by Erin Green
Shazza breaks my thoughts.
‘Are you taking your spruce home tonight?’ she asks, after my lengthy silence.
‘No.’
‘But, Nina, it’s tradition,’ mutters Shazza, shifting her hold on the large box of cloth napkins.
‘Stop with the emotional blackmail. I can do as I please, thanks.’
Shazza turns around to stare at me over her shoulder. I feel uneasy; I didn’t mean to be snappy.
I am about to launch into another internal monologue when our trek finally ends and the dense wall of spruce gently widens into a sweeping flatland, the new site for tomorrow’s wedding ceremony. Beyond that, lies the lake surrounded by Blue spruce and the sloping embankment of Fraser firs.
Farm staff are as busy as bees piling equipment into specific areas – the ceremony pergola, the marquee or catering suite – ensuring that everything is available before creating a winter-wonderland wedding.
I don’t want to help raise the marquee. You’d think it was an easy task, like pitching a child’s Wendy house. Wrong… just bossy people need apply. So I deliver my box of condiments to the hired catering team, and quickly dart to the decoration team for a morning of floristry wire and oasis foam. I don’t mind how long the garland has to be or the specific colour decoration of tied bows as long as I can be absorbed in one task to busy my mind.
‘Are you joining us, Nina?’ asks Jackie, piling fresh holly leaves into the centre of the circle of five chairs, beside which the pliers, red ribbon and ornamental robins lie ready and waiting.
‘I am.’
Young Holly offers me a length of gauze meshing as I settle.
I have no intention of being all bright and cheery simply to fit in. I can’t muster their happy tones given the sombre mood of the farm. I begin the laborious task of threading and securing pieces of prickly holly onto the garland’s mesh. Realistically the entire meshing needs covering to provide a luscious and full garland; there’ll be no skimping on the decoration under the watchful eye of Jackie, who is fastidious with her wedding planning.
Within ten minutes, the marquee guys are cursing and huffing at each other, all shouting for the same piece to be inserted into the right corner frame but no one is following the instructions.
Shazza and Kitty join us at the garland hub as the hired-catering posse count tables, chair ties and candelabras ready for a speedy transformation once the billowing canvas is a functioning marquee.
The garland group babble on about plans for the wedding, the colour scheme, Holly’s connection to the bride’s family and her excitement at being one of six bridesmaids, her youngest sister being excluded due to her age.
I continue to work in silence, listening out for any talk of Luca.
‘How’s it going with lover boy?’ asks Shazza, a devilish glint in her eye. ‘Planning any more dates?’
I ignore her.
‘Nina,’ whispers Kitty, nudging me.
I look up to view four expectant faces staring, their hands busily working.
‘Oh, don’t mind me. The twins might be my stepsons but I’m staying out of their love lives,’ jokes Jackie, with a giggle.
Shazza raises her eyebrows.
‘Spill the beans… and?’
‘And nothing,’ I say, my eyes firmly on my garland making.
‘Hey, Jackie, can you see Nina as you in twenty years’ time? Organising wedding parties, carol services and—’
Jackie gives a little cough. Holly simply watches from the sidelines.
I look up to catch Kitty glaring at Shazza.
Shazza changes tack.
‘Sorry but the other night at the club… I assumed you were playing it cool regarding the twins but with the holidays you can spend more time—’
‘Just stop! I believe you stated you wouldn’t mind being Jackie around here in years to come, not me!’ I snap, throwing down my section of garland. I stand and stride from the circle.
I need space. I need to breathe. I need to be away from these people and their constant chatter about men, love, life and being sodding happy all the time when deep down I feel like utter crap. Plus, I can’t have what I want.
The cry of ‘Nina!’ fills the air as I quickly stride in the direction of the lake.
I want to be alone.
I know the catering and marquee teams will have all seen my hasty departure. One or two co-workers, such as Kitty, may well be wondering if they should follow me for moral support and a good cry.
