Christmas Trees

by Poppy Blake

  “Oh, my God, you’ve no idea how happy I am to hear you say that! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you! Come on Abbi, let’s get back and tell Mum, and finish those wedding favours!” Grace jumped from her seat to drag Rosie into a hug, but in her enthusiasm bounced straight into Corinne who had come to replenish Dylan’s coffee. “Ooomph! Sorry, Corinne, sorry!”

  As soon as the door swung closed behind Grace and Abbi, a sharp twinge of guilt invaded Rosie’s chest. What had she done that for? But she had only wanted to put Grace’s mind at ease about the wedding. So, now it was even more crucial that she talked to Dylan about his recollections of the cycle ride. She would have preferred Matt to be with her to ask the questions that didn’t occur to her, but she channelled her inner Miss Marple and launched in.

  “Dylan, Matt and I have spoken to everyone staying at the lodges, except for you. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions, just so we can get a complete picture?”

  “What sort of questions?”

  “Well, like, how well did you know Theo before the stag party?”

  Dylan stared at Rosie with his soft hazel eyes, clearly fighting an internal battle whether or not to confide in her. When he eventually spoke, it was with a passion that shocked her.

  “Well enough to loathe the guy.”

  “What do you mean? Why didn’t you like him?”

  “When I said I was devastated about the demise of the academy, it wasn’t about me, you know; it was about the kids whose parents don’t give a damn. It’s them I’m worried about. There’s no one else stupid enough to give them lessons for free. I’ve sourced second-hand boots for them, organised lifts, arranged for Cameron’s mum to wash their kit. You should see their faces, Rosie, when they turn out on the pitch with a clean strip and a pair of decent football boots, eager to spend a couple of hours kicking a ball around. What are they going to do now? God, I hate Theo!”

  “What’s Theo got to do with your football academy?” asked Rosie wrinkling her nose in confusion.

  “I suppose it’ll all come out when the police eventually get around to interviewing us all, and to be honest, I’m surprised Abbi hasn’t told you already. At the beginning of this season, a couple of months after Dad died, I needed to pay the annual rent for our pitch and the use of the changing facilities. I didn’t have the cash up-front before the kids’ parents paid the fees but we had a big fundraising event coming up later on in September so I asked Theo if he could loan me the cash and I’d pay him back when we’d collected the funds.

  “He hummed and haaed and gave me a lecture on fiscal responsibility, but he eventually agreed. Unfortunately, the charity fundraiser got cancelled because of a waterlogged pitch so I had to renege on my promise and I asked him to give me a bit more time. He said he needed the money himself as he’d seen an MG he wanted to add to his collection, but he did give me an extra month to come up with the money. I sold some of Dad’s football memorabilia - a ball signed by the Man United squad when they won the treble, a strip signed by David Beckham, a few old programmes. It was a huge wrench to see the stuff go but I managed to raise the cash and pay Theo back in full.”

  “So, what’s the problem?” Rosie guessed there was more to the story.

  “He asked for interest on the loan – almost another hundred pounds. I didn’t have anything left to sell.”

  Rosie wasn’t surprised to see Dylan’s fingers tremble as he reached up to brush his hair from his eyes. Her heart gave a stab of empathy for the handsome football coach with a heart of gold, so concerned with helping the youngsters in his community that he had overlooked his own financial well-being. And what was it all for?

  The silence between them expanded and she decided it was time to share some of her own history with Dylan.

  “You know, I do understand how you feel. I lost my dad when I was a teenager – heart attack brought on by the immense work pressure he was under. Mum couldn’t cope; she forgot to pay the mortgage so our house was repossessed and we had to relocate to a new town which meant my sister and I had to change schools. I’d dreamed of going to university, of training to be a solicitor like my dad, but the grief and upheaval had an effect on my studies so studying for a degree wasn’t an option.”

  “I’m sorry, Rosie. Sometimes we’re so wrapped up in our own problems we forget that others are struggling on in silence. It’s just you seem so happy at the Windmill Café that I thought you’d been there for years.”

  “Six months! You’re right, though. I am happy here, but the journey to Willerby was by no means an easy ride! What I’m trying to say is, it’s hard to move on, to start again. And it’s tempting to cloak yourself in misery and blame every setback and mistake on your misfortune. I was with my ex, Harry, for two years before I discovered him rolling amongst the daisies in our little flower shop in Pimlico with one of our customers who had come in to finalise her bridal flowers.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Rosie. The guy must be crazy, if you ask me. So how did you end up in Norfolk? And managing a café must be a shock to the system after qualifying as a florist.”

  “Actually, when I realised I wouldn’t get the grades to go to law school, I put all my effort into my back-up plan – a career in the food industry. I loved the Windmill Café as soon as I set eyes on it, and it had the added attraction of having a cute little studio upstairs. Perfect!”

  “Would you ever go back to London? Or to floristry?”

