by Erin Green
‘So, I don’t get to be part of the lantern procession?’
‘No.’
‘Great. The one time the event is reorganised in a manner that appeals to me and I’m holed up with the catering crew serving mulled wine and mince pies, which I regularly do each weekend of our selling season to a bustling yard!’ Every previous year the carol service was a seated event amongst the north growing fields, this year it would be a snaking procession amongst the mature spruces we have on the south side of the farm. I can’t wait to see the candlelight procession amongst the towering trees, the farm’s original crop planted by the original Farmer Fielding when Boss was just a child.
‘Christ, I thought you’d be happy.’
‘Nope. For once I actually wanted to join in, be part of a festive activity, given the bloody awful year I’ve had, but no, I’m a glorified waitress.’
Zach hastily folds the paper and returns it to his pocket.
‘There’s no pleasing you at the moment, is there? I don’t know why I bother.’ I watch as he traipses off towards the equipment barn. I know he’ll cool off with Gertrude and Arthur. I’ll apologise and explain later.
I rejoin the crowd and mingle amongst the working parties, each heading to different areas of the farm to undertake specific tasks. One crew needs to walk the route and clear any trip hazards or obstructions – not an easy task in the dark with just a head torch to illuminate the way. I eagerly join the crew who need to formulate the order of service and choose the carols. I hate to admit it, but Old Bill was correct when he moaned that the attendees could only mouth the words if the service sheet wasn’t available, so we’ll need plenty of spares.
Kitty and Shazza volunteer to organise the lanterns and candles, promising Jackie that only adult visitors will be entrusted to carry the pole and lantern contraption. I’m surprised that Jackie doesn’t insist on staff carrying lanterns but, hey, it’s her rules they’re abiding by.
I stay in the warmth of Boss’s office and help create, print and fold a huge pile of service orders on card so I can stay in the warm for once.
Sitting at Boss’s desk, scoring the printed card into booklets, I see something dash past the window. I peer outside and see Zach running from the equipment barn, his arms raised and wailing.
Jumping up, I sidestep the other helpers and head for the cabin door.
‘What’s wrong with Zach?’ I shout to Bram, who appears from the snug.
‘Haven’t got the foggiest but here he comes…’ Nodding towards his twin. ‘What’s up?’
‘Bloody Arthur, he’s just bolted from his sodding pen. He’s legged it into the south fields because someone’s left the gate open,’ he moans. ‘Dad’s going to have a fit when I tell him.’
‘Zach!’ cries Bram. ‘You bloody idiot!’
‘Did you try to catch him?’ I ask.
Zach turns, screwing his face up in annoyance.
‘I didn’t think of that! I stood my ground instead, so I could be impaled by his bloody horns. What do you think, Nina?’
‘OK, don’t get snappy with me. If we get a bucket of carrots or the treats he likes maybe he’ll come back through the gate.’
‘With tomorrow night’s carol procession in the same area, the last thing we need is a rampant goat showing up!’ shouts Bram.
Zach stomps off towards the equipment barn.
‘I’ll go and tell Dad, then, shall I?’ shouts Bram, to the retreating figure of his brother.
‘Do what you want, Bram,’ calls Zach, entering the barn. ‘You usually do.’
*
‘Zach?’ I enter the barn to find him leaning against the pen. ‘What’s up?’
His grey eyes stare at me, as I lean upon the fencing too.
‘Are you ever going to tell him?’ he asks.
I slowly shake my head.
‘Zach… it’s never going to happen between me and Bram.’
He turns towards me.
‘Seriously?’
It wouldn’t be right to say what I’ve experienced the last few days as regards the guy in the Range Rover.
Instead we stand in silence staring at a lonely Gertrude.
‘Has your stomach ever flipped on meeting someone?’ I break the lengthy silence.
‘Yep.’
I nod, acknowledging his answer.
‘Mine did recently and now I know that’s the kind of attraction I’m after.’
He nods and gives me a sideways glance.
‘Who?’