It feels good to crunch virgin snow beneath my boots, as if making my own track is such a primitive action and so satisfying. I inhale the fresh air as I stride towards my lake. As I reach the water’s edge, I calm. That’s when I get it. I’m rattled, not just because of the anniversary, but because this bloody winter-wonderland wedding is secretly taking away someone I want. How am I expected to sit and make garlands for his wedding?
Why is life so complicated? So much daily energy is spent on correcting errors, getting around obstacles and being resilient. Surely, all this effort is better spent on the good things in life?
I know all these things and yet I don’t know how to stop running away from life.
*
Holly
‘Her dad passed away last Christmas Eve so she’s not in the best place at the minute,’ explains Shazza. ‘Which is why I tried to jolly her up.’ Her latter comment directed at the other two.
‘Yeah and put your foot firmly in it,’ says Kitty.
‘So, Zach’s back in with a chance, then?’ says Shazza, a smirk dressing her lips.
‘Seriously, Shazza… do you think she’s in the right place to start seeing anyone right now? She needs to get her head straight before she even contemplates dating.’
‘Our household can do without the twins being at war, given last night’s troubles,’ says Jackie.
‘Hasn’t she any siblings?’ I ask.
Three heads simultaneously shake.
Wow, no one! As much as I complain about the abundance of bodies in our house, at least I can guarantee I will always have someone, be it a sister or parent.
‘It was just her and him… and she took the brunt of his illness, mood swings, the lot, so it wasn’t an easy living arrangement but, still, he was her dad,’ explains Kitty.
‘MS is tough due to the physical deterioration and pain being suffered, and yet the family try their best. Nina coped the best she could and for a long time too.’
‘And her mother?’ I ask.
‘Long gone – she left years ago,’ says Kitty.
I collect another handful of holly leaves and continue to work them into the floristry meshing as the silence lengthens. I’m waiting for someone to begin a cheerier conversation but they don’t; everyone seems to be inside their own head space counting their own blessings.
*
‘Have you said anything?’ asks Alfie in the snug at break-time.
I shake my head.
‘I daren’t. That text message incriminates Demi and the police will demand names from her. She must be bricking it.’
‘But I feel so guilty… Have you seen what they’ve done?’
I shake my head. Jackie has kept me busy from first thing carrying wedding stuff down to the marquee area.
‘Totally gutted for as far as the eye can see. Seriously, not a single spruce left, just black stumps sticking up from the ground.’
‘So, what are you suggesting – that we tell?’
Alfie looks at me, his blue eyes drilling mine. I know his answer and yet he can’t bring himself to say it.
‘I hate to be a grass, but I feel guilty for saying nothing. The family have been good to me over the last few shifts – I’d quite like to be kept on after Christmas for weekend work.’
‘OK. When?’
‘Now.’
‘What about the wedding prep?’
‘Boss Fielding hasn’t been doing prep. He’s been in his office for the entire morning. Jackie’s in charge of the wedding
.’
‘What about Demi?’
Alfie shrugs.
‘She’ll have to answer their questions.’
*
‘Whose mobile is this?’ asks Boss Fielding, taking the item from his desk. His grey eyes flicker across the screen reading the brief message.
‘Mine. Demi’s my best friend.’
Alfie shifts in the seat beside me. He’s as uncomfortable as me but it’s the right thing to do.
‘And she sent this at what time?’
‘Twelve o’clock… the time appears at the side if you slide the message across,’ I explain, my breath snagging in my throat.
His large fingers ease across the screen, before he slowly nods and looks up.
‘And you pair?’
‘We had nothing to do with this,’ says Alfie, quickly. ‘We feel guilty by association that we work here and teenagers we know have caused this.’
‘But you’ve never joined them?’
We shake our heads.
‘Never?’
‘No. I was invited but I refused to join in. They aren’t my type of friends,’ I mutter, nerves flaring within my stomach as he stares at me. ‘Seriously, we know nothing about last night, apart from the text.’