  Rosie knew that Dylan had no idea about Harry’s proposal, but the simple questions he’d asked served to solidify her decision because she was able to answer his question without hesitation or regret.

  “No. I love my life here, and the people in it. I’m staying in Norfolk, at the little Windmill Café. I still have dreams to pursue, though, and I intend to make a start on them as soon as I can.”

  And she couldn’t wait. She resolved to call Harry that night and explain that she was grateful for his generous offer of a business partnership, but that she would not be returning to Pimlico any time soon, if ever. Okay, her job at the café and her home in the windmill were by no means secure, but she was happy where she was and that was all that mattered.

  However, it was much more than that – she had a plan for her future and she was excited about going back to college. In fact, perhaps she would send Harry an email instead, just so she could set out her reasons in black-and-white without him interrupting her or trying to persuade her that she had made the wrong choice which was what he had done when he’d visited her at the café at the beginning of December. She would be firm, explain her decision was non-negotiable and would ask him not to contact her again. She had to move on, like she’d been doing before his surprise reappearance at the Autumn Leaves Hallowe’en party.

  She smiled to herself when she thought of what her sister Georgina would say. Whooppee!

  “Thanks, Dylan. Talking to you has really helped me to put a few things into perspective. Actually, whilst we’re here, do you think I could ask you about the cycle ride?”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with Theo’s accident, if that’s what you think. Oh, I’m not saying something similar doesn’t cross my mind when I lie awake at night, anxiety gnawing away at my gut. I might not be a doctor anymore but the basic oath we all take to do no harm will stay with me for ever.”

  “Did you see anything suspicious when you were racing through the woods towards the finishing line?”

  “Racing might be a bit strong where I’m concerned, but no, nothing I’m afraid. I hated taking part in that race, only did it for Josh. I’m much better on my own two feet with a football between them than I am on two wheels. It was a forgone conclusion that I would be bringing up the rear so I kept to the main roads all the way, unlike Theo who we know took the shortcut – and that was despite being a total stickler for the rules! But I didn’t see anything. I wish I had.”

  “What about the night before your ride?”

  “Abbi and I had dinner with Sam and Zara, a
nd Theo and Penny. We left early so I could get some sleep for the early start. And before you ask, I didn’t see anything on my way over to meet everyone the next morning either. Sorry I can’t be any more help.”

  “You’ve been a great help.”

  “Rosie, I’m so pleased we got to spend this time together. It’s been good to talk, not to mention indulge in all these delicious goodies, but it looks like Adriano wants to close the deli and it’s getting dark outside. I think the guys will be back from their walk along the coast by now, too. Come on, let’s head over to the Drunken Duck. I could murder a pint.”

  “Lead the way. Oh, hang on, that’s my phone!”

  Rosie waved goodbye to Adriano as he closed the door behind her and flipped the sign to Closed. She withdrew her mobile to check the message that had pinging into her inbox.

  “It’s a text from Grace. She and Abbi want me to help them gather a final few bunches of holly for the church on Sunday. You go on ahead, Dylan. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure?”

  She nodded and waited until Dylan’s retreating figure had disappeared into the pub on the other side of the village green before scrolling through her other texts. When she read Matt’s message, a surge of relief rushed through her body. Could it be possible that what he’d discovered meant she hadn’t been lying to Grace and Abbi after all? There were no details, but his archaeology into Theo’s background had apparently excavated some interested information which he said he’d share with her over one of his famous curries if she was free for dinner that night.

  Rosie’s heart soared. It would be the perfect opportunity to talk to Matt, to tell him about her decision to stay in Willerby, but also to explain her reasons – that she couldn’t bear the prospect of not seeing him again and telling him why, not with words, but with actions. She slotted her phone into the pocket of her jeans, dragged her knitted hat down over her curls and with a spring in her step she headed to her rendezvous with a holly bush.

  Chapter 15

  Perspiration prickled at Rosie’s forehead as she jogged towards the large wooden cabin that housed the offices of Ultimate Adventures where Grace had asked her to meet them. Beyond the leafy canopy overhead, dusk was in its last throes sending ribbons of violet and salmon through the wide expanse of dark turquoise sky. Unsurprisingly, the air held a definite nip, but the evening was mild for December.

  Her mind whirled in anticipation of meeting Matt later and, over an intimate dinner at his home, finding out what he had discovered to make him so excited. She also rehearsed in her head what she was going to say about her decision to stay and about her feelings for him. This was going to be the fastest holly gathering expedition she’d ever attended, but she knew Grace and Abbi would understand.

  She stomped up the steps to the veranda and the safety light switched on, but there was no sign of anyone. Disconcerted, she fished around in her pocket to check Grace’s message again.