‘It’s not important, no one you know,’ I mutter. ‘And you?’
‘Do you really need to ask?’ he says softly.
*
Holly
‘Shall I call for you?’ asks Demi, phoning the minute I arrive home from parents’ evening.
‘Nope. I’m grounded till I catch up on my history GCSE work. Why, where are you going?’
‘Up to Christmas Tree Farm.’
‘Demi, no!’
‘Yes! We have a right laugh up there. Spud brings some cans and a couple of his friends bring a bottle of wine – you don’t know what you’re missing. Paris and her posse came up the other night and even they were a laugh. We’ve gone up there most nights this week and it’s a scream a minute. Last night we sat around telling ghost stories and then were all spooked by a strange noise we kept hearing… I nearly wet myself in fear.’
I can hear the excitement in her voice. I know she’s having fun but I’m wary of the lads she’s mixing with; they are leading her astray. If Spud is anything to go by, his friends will be replicas. What is it my dad says? ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’ And as for Paris and her posse, why would anyone choose to be amongst them?
‘Holly, are you still there?’
‘Yeah, but I’m still not coming out. Alfie says the boss knows what you’re doing – the staff were saying how he’d found all your empties, fireworks and the campfires you’ve been starting.’
‘So? It’s just a bit of fun.’
‘He’s thinking of getting guard dogs, you know.’
Demi falls silent. I hope she is listening. Though, deep down, I know she isn’t.
‘Guard dogs are a waste of money – Spud reckons they’ve trained their rampant goat to patrol the area!’
‘Demi, please don’t… Come around here and do some revision with me?’
‘Nah! See you, wouldn’t want to be ya!’ sings Demi.
‘Likewise,’ I say, before my mobile goes dead. Alfie was kind enough to ask if I could work some hours come the weekend and, from what he says, I really wouldn’t want to be Demi if the boss gets hold of them. He means business where his farm is concerned.
Fourteen
Nina
Friday, 21 December
It feels strange having everyone staring at me from behind a large studio window at the local radio station, but that’s exactly what the production team are doing. I was ushered in ten minutes ago for an interview and I’m not comfortable with being centre of attention.
‘Nina, you need to explain your thoughts so we can launch this project immediately,’ explained Jackie as she drove me towards the studio. ‘It’s just a simple interview, sweetie. Nothing to be worried about. Forget that people are listening.’
It’s difficult to forget when I’m wearing oversized headphones and a large microphone is right in front of my mouth. Not to mention that the wacky radio presenter Jimmy Diamond sits opposite me at 8:00 a.m. – I am more than slightly nervous.
‘Good morning, this is Jimmy Diamond on Radio Raveloe coming to you on this crisp December morning. With me is a young lady from Christmas Tree Farm who’s going to explain a very special project that she’s wishing to launch, called Presents for Heaven. So, Nina, can you explain how the idea came about?’ asks the male presenter in a bright and breezy tone.
Since Wednesday, everything happened so quickly. One minute Jackie was asking me a question, the next Zach and Bram’s mouths widened in shock as my words spilt out explai
ning the pain, the loneliness and harsh reality of grief.
‘My father never opened his final present from me as he died last year on Christmas Eve… and so, I’d quite like the opportunity to send his gift somewhere, anywhere, in fact… I simply want to send him my Christmas gift, and yet, I can’t.’
‘And you feel others who are in similar situations could gain comfort by doing the same?’ continues Jimmy Diamond.
‘Oh, yes. I know the final location isn’t heaven but that doesn’t matter – it’s the act of sending it that will provide comfort to the bereaved. When I was a child, Dad encouraged me to write letters to Santa – in my best handwriting, sticking stamps across the envelope to send to Lapland. It’s the same principle that I’m thinking of recreating with Presents for Heaven… except it’s for those who have lost a loved one. It may bring them comfort and hope, and possibly a sense of continuing love for those they’ve lost.’
‘That’s lovely, Nina… but why the farm?’
