Merry Mistletoe: Kindle Single (Tales From Appleyard Book 1)

by Emma Davies

  By rights she should probably be feeling awful. It was a long time since she’d drunk alcohol like that, and mixed with strong painkillers it was a heady cocktail she had consumed. She was surprised to find, however, that she felt remarkably fine, and even – spurred on by the delicious smell of bacon – ready for an enormous breakfast.

  She pulled on her furry slippers and went to see which way the land was lying.

  ‘Aye aye, the boss is up Sam, more rashers required in the pan,’ said Amos as she walked into the room. ‘Good morning Freya, Merry Mistletoe!’

  ‘Merry Mistletoe Amos,’ she returned. ‘I’d forgotten what day it was.’ She paused for a moment, head on one side. ‘It seems a bit daft I know … with everything that’s happening, but I wondered if we might bring the mistletoe in today anyway, like we would usually do … just for old times’ sake.’

  ‘Already taken care of. Sam and I were just going to have some breakfast and then we’re ready to go. It’s all in the barn waiting.’ He eyed Sam, waiting to take his cue if required. ‘It might still be a bit wet mind, it’s been snowing pretty heavy again this morning.’

  She crossed to the window to have a better look, pulling her dressing gown around her a little more tightly. ‘Hey, look at that lot. Typical isn’t it, the one year there isn’t a white Christmas forecast and it catches us all out.’

  Sam cleared his throat. ‘Actually it might not be a bad idea to bring the mistletoe in this year. We might need her help.’

  Freya turned to look at him, and tried out a small smile. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well I’ve just had a rather difficult conversation with Stephen. Perhaps you’d better come and sit down.’

  Sam could see that she was still apprehensive about things. This wasn’t going to be the easiest of conversations and he was well aware of the potential it had to totally screw things up. He waited until Freya was seated before pouring her some tea, relinquishing his bacon cooking duties to Amos.

  ‘I probably don’t need to bore you with the details as such, I know you’re well aware of the things that Stephen gets up to, but I have to admit that his latest escapade is breath-taking even by his standards. I think you should probably give your solicitor a ring Freya, just to check, but unless Stephen’s bank has had a radical change of heart, they aren’t going to lend him the money he needs to buy Appleyard.’

  She stared at him blankly.

  ‘You’re going to lose the sale on the house Freya,’ he added, just in case there was any doubt.

  ‘Yes I got that,’ she replied, her face pale. ‘What intrigues me though is your use of the possessive pronoun.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘He needs to buy Appleyard,’ she reiterated, ‘that’s what you said. Things Stephen gets up to, Stephen’s bank. Where is the ‘we’ in that statement, only I thought I was selling the house to both of you?’

  Amos moved the frying pan off the heat. ‘We were just about to have that conversation Freya,’ he said. ‘You’re lucky you missed Stephen, he was extremely unpleasant. A very foolish, irresponsible young man, and rather manipulative too, I think.’

  Freya ignored his intervention. ‘So what did he come around for then Sam? I doubt it was to break the news to me gently. And coming over here in all this snow? Stephen never puts himself out for anyone so he must have been pretty keen to see someone, and I can only surmise that must have been you.’

  Sam began to feel uneasy. He was grateful to Amos for trying to stick up for him but judging by the tone in Freya’s voice she believed there was something underhand going on and Sam was keen to distance himself from Stephen. This was his mess after all.

  ‘Stephen came around to ask for my help basically, to bail him out of his latest scrape by lending him money so that the sale could continue on this place. I refused.’ He swallowed carefully.

  ‘Big of you,’ she said. ‘I still don’t understand.’

  ‘Well it’s not unusual in situations like this for a mortgage to be raised against one property to help to buy another. That’s what Stephen was trying to do. Trouble is that unbeknownst to me he’s already mortgaged Braeburn to help pay off some of his debts, debts which incidentally still exist. The bank won’t lend him the money, it’s as simple as that. I’m not involved in any of this because I don’t own Braeburn, Stephen does.’

  Freya stared at him. ‘What do you mean you don’t own it, since when?’

