The Magic of Christmas Tree Farm

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The Magic of Christmas Tree Farm Page 17

by Erin Green


  I approach the house as nerves jingle in my stomach. I’ve shaved and moisturised my legs; there’s no pretending, tonight could be a special night. I’ve even bought condoms in case Nick hasn’t.

  I note that the winter heather under their lounge window has thrived since planting. Good choice, but who’d have imagined as I planted it last autumn that it would look so impressive the first year after I left.

  He opens the front door looking flustered and browbeaten. Our old brown Labrador, Rolo, fusses around Nick’s knees.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, my senses heightened with the anticipation of tonight’s dinner date. ‘Hi there, boy.’ I reach down to pat the dog but Nick bundles me inside unceremoniously.

  ‘Alfie… he’s running late. He and his girlfriend haven’t gone out yet!’ explains Nick, nervously looking over his shoulder and up the staircase as he speaks.

  Great! I take it the father and son honesty chat went well, then.

  ‘I thought you said he was stopping at his friend’s house.’

  ‘He was but their plans fell through and… he called his girlfriend around instead. He said they are going out in a minute to the pictures.’ Nick ushers me straight through into the lounge before hastily pushing me towards the kitchen door, from where an aroma of gorgeous cooking is wafting. I trail clumps of snow through the house, having not had time to wipe my feet properly on entering. Rolo lolls closely behind us. Nick firmly closes the kitchen door behind us, before he exhales.

  Double great!

  ‘Nick. Stop!’

  I look around the kitchen that took me six weeks to choose from a showroom, two years for us to repay the loan for; my gaze falls on the breakfast bar on which I’d left my ‘Dear Nick’ letter.

  ‘You did speak to Alfie? You told him?’ I edge away from the door, but Nick stands guard, his hand snared to the door handle should Alfie attempt to enter.

  Nick balks.

  The dog looks between us and begins to pant.

  Sodding hell.

  ‘Not exactly… I was going to, honest I was, but we started the conversation and…’

  ‘You bailed out. Friggin’ hell, Nick – this isn’t the way for him to find out about us.’ I snap, trying to keep my voice low but wanting Nick to know just how annoyed I am.

  ‘Sorry, it just went wrong.’

  ‘How?’

  Nick leans his shoulder against the wooden door to add weight.

  I see the embarrassment rise in his face.

  ‘I began by saying that I started to see someone and that I was liking the closeness we had and…’

  ‘He mentioned me, didn’t he?’

  Nick slowly nods.

  ‘You might as well tell me.’

  ‘Before I could say any more he jumped in with, “That’ll put Mum’s back up.”’

  ‘Are you serious?’ I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. And from my own son, too.

  ‘How could I carry on with my planned speech? He’d thrown me off track and I couldn’t stop the conversation trail.’

  ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘He just kept saying that you’d never believe that I was fortunate enough to meet and fall in love with someone else other than you and…’

  ‘Our son said that?’ I’ve a good mind to snatch the door wide open and march up to Alfie’s bedroom to prove exactly what I think about his father falling in love. Bloody teenagers – he’s had a girlfriend for all of ten minutes, now he thinks he knows it all. Boy, an unexpected visit from me would wipe the smile off his face.

  A banging occurs on the kitchen door.

  ‘Dad!’

  We both freeze. Nick leans his shoulder against the door.

  ‘Yes, Alfie,’ he calls with a nonchalant tone, holding a palm up to me.

  Bloody cheek.

  ‘Dad, we’re off now. I won’t be late back. The film finishes at quarter to ten so I’ll walk Holly home but… well, enjoy your dinner… with your friend.’ I hear Alfie’s tone change on the word ‘friend’. I can imagine two teenagers giggling on the other side of the door. They won’t be giggling in twenty years’ time if they have the same journey as us. Oh, no, they’ll be bloody grateful for a second chance, despite what their kids think.

  ‘Bye, Alfie. Holly. Stay safe!’ calls Nick, a smile finally dawning, as we hear their bodies move away from the other side of the door.

  ‘Friend?’ I’m incensed. ‘A sodding friend.’