‘Christmas Tree Farm is where I work and it captures the magic of the season. We nurture our trees all year around until finally they are cut and sold so others can enjoy their beauty and create happy family memories. I believe that untold numbers of families in the local area enjoy their annual trip to our farm. Their visit is as traditional as baking the Christmas cake, hanging up stockings or leaving a carrot out on Christmas Eve for Rudolph.’
‘And what will happen to the gifts once they are delivered to the farm?’
‘We’d like each present to be clearly labelled detailing its contents and then after Christmas the farm’s owners are going to find homes for each present within our local community. The gift can be wrapped as elaborately as people wish, just as their family member would have liked, as long as a label is attached. It’ll make things easier for distribution.’
‘So, folks, if you’d like to participate in this new project please feel free to visit the Christmas Tree Farm website for further details about Presents for Heaven. Take your wrapped present along to the farm this coming weekend. I’d like to say a big thank you to Nina for joining us today and may I take this opportunity to wish you a very merry Christmas.’
‘Thank you.’ I don’t need to mention that I won’t be celebrating.
Done.
I didn’t stutter as much as I had imagined I would, but still, it has been less than forty-eight hours since the idea was born in the snug and now a new Christmas project is definitely happening.
I watch as the presenter starts a track playing before he turns to me.
‘You did well. I hope it wasn’t as scary as you’d imagined?’
‘Thank you, it wasn’t. I do believe I’m dashing off across town to speak to a reporter or two at the local paper… so, thanks again.’
‘Thank you for joining us and I wish you well. The present project sounds amazing!’
Within minutes, I’m bundled into Jackie’s car and, as predicted, driven across town to the offices of The Tamworth Herald, for a similar interview and photographs.
*
Holly
‘Can we please get a move on?’ screams Mum as we older girls pile into her car. This feels naughty, given that it’s a school day and we’re not heading for school.
I don’t think I’ll be missing much anyway, and it’s only a half-day today. Instead we are driving into town to meet Isabella and hopefully us older girls are trying on our bridesmaid dresses ready for Monday’s wedding. My younger sisters are staying at home with dad, as they don’t need additional fittings given their basic shapes without a waist, a bust or hips. ‘Seat belts?’ is Mum’s final cry before we frantically wave at Dad, stuck at home with the younger ones.
‘Holly, look, there’s Demi,’ shouts Hannah, from the rear seats, her arm thrusting past my nose in the passenger seat.
She’s right; Demi is walking in the snow amongst a crowd of uniformed pupils. As we pass, my head whips around to view who she’s with: Paris and the mean girls! Great, that didn’t take long for her to tag with their crowd as soon as I’m not available. Plus, she’s earlier than our normal agreed time.
‘She’s been hanging about Christmas Tree Farm with them,’ I say, to answer Hannah’s unspoken question. ‘She seems to think it’s fun downing cider and making fires with that crowd, nowadays.’
‘She’ll come unstuck, if that’s her game,’ warns Mum, driving slowly to nudge into the stream of traffic.
I agree, for once. It doesn’t make me eager to join them, but my insides feel heavy knowing that I can be replaced so easily after ten years of friendship. A warning signal goes off in my head: best not trust Demi with any new information about Alfie and me otherwise she’s bound to share it with her new posse.
‘Holly, can you find the website for Christmas Tree Farm and check out the details of the Presents for Heaven thing mentioned on the radio?’ asks Mum. I’m glad of the distraction so pull out my mobile and oblige her with the specific instructions.
The woman sounded great on Radio Raveloe. I’d have been too nervous to speak. Alfie says Nina’s much older than me so she’ll look after me come my first shift. I knew it would tweak Mum’s ear the minute Dad turned the radio on. She’s had a tough year having lost her dad. She’s a softy at heart despite her constant ranting at us.
‘Right then, eyes peeled for a nice present that we’d have bought Grandad,’ says Mum, her eyes fixed on the road but her mind elsewhere. I list the possible items: a warm jumper, a large quantity of pink and white fluffy marshmallows or a new flat cap. No wonder the farm is asking for specific details on gift labels otherwise handing an elderly lady a new flat cap might not be the highlight of her year!