  ‘Since Dad died and left everything to Stephen.’ He held up his hand. ‘Hang on let me finish. ‘What did your dad used to say about mine?’

  ‘He called him a wily old bird, the sharpest business brain around.’

  ‘Exactly, and he was, and he also knew both his sons very well. He called us together a few years before he died to discuss his affairs and he gave us a choice. He could leave Braeburn to both of us, or only one of us, in which case the other would inherit financially but would never own the orchard. If he left it to both of us we had to run the business together, and if he left it to only one of us, the other would be granted permission to live there for as long as Braeburn remained in the other’s possession. He was giving me an out Freya.’

  Amos placed three plates of sandwiches down on the table. ‘As you say, a very astute man.’

  ‘No, I still don’t get it. Why would you give all that up Sam, why let Stephen win?’ asked Freya.

  ‘I haven’t let him win. Dad knew that Stephen would never want to give up Braeburn, but he also knew that if we had to run the farm together it would be a disaster. I would have hated it, so he did the best thing he could think of which was to give me the opportunity to carry on living there but to leave me with an investment that I could use for my own future when the time was right. I think he hoped that Stephen would change his ways and make the best of the opportunity he’d been given too, but he’s done exactly what Dad worried he would do. He’s frittered everything away, and now he’s lucky if he’ll have anything left. I didn’t realise it at the time, and I know Dad hoped everything would turn out fine, but he wanted to protect me from going down with the ship. I think I’ve just realised how astute he actually was.’

  ‘And how much he loved you,’ said Amos.

  The words hung in the air for a few moments, settling between them all.

  ‘So everything at Braeburns is Stephen’s, the fancy lorry, the posh house, everything?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Freya picked at the edge of her cast. ‘And Stephen came to you this morning because he wanted to borrow money from you so he could buy this place?’

  ‘Essentially, yes.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I told him no… I’m setting myself free Freya. Finally.’

  She considered this for a moment while Sam’s stomach churned with anxiety. ‘But do you have the money?’ she asked quietly; too quietly.

  ‘It’s not what you think Freya,’ he said quickly. ‘Please just let me explain.’

  ‘What’s to explain Sam?’ she flashed, turning on him. ‘I can see exactly how it is. You didn’t feel the need to explain any of this before, and I wonder why. Oh, yes, because this is what it’s been about the whole time isn’t it? This stupid bloody rivalry between you and Stephen. And now after all these years you’ve finally got the revenge you’ve waited so long for. I’ve been like a lamb to the slaughter haven’t I? You’ve been keeping me sweet so that you could swoop in at the last minute and buy my house out from under me. Do you even want it Sam, or is it just to get back at Stephen?’ She got up from the table. ‘Well I’ll tell you one thing, I’m not going to be piggy in the middle anymore. I know what I did was wrong but I was just beginning to let myself fall in love with you all over again. I didn’t realise you still hated me quite as much as you do. You can think again about buying this place Sam. Over my dead body you will.’

  She turned and looked at Amos, the tears spilling from her eyes. ‘Excuse me, I need to go and get dressed … and you,’ she added, point
ing a shaky finger at Sam, ‘can get out of my house. Now.’

  Sam braced himself for the sound of slamming doors but none came. Just a deep and all-encompassing silence. He lay his head on the table and groaned. ‘As if I couldn’t see that coming. It’s been inching ever closer, coming at me straight between the eyes, and there didn’t seem to be a damned thing I could do to stop it. She’s not going to listen to me now is she? What the hell am I going to do? I can’t lose her Amos, not again.’

  Amos laid a hand on his shoulder, and paused for a moment, thinking. He took a deep breath.

  ‘You’re going to do what you were going to do before, and that is to help me bring in the mistletoe.’

  Sam lifted his head a fraction. ‘And that’s the sum token of your sage advice is it?’

  ‘It’s very sound advice actually. One, because It will keep you busy for a few minutes, two because it will give Freya the time to fully take in what she’s just learned before you go and speak to her, and three, very importantly, because it’s Mistletoe Day and the mistletoe needs to be on the inside, not in the barn.’