  Nick shrugs.

  ‘It’s not a bad title.’

  ‘It bloody is. Jilly at work is my friend. Phil and Carol are friends… we are not friends.’

  ‘He chose the wrong word. He doesn’t know what to call his dad’s girlfriend, does he?’

  ‘Err Mum!’ I snap, feeling belittled by Alfie’s shallow terminology and Nick’s willingness to accept it.

  ‘Were we not best friends when we were married?’

  ‘No,’ I retort. ‘Husband and wife, lovers, partners… never friends, Nick – despite what other people say. Who wants their spouse as their best friend and lover?’

  We hear the front door slam. Gone.

  ‘Wine?’

  He makes the switch that easily. I answer yes, but I know I’ll be fuming for the next two hours about how our evening has begun. I expected to enter as a guest, instead I’m standing in the kitchen hiding behind a wooden door from my own son. And I still have my coat on!

  Nick pours the wine as I remove my coat.

  I’m about to ask where I can hang it but, given our previous history, I take myself back through to the hallway. A friend or a dinner date might not know where they hang the coats in this house, but I do.

  I return to find two large glasses of wine and bowls of nibbles laid out on the breakfast bar. Nick is donning oven gloves and is bending inside the oven, spooning something in a casserole dish.

  ‘Coq au vin,’ he says, returning the lid, closing the oven door and removing the gloves.

  ‘Really?’ I stifle a laugh on two counts.

  ‘Yes, really. Here.’ He hands me a wine glass. I note just how full it is. Definitely a larger than large glass of wine. Not expecting me to drive home, then, Nick?

  ‘To us,’ he says, chinking the side of my glass.

  ‘To us,’ I mutter, before taking a large sip and settling on a high stool.

  ‘You can go through to the lounge if you wish. I don’t have to watch over this.’

  I shake my head. I’m happy here. Sitting in my old kitchen, watching my ex-husband fuss around cooking dinner is a thing I longed to see, would have given my right arm for, in fact, when we were married. I suppose, I gave my marriage up in order to see this view. A wave of sadness lifts from my stomach. My marriage, our marriage. It ended so swiftly thanks to the courts. I had plenty of time to think, rethink and change my mind, but deep down inside, did I always know this would happen?

  ‘You look sad,’ says Nick, leaning over the counter towards me, glass in hand.

  ‘Have I messed it all up for all of us?’

  Nick shakes his head.

  ‘It’s salvageable, with time.’

  ‘But how will you ever trust me again?’

  Nick shrugs, sips his wine and stares into my eyes. His silence tells me the inner struggle he’s having.

  I nod.

  ‘And Alfie?’

  Nick inclines his head, rolls his lips and pulls a face.

  ‘The boy’s different, Angie. You showed him the reality of relationships… before he’d had chance to experience the nice side and teenage kicks for himself. He’s under no illusion.’

  ‘Holly, is it?’

  ‘Yeah, Holly. She seems a decent kid. She makes him laugh anyway.’

  I feel a pang of jealousy. How can someone else make my son laugh?

  ‘Live nearby?’

  ‘Over the other side of town… the eldest of seven girls, I believe.’

  ‘Don’t they own a TV?’ I laugh, shaking my head at the horror.

  ‘
She’s nice. Decent family, down-to-earth types based on what Alfie says… I haven’t met them yet.’

  ‘Duh! Of course not.’

  ‘Her parents asked to meet me a few days ago – offered us an invite to Sunday lunch. I said I thought it was too early for such tricks but Alfie seems keen.’

  ‘Course he’s bloody keen – he’s copping his first feel of flesh. Christ, Nick.’ My anger flares from nowhere. ‘All boys are keen at that age…’

  ‘Angie… he’s a tad more respectful towards her than that.’

  ‘Don’t tell me what teenage boys get up to, Nick.’

  We fall silent as I remember the teenage kicks I had behind the back of the shops on summer evenings with a plastic bottle of cider and a ten pack of Embassy.

  ‘Anyway, less about Alfie,’ mutters Nick, stroking my cheek. ‘And more about us.’

