’s dangerous. The ground is wet and muddy, you might fall.’ I envision these poor old people flailing around on their backs in the sludge, a tangle of limbs unable to get up with broken hips and dislocated shoulders and legs sticking out at all angles.
‘Oh, never mind that nonsense. Have you seen those two big, burly farmhands? If you think a bit of rain is going to put me off watching them work, you’ve got another thing coming. Opportunities to appreciate men like that don’t come along every day, you know.’
I giggle and the tears that have been threatening finally spill over. Noel drops an arm around my shoulder and tugs me into his side. ‘Why would they do this?’ I turn my face into his wet chest to hide. ‘It’s horrible out here. Why would they voluntarily come out in this?’
‘Because they like you, Lee,’ he says softly in my ear. ‘Because they care about you and this farm and how much work you’ve put into it. You’ve helped all of us at the market – why shouldn’t they help you when you need it too?’
‘Because—’
‘People can be kind without wanting anything in return. Let them. Just because you were stung once doesn’t mean you will be again.’
I slip my arm around his waist and squeeze tight, trying to reflect the same sentiment back at him.
The farm workers come across the bridge and Noel and I explain the situation and what we’ve done so far. Before I know it, there’s a hive of activity all around. The two seasonal lads seem to know exactly what to do, and they start digging another trench to divert the water towards the back of the farm. Iain jumps the fence and starts digging from the empty land on the opposite side to give the water a bigger escape route.
Noel, the bookseller and the baker disappear into the trees and return with yet another casualty while Fergus leans on his walking stick and directs the positioning to build the tightest makeshift flood defence wall possible. Fiona’s supervising the digging like she’s judging a wet T-shirt competition, and Glenna’s at the house with G
izmo, getting the fire roaring and keeping an endless supply of tea, biscuits, and pumpkin muffins coming out.
The rushing of the water is replaced by the chatter of friends and shouts of direction from Fergus, whose skill at building gingerbread houses makes him an expert at building makeshift tree walls.
Glenna puts a hand on my shoulder and pushes a cup of tea into one hand and a pumpkin cupcake into the other, making me jump because I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t seen her coming over.
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ I say, meaning both the tea and calling the others.
‘Of course I did, flower. I came out to check on things when Noel didn’t come back and saw what was happening. If you can’t rely on your friends when you’re up to your neck in water and struggling, when can you? All I did was give Fergus a quick ring, knowing Iain would know what to do. They did the rest.’ The hand on my shoulder squeezes again. ‘We help our own round here, Leah. You’re one of us now whether you like it or not.’
‘Oh, I like it. I like it a lot.’ It should be impossible to cry while holding a cupcake, but my eyes sting again and I have to blink furiously to try to hold back the tears.
These new friends who turned up at exactly the moment that Noel and I couldn’t do any more on our own, expecting nothing in return. None of them are paying any mind to the rain. They’re just getting on with the task at hand.
‘I think you’re just what Elffield needed, and maybe it’s exactly what you needed too.’ She looks me directly in the eyes. ‘And not just Elffield.’
I follow her pointed gaze towards Noel, who’s currently sawing through a tree trunk to fit into the flood defence wall. Like he can sense me watching, he looks up and meets my eyes, and his whole face lights up with a smile.
The kiss that was interrupted is definitely going to be resumed later.
Glenna goes back towards the house, and I pick up my shovel again and start trying to deepen the channels I’ve already dug. There’s so much sodden earth that they’re gradually filling with sloppy mud rather than the water, but I can already see the difference it’s making. It was too frantic earlier with just me and Noel, but with so many hands on board, it’s easy to take a step back and realise that the level of the river is dropping and it isn’t as forceful. The surface water has started to drain into the channels, and I lose track of time as we all work together to stop this being quite such a disaster after all.
Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm Page 29