‘If I don’t like my dress when I try it on, do I still have to wear it?’ asks Hayley, from the rear seat.
‘Of course, and you’ll be grateful for being asked to be a bridesmaid,’ spits Mum over her shoulder at my ill-mannered sister.
‘What if I’m cold wearing it?’ moans Hayley.
‘Tough luck, they’ve cost a fortune and it’s your cousin Isabella’s day,’ she scorns, adding, ‘She’s waited long enough for this wedding and there’s been no expense spared so you’ll be doing as you’re told.’
‘We’ve got white boleros, remember,’ I add, knowing mum calls her a cousin but actually she is a distant cousin.
‘The rest of the outfit is pure satin – and that’s so warm,’ continues Hayley, nudging Hannah alongside her on the back seat.
I don’t care if I’m freezing cold; being measured, fitted and bought a brand-new dress is going to be the highlight of my year. The bonus that Alfie will be present to enjoy the entire day is a dream come true, though I’m mindful that we’re distant family while his family are close friends of her parents. Though I’ll need to finish my duties as bridesmaid first. As Mum said, there’s been no expense spared.
*
Angie
‘Candlelight is such a simple decoration and yet, so beautiful,’ I say, as hundreds of flickering flames light our car journey along the farm’s track. ‘How can something as simple as a tiny flame be so inviting and alluring?’
Nick nods but doesn’t comment.
Butterflies flutter within my stomach. It feels like bonfire night, strangers dressed for all weathers in woolly hats, wellingtons and gloves – it brings out the child in us all. I’m determined that tonight’s date will be special; Christmas Tree Farm holds so many precious memories for us over the years. Tonight, I hope we’ll create one more, just the two of us.
In no time, we’ve parked as indicated by staff dressed in fluorescent jackets. As we walk in the snow towards the meeting point, I take Nick’s arm. My hand linking around his forearm feels right, where it belongs, like a hook and eye fastening.
‘I’m surprised you opted for a carol service… given your voice.’
‘Oi, cheeky, I can sing when I try.’
‘Not necessarily in tune, though, is it?’ Nick laughs. ‘But I’m sure everyone else wi
ll forgive you.’
‘I do it to make others feel better, OK?’ I jibe. This is a good start – a jovial night filled with laughter and larks will help us to bond just a little more.
‘Really? So, your uncontrollable sobbing during Alfie’s first school nativity was to support others?’
‘Yes! No mother wishes to be the first to cry in the audience, so I took the lead.’
Nick gives me a knowing look; he witnessed at first hand my public snot and tears display.
Alfie’s days at primary school seem so long ago. But tonight, as much as I’d love Alfie to be present, we are a couple and I need to make the most of my time with Nick.
Staff wearing fluorescent jackets beckon us towards the entrance gate and check our tickets. A new-fangled ticket purchased and printed from the Internet – something I rarely do.
‘Good evening, welcome to Christmas Tree Farm,’ greets the young blonde woman. ‘Would you like to carry a lantern?’
Nick agrees, so we pass through the gate armed with a sturdy pole from which swings a glass lantern complete with a large chapel candle. I grasp the service sheet offered by the same young woman; I never remember the words to carols.
A brass band strikes up the swirling tones of ‘Silent Night’ as the gathering crowd have their tickets checked and adults are strategically armed with lantern rods. Several reindeer bedecked in leather harnesses complete with tiny bells stand impatiently beside their handlers. The farm’s donkey is on a leash too. I assume they’ll lead the procession. A gaggle of tiny children dressed in tea towels and bedsheets appear to be assembled for a nativity scene – I silently apologise to the tiny angel, hoping she doesn’t cry should history repeat itself and I drown her out with my singing.
‘Angie?’ he whispers.
I turn on hearing my name.
‘Yes…’
‘This feels right.’ He pulls me closer with his free arm and gently touches my forehead with his. ‘Having spent so much time apart… this feels right.’