  I stare into his wide blue eyes. I can see the pain I’ve caused him. Would I trust me in Nick’s position? I don’t like my own answer but vow that, if he allows me to, I’ll make it up to him and Alfie. Though Alfie may prove a tougher challenge.

  The timer on the oven sounds, making us both jump.

  ‘Take yourself through to the dining room, light the candles and I’ll be in in two minutes.’

  I’m grateful for a task; it can busy my hands in preference to downing my wine.

  *

  We lie on the sofa, lights dimmed, limbs entwined, watching a rerun of Die Hard. The wine bottle is empty, the two spent glasses lay toppled over beside the sofa and Nick gently strokes my neck as he stares at the TV screen and I watch his face from the corner of my eye.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Nine.’

  ‘Oh.’

  We stare at the screen some more.

  ‘Have you got work tomorrow?’

  ‘Yep, the eight twenty-two train into Birmingham,’ mutters Nick, his eyes not leaving the screen. His index finger continues to stroke the base of my neck.

  ‘You got condoms?’

  ‘What?’ His tone is one of shock.

  ‘Condoms. Rubbers. Whatever you want to call them.’

  ‘Angie… we were married for eighteen years – have I ever used…?’ I watch as he struggles to say the word, let alone use one.

  ‘Sorry, but things have changed in recent months and, well, I need to be honest with you – if we venture down that path then it’ll need to be condoms.’

  Nick hastily untangles his body and sits up, grabs the TV remote and mutes Bruce Willis.

  ‘Are you saying that… you’ve already slept with other people since we divorced?’

  I nod. I did mention it before. I’m not shying away from this. This is the new me. The honest, truthful, direct me, Angie Woodward, honest to the core.

  ‘Seriously, Nick, we need to talk about this. The world has changed since we were kids and bonking… well, they don’t call it that any more, but anyway, couples need to talk about sex before they decide…’

  Nick simply stares.

  I’ve caught him totally unaware. What the hell did he think would occur having shared a bottle of wine, lounged on the sofa and with the entire house to ourselves? Nothing? Oh, yeah, well, that was the good old days of our eighteen-year marriage, but this, this was supposed to be our brand-new, mark-two experience and, to be fair, I was expecting a new man.

  ‘How many?’

  I shake my head. That’s none of his business.

  ‘This is it, all you need to know is that I was safe, that I protected myself and that if I apply the same rules with you… your sexual health won’t be compromised.’

  ‘Compromised. Are you for real?’ He’s now moved away, sitting at the far end of the sofa like a frightened virgin at a stag do.

  I raise myself to sitting. Obviously, he wasn’t expecting this.

  ‘I’ve had some fun, to be fair, Nick.’ There, I’ve said it.

  Nick’s eyes widen.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Well…’ I click my tongue and give a cheeky wink.

  Nick looks baffled. Almost lost in the conversation. I’m not certain, but under the dimmed light he appears to pale.

  *

  I swiftly remove my earrings as he hastily leads me up the staircase. They cost a fortune from town and losing one will ruin the pair. He’s in a rush, as we reach the top stair and swiftly take the second door on the right to the main back bedroom. I hesitate; this isn’t where I thought we were heading.

  ‘I moved rooms,’ he mutters, pushing the door wide and entering. He doesn’t put the light on, which I’m grateful for.

  ‘Nick,’ I whisper as he releases my hand and faces me in the darkness.

  ‘Angie.’

  ‘Is this what you really want?’

  I can imagine the look of surprise on his face.

  ‘Bloody hell, woman… yes.’

  I don’t remember removing my clothes, or his. In no time, we are on the bed – our bed, I note; he obviously hasn’t replaced that – our hands snatching and grabbing at naked flesh as our mouths ferociously work at each other’s face and neck.

  This isn’t the Nick I knew.

  The Nick I knew was gentler, less hurried, more refined. This Nick is ravishing me like our wedding night eighteen years ago.

  *

  Holly

  ‘Are you OK?’ I ask as we walk back from the cinema.

  Alfie shrugs, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, my right hand adjoined to his left.

  ‘Is it your dad?’