Boss Fielding sits back in his chair and eyes us both cautiously.
How can telling the truth about an incident actually feel so gut-wrenchingly difficult? You’d have thought he’d be pleased by our assistance; instead he sits staring for eons before he picks up the telephone receiver.
*
Angie
Nick hasn’t called. I’ve watched three romcom movies back to back, consumed the entire tin of cashews, a jar of honeyed apricots and an entire box of marzipan fruits – I feel no better.
My mind is reeling. My gobby young pup thinks he knows everything after a two-minute crush on a classmate. And as for Nick, siding with him over me… surely that isn’t right? I was only trying to help eliminate any last-minute issues as regards Alfie’s suit not fitting and boom!
I snatch up my mobile, checking if Nick’s texted me. Nothing.
Right, have it your way. Go to the wedding without me, parade yourself as the heroic single dad with the teenage son battling together to survive the family break – what do I care?
I press pause on Netflix, and stomp through to the kitchen. Eventually I find the corkscrew, grab a wine glass from the draining board and venture back to browse the wicker hamper for a delicious rosé.
‘Merry Christmas!’ I mutter as I uncork the bottle in the hallway before returning to bed. ‘Even if I’m two days early!’
Seventeen
Nina
Monday, 24 December
Christmas Tree Farm finishes the year with a half-day closing, giving staff time to refresh and change for the wedding. I planned to spend my free time at the log cabin. Instead, I position myself behind a cluster of Fraser firs a safe distance from the wedding pergola swathed in garlands, and watch. The scene is beautiful. I can’t imagine any bride being disappointed by the winter wonderland amongst our Christmas trees. I imagine she’ll be dumbstruck as she arrives on her father’s arm. I would be. The plush red carpet of the aisle cuts a distinct pathway through the pristine snow. The neat rows of decorated chairs are filled with dark suits interspersed with beautiful feathers and fur-like adornment. Several guests are still finding their seats despite the 1 p.m. ceremony. The string quartet is playing Bach and the soft sounds gently fill the air. The registrar lady keeps rearranging her documents and books upon the cloth-covered side table.
All morning, I kept myself busy on the sales yard, but very few people buy a spruce on Christmas Eve. I clock-watched all morning, my stomach churning while my head questioned why the universe would do this to me. I’ve had twenty-five years to experience a stomach flip and instead of the fairy tale being played out as Cupid clearly intended… the guy’s getting married to someone else. Life isn’t fair. And sadly, I’ve no other option than to accept fate’s cruel ways.
I crane my neck to gain a better view of the front row to the right of the aisle. Two dark-haired men in tailored suits sit facing forward. I assume the best man is his brother; they look so alike from the back. I can’t imagine what Luca’s feeling right now. Nerves? Excitement? They don’t turn about to view the settling guests. I suppose they’ve plenty of time to meet and greet after the ceremony.
The front row to the left of the aisle remains empty, presumably awaiting a row of colourful bridesmaids, clutching fresh bouquets.
My gaze returns to the groom. What should I do if part way through the ceremony, just as he begins his vows, he denounces his love for Isabella and confesses his undying love for the sales girl who sells Christmas trees? Oh, my God! I would die with embarrassment should he call me from my hiding place, take my hand and… I look down at my jeans and jumper combo – what a bloody sight! I really must start taking more pride in my appearance.
‘Turn around. Turn around,’ I mutter, whilst staring at the nape of his neck. How come his sixth sense isn’t so hot today? Does it only work when I don’t want to be caught staring at him? Bloody typical. Obviously, wedding nerves have a direct effect upon telepathy.
What would I do if he did turn around? Wave? Smile? Or hide? Or lock eyes and hope that everything I feel is conveyed in a final look?
‘What are you doing?’
I jump out of my skin as Kitty peers over my shoulder and whispers in my ear.
‘Oh, nothing.’
‘Nothing? Come on.’
‘Don’t tease,’ I mutter, my eyes returning to the front row.