  ‘Amos this is important,’

  ‘Yes it is, I’m glad you agree. Come on then.’

  ‘I meant … this whole thing with Freya.’

  ‘I’m fully aware what you meant,’ he replied, not taking his eyes off Sam for a minute.

  Eventually Sam heaved a frustrated sigh, but rose from the table just the same. He stared at Amos, his eyes dark and questioning.

  ‘It will be worth it Sam believe me. I’m sure you’re well aware of the old-fashioned name for mistletoe. It’s not called Allheal for nothing.’

  Freya sat on the edge of the bed, cold and numb. She wished with all her heart that she had got it wrong. She had even dared to believe that things could be different after last night, but truly, even after all these years, he still hated her. The thought reverberated around her head. It was all lies, everything he’d done for her these last weeks was all a ruse, all a pretence to soften her up, lure her into a false sense of security before he played his final hand. She knew what she’d done had hurt him terribly but she’d truly never meant to. She had thought she was in love. At least now she knew where she stood. She had no idea what to do, but she knew that Sam would come and try to talk to her and she definitely didn’t want to talk to him. In fact there was only one person she did want to talk to. She had to get out of the house.

  It was still such incredibly hard work getting dressed, but she pulled on what she could, not caring what she looked like and went softly back downstairs. The kitchen seemed quiet but she doubled back just the same and went through into the main hallway, pulling open the cloak cupboard quietly and wriggling into the coat that she found there. It was huge on her but meant that at least she could get it around her arm and still button it up. She pulled her red knitted hat on as well and pushed her feet into her boots, opening the front door as quietly as she could. She had no desire to see anyone and instead slipped unnoticed into the white world outside.

  The snow was drifting gently down now, small feathery flakes that settled with the lightest touch onto the mounds already there. Snow on snow. She breathed in the cold air deeply, letting it settle around her, and enjoying the sensation. It seemed right to feel cold somehow. She walked down the path and out onto the lane, picking her way carefully through the ruts. She had no idea how long it would take her to walk, but that scarcely mattered; she had all day.

  She had always enjoyed walking, loving the way it sent her brain into freewheel. She could surrender to the sheer enjoyment of being outside, putting life into suspended animation until she chose to re-join the world once again. Thinking only about putting one foot in front of the other had always calmed her and made her feel in control once more, but today even this feeling deserted her. Her head was just as full of white noise as the day outside, and she couldn’t make any sense of it.

  Their lane turned right onto the main road after about half a mile, and it was trickier here where the snow plough had gone though. The snow had compacted to ice under its wheels and deep piles of snow had been pushed to the sides of the road. It was safer to walk on the verges – less slippy – but with each step her foot sank by about twelve inches, and in only ten minutes her legs felt like lead. She stopped for a moment, tears of frustration fuelling the anger that suddenly reared up inside her. She didn’t want to turn back, but at this rate she knew she’d never make it to the village either, and she was just about to howl with rage when she heard the rumble of a tractor close by.

  She hadn’t realised quite how bad the roads were. Even the tractor had found it difficult to navigate at times but despite the farmer’s caution Freya was still adamant that she wanted to be dropped off in the village. Like most local folk he’d known Freya most of her life and dressed as she was in her dad’s oversized coat, there could only be one place she was headed for today.

  The church looked especially pretty with its blanket of snow, the dark yew and holly hedges vibrant against their white topping. A bright wreath adorned the lych gate and, tucked inside the porch a Christmas tree twinkled with light. At any other time Freya would have appreciated its picture-postcard quality. Today the gate creaked fiercely as it opened, but it did so with ease, the path having already been cleared, no doubt in preparation for tomorrow’s Midnight Mass. She stepped off the path almost straight away, wading through the thick snow amongst the gravestones.

  It saddened her to see the floral tributes half-buried, their colours lost beneath the snow, the weight of it bowing the stems of the roses and chrysanthemums. She crouched beside a grave and lifted the wreath she had placed there over a week ago, its shape only a soft mound in the deep snow. She gently brushed the snow from the greenery, freeing the holly and mistletoe from its cloak and shaking loose what she could. She brought it to her lips for a moment before laying it softly against the icy marble, sweeping the snow from the top of the stone so that none would fall on it.