  ‘More my mum.’

  I wait. Alfie doesn’t need pushing; he’ll say when he’s ready.

  The streets are empty and snow has been falling for hours. I wanted to catch the bus for the short journey but Alfie wanted to walk. I stare at the orange haze around each street lamp, beyond which the moon stares as we walk the pavement.

  ‘You think you can rely on parents, don’t ya?’

  I nod. I can trust mine.

  ‘When you’re little, you think they mend anything that is broken… I broke my Action Man’s arm off but instantly my dad fixed it. Like in seconds, bang, as good as new.’

  I know what he means. There’s a story of me as a child breaking a plate that I delivered to my father in twenty or so pieces so he could fix it before my mum found out. The magic didn’t work that time, but I get where Alfie’s coming from.

  ‘It’s make-believe, you know.’

  I learnt that from the plate.

  ‘It’s as much make-believe as the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. They haven’t a clue what they’re doing – no more than we have, yet they pretend they do.’

  ‘I gather that’s most of what being an adult is about – pretending you have the answer when really you’re bricking it inside and hoping it doesn’t show on your face.’

  Alfie stops dead. My hand is yanked back with his jacket pocket.

  ‘So, why give us such a hard time?’ He begins to walk again.

  ‘Alfie, that’s parenting. They’re not supposed to let us know how scared they are. Look at my parents – they’re all smiles and, “Hi, Alfie, how are you?” when you’re there, but the minute you walk out the front door I get the full lecture regarding “nice boys”, “don’t be led astray” and the whole “you’ll always talk to us about stuff that’s worrying you, won’t you?” lectures. Seriously, they like you and yet—’

  ‘You’re a girl – parents are always going to be over-possessive about girls but—’

  ‘Hey, cut the crap!’ I snap. I’m not sure if boys are always trying to be top dog or whether us girls simply stay schtum too often for them to realise their arrogance.

  ‘Sorry, but you know what I mean.’

  ‘I do, but your dad worries about you just as much as my parents worry about me, so don’t go there!’

  ‘Mmmm, you’re right, he does.’

  I wait. He’s on the brink of saying something; I can feel it.

  ‘She will hit
the roof when she knows Dad has a lady-friend. Seriously, she wants to have her cake and eat it. I’d hate to be a fly on the wall when she confronts him. I won’t be saying a word to discourage him and the new woman, that’s for certain.’

  ‘She can’t expect him to remain single for the rest of his life.’

  ‘I think she does.’

  Common sense suggests that at some point Mr Woodward was going to run into a nice woman and pluck up the courage to ask her to dinner. From what Alfie has said he waited long enough after the divorce to even venture out of the house.

  Alfie retrieves his right hand from his pocket and looks at his watch.

  ‘Nearly ten o’clock. Do you reckon they’re doing it?’

  ‘Alfie!’ I exclaim, unsure of how to answer. ‘I’ve no idea. Nor do I want to think about two old people doing the business, thanks.’

  ‘Nor do I, even if one of them is my old man… but I bet they are.’

  We fall about in giggles. It seems the most natural thing in the world to be talking to Alfie like this and yet are we edging nearer to us taking the next step?

  ‘If I get home and they’re butt naked running around the kitchen, I’m heading back to your parents’ for the night to kip on their sofa. Deal?’

  ‘Deal.’

  ‘Come on, it’s getting late,’ says Alfie, as we begin to jog down the road towards mine.

  As we near my house the upstairs is in darkness apart from the side landing window, the landing light left on in case the little ones have nightmares. The lounge window is ablaze with the flashing netting, which my mum insisted was pinned up the minute the Christmas tree entered the house. I cringe – it’s utter tack but she loves it. The halogen light blinds us as we enter the driveway. I don’t attempt to complain any more but simply hasten my stride to get out of the glare.

  We stop at the front door. I know both my parents are up, but I won’t put the key into the lock before we’ve kissed goodnight. It’s become our routine. The first time I slid the key into the lock, then we kissed and my mum opened the front door wide thinking I was struggling, only to find Alfie’s hand on my butt. She was not impressed with his manners that night.

 

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