‘Looks beautiful, doesn’t it?’
I simply nod.
I don’t want to be unkind – Kitty’s always been good to me – but I’d much prefer to stand here alone and have my heart broken rather than have a witness endure my woeful tears once he utters, ‘I do.’
‘I just glimpsed the wedding party lining up to begin their procession. The bride looks amazing.’
Great! As if the blonde didn’t look utterly amazing every day of her life, she’ll look fabulously breathtaking on her big day. I check myself. I’m being so unfair. It isn’t her fault that I met him after her, after an engagement, after two babies and after a wedding had been booked. That’s the bottom line: simply bad timing, on my behalf. It’s simple: you meet who you meet, when you meet them. And now, he has to forsake all others for her.
My heart grows heavy. I want to cry.
‘Here they come,’ whispers Kitty, pointing along the plush carpet to our right. Simultaneously, the string quartet switches from Bach to Pachelbel’s ‘Canon’. I don’t wish to look at the bride, as beautiful as I’m sure she is. My eyes are fixed on her groom, who stands but doesn’t stir to turn about. The guests stand and turn around to view the bridal procession.
Kitty’s face is beaming at the approaching sight. I daren’t look straight at the bride; my guilt will show on my face and she’ll know, I’m sure. From the corner of my eye, I can see that she’s dressed in a straight-fitting gown of white, carrying a huge bouquet in deep reds and emeralds, with a gathering of bridesmaids and pageboys sauntering behind. I’ll recognise the two young boys from their grotto visit. Young Holly will surely look fabulous with her hair pinned up; her beaming teenage smile will say it all. I don’t want to waste a moment looking at the bridal procession. My eyes are fixed on him. He must know she’s nearing. In less than ten minutes, they’ll be man and wife.
My stomach begins to flip. I want to be sick.
The bridal procession approaches us, turns and pauses to face the length of the aisle and… He’s standing right before me! Luca literally walks into my line of vision from the right, walking at the bride’s side, arms linked, dressed beautifully in a tailored suit.
His dark gaze catches mine, just for the briefest of exchanges, before he smiles, and turns to face the ceremony archway. That was risky. I blush.
Why break with tradition? I thought this wedding was
planned to the minutest detail and yet the bride and groom walk the aisle together? Maybe fitting given the commitment of two children. They slowly walk towards the registrar, the elegant peacock-shaped train of her gown fanning out upon the red carpet. I stare at the front row – so, I’d been staring at the groom’s men patiently waiting to support their buddy. No wonder they hadn’t bothered to turn around and view the arriving guests.
‘Doesn’t she look amazing?’ swoons Kitty, her hands clutched before her mouth in wonder. ‘I love her flowing train.’
‘Mmmm.’ A gulp snags at my throat.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing – the spicy smell of these firs has gone to the back of my throat,’ I lie, unable to share my secret, not even with Kitty.
It takes him twenty-seven steps to reach the wedding pergola. The registrar greets them with a warm smile and a nod. The bridesmaids and pageboys file into the front row and take their places.
This will be an awkward manoeuvre as he now needs to be on her other side. Who messed up on planning this little detail? Will he step across her flowing train or walk around it to position himself on her right?
I can’t take my eyes from his broad back. I know he shouldn’t turn around, the entire wedding is watching, but if he could manage one last lingering moment between us… one last stomach flip… I promise, I’ll let him go.
I watch as he releases her arm, takes her hand and raises it to his mouth, kisses it and gently releases.
He steps aside to the left and takes a seat. From the right the nearest groom’s man offers a beaming smile as he takes a step nearer to the bride.
‘What the hell?’
Kitty looks at me and then back at the couple standing before the decorated archway.
‘What?’ she asks.
‘What’s he doing?’
‘Who?’
‘Luca!’
‘Duh, he’s getting married.’
I stare at Kitty.
Confusion is bubbling behind her eyes.
‘Yeah, Isabella and Luca… so what’s he doing sitting down?’ I babble.