  ‘Hello Dad,’ she whispered.

  She hadn’t even realised she was crying until a sudden squally gust of wind stung the wetness on her cheeks. She felt hollow inside all over again, just as she had when her dad had died. The last few months had been some of the most painful in her life but gradually a sense of purpose had filled her, and she had woken each day knowing that, although different, her life was still hers to make of what she could. She had felt some of her old spirit returning, and each day confirmed what she was beginning to feel: that she would be okay. Now, it felt as though someone had viciously scrubbed out these pages of her life, leaving them obliterated and ragged, the paper torn and scratched so that nothing could be rewritten onto them.

  The wind was really beginning to whip up now, blowing white flurries of snow across the graveyard, and she shivered as an icy trickle forced its way down the back of her neck. Her arm was beginning to throb from the cold and she stood wearily, the stiffness in her legs making her realise just how long she had been crouched there. A robin swooped to perch on the grave stone, its feathers ruffling in the cold wind. It cocked its head to one side then flew off, landing on a neighbouring stone and immediately swooping away once more. She lost it for a moment before a flash of movement caught her eye. Without thinking she followed it into the church porch where a trug of holly lay next to the Christmas tree. The robin was perched on the handle, a ruby berry held delicately in its beak. It watched her for a moment, its tiny eyes bright, and then flew off once more, leaving a small white feather floating on the wind. In that instant a thought cut through her like a knife.

  She saw Sam’s face as he had looked in the kitchen that morning, not triumphant as she had thought, but desolate at what he believed he had lost. There was nothing in his expression that had been laughing at her, or smug, or even close to hatred. He loved her, after all this time. He had forgiven her in spite of everything she’d done, and she’d give anything to see him again.

  She looked up then, seeing the whiteness outs
ide as if for the first time, and realised that this was no longer the place she should be. She wanted to be among the living. She wanted to be the little robin, who even in the bleakest of times could find what he needed to survive. She pulled her coat around her a little tighter, realising just how cold she was and suddenly scared about how long it would take her to get home.

  A jangling noise in the stillness made her jump, echoing around the enclosed porch. She pulled her mobile out of her pocket, trying to hold it with the hand of her injured arm while she frantically tried to remove her glove with her teeth. The ringing went on.

  ‘Hello,’ she managed eventually, ‘hello.’ But the line just crackled as the voice cut in and out. ‘Sam,’ she tried again, but all she could hear were short bursts of noise and then the line went dead. She stared at her phone. How quickly things had changed. In only a few hours there was no-one else whose voice she’d rather hear.

  With shaking hands she dialled Sam’s number, watching anxiously as the snow began to fall thick and fast, but the call went straight to voicemail. As she stared at the display it suddenly lit up and she jabbed at the accept button, her heart hammering wildly.

  ‘Sam,’ she started, her face falling as she realised that he wasn’t the caller after all. She was struggling to hear, and moved closer to the edge of the porch trying to angle her body out of the wind and snow that tore at her hair.

  The voice cut in loud and clear all of a sudden. ‘Merry!’ she exclaimed, a smile automatically forming on her lips. ‘Oh it’s so lovely to hear your voice.’ A sudden rush of emotion brought the tears rushing back to her eyes. ‘Everything is such a mess, I don’t know what to do.’ Another thought caught up with her then. ‘Oh God … how are you? Is it the baby?’

  ‘I bloomin’ well hope so, what else could possibly hurt this much?’

  ‘Oh Merry!’ smiled Freya, smiling not at her friend’s pain but at her typical matter-of-fact reaction to the things that happened in her life. ‘Where are you, at the hospital?’

  ‘No, just about to leave. Tom is doing the whole running-around-in-a-panic thing, and I thought I’d give you a ring to see how things are. I thought it might take my mind off things, but it seems as if I’ve rung at just the right time.’