  You are cordially invited to attend a holly and mistletoe scavenger hunt with me and Abbi! Mum needs more floral decorations for the church and we need your expert eye! Meet you at Ultimate Adventures in ten minutes. Grace xx

  She checked her watch. 5 o’clock. Okay, so it had taken her fifteen minutes to get there on foot, but surely, they would have waited for her? Ergh! She wished she was with Dylan in the Drunken Duck, enjoying a glass of red wine before driving over to Matt’s. She squinted through the trees into the darkness.

  “Grace? Abbi? It’s Rosie.”

  Shielding her eyes, she peered through the window of the lodge, but, of course, there were no lights on inside. The whole place was deserted apart from the woodland inhabitants who cast accusatory eyes over her interruption of their nocturnal leisure time. She wrinkled her forehead in confusion. Perhaps Grace had sent her text before setting off from the vicarage?

  Oh well, she thought, maybe they’d been held up. She keyed in Grace’s number and was surprised to see there was no signal so decided to retrace her steps. She hopped down the veranda steps and as she made her way back towards the driveway, she noticed the door of the storeroom at the back of the cabin was ajar and she relaxed.

  Separate from the lodge, this was where Matt and Freddie housed all Ultimate Adventures’ equipment; the climbing gear, the safety harnesses and helmets for the zip wire, spare clothing for those who turned up ill-prepared. Inside was a cornucopia of tools and gadgets that would cause any kind of extreme sports enthusiast to glow green with envy.

  She walked towards the lock-up, her boots crunching on the gravel as she went. The last gasp of daylight trickled through the branches and her stomach gave a surprise flip of concern. She hadn’t thought to bring a torch with her.

  “Grace? Abbi? It’s me! Are you in here?”

  There was no reply.

  “Grace?”

  Silence.

  Rosie gulped down her anxiety. What if Grace and Abbi had been searching for torches and Theo’s assailant had found them? Could they be lying in a pool of blood, unconscious, on the storeroom floor?

  Without considering the risks, she yanked the door open and rushed inside. She paused, taking a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the gloom before scouring the area. A whoosh of relief flooded through her veins when no terrible scene met her eyes. She could hear a scraping sound coming from the bathroom-cum-changing cubicle at the back of the room and made her way towards the door.

  “Grace?”

  She tentatively reached into the windowless room and pulled on the light switch but the cubicle was empty. Someone had left the extractor fan on and a whirling grating noise filled her ears. A wriggle of fear crept down her spine and her heart performed the backing track to the drama by hammering out a concerto of unease against her ribcage. She switched off the fan, extinguished the light, and retraced her steps to the entrance.

  Just as complete panic was about to set in, she heard the familiar buzz of a quad bike engine bouncing through the tangle of shrubs behind the storeroom. She forced her face into a mask of nonchalance, and waited on the threshold with a confident smile, but the engine was cut before the bike appeared. She rolled her eyes and trudged round to the back of the shed.

  “I thought you weren’t coming!”

  Clad in black leather from head to toe and wearing a full safety helmet, the rider dismounted and turned to face her. Before Rosie had chance to wonder why Grace still had the visor down, she was ceased her by the shoulders and spun around, her wrists yanked behind her back and secured with a plastic tie.

  “What the hell?”

  Terror zapped through her body as an arm hooked around her throat and she was urged forward, back into the storeroom and towards the bathroom at the rear.

  “What’s going on? Who are you? What do you want?” She tried to struggle but the anonymous rider was too strong.

  “Let me go! Let me go!”

  She managed to stamp down on her assailant’s foot causing a sudden expulsion of air. For her trouble, a sheet of gaffer tape was slapped over her mouth and she was shoved to the ground head first. Pain ricocheted through her chin, the first part of her body to connect with the wooden floor. She was then dragged unceremoniously into the bathroom and the door was closed and padlocked.

  Darkness pressed against her eyeballs, save for a tiny strip of light beneath the four-inch gap at the bottom of the door. She scrambled to her feet and began to kick at the door, but, like everything Matt and Freddie had a hand in, it was strong and sturdy and barely moved. When she paused in her assault, she heard the sound of tape being applied to the crack.

  What the hell was going on?

  Oh my God, she thought, why is the door is being sealed off with gaffer tape? What good would that do? The quad bike rider must be crazy if they thought that would do anything to hold the door.

  With her heart flaying her chest, she listened to the retreat of footsteps and the sound of the outer door being slammed shut. A key turned in the lock, then, a few m
oments later, she heard the cough of the quad bike engine being coaxed back to life. She waited, all her senses on high alert, but the roar did not diminish as the rider sped off into the night as she had expected. Instead, the noise became louder until it was next to the wall where she was imprisoned.

  She hadn’t realised that tears were streaming down her face and every nerve ending sparkled with alarm. Using her knees, she located the toilet seat and sat down. Her heart was crashing so haphazardly that when the extractor fan fell from its housing she almost had a coronary. She screamed, launched herself to the right and knocked her elbow on the cistern, sending a splice of agony reverberating up to her shoulder.

  Ignoring the pain, she felt around the room for the light pull. Finding it, she grasped it between her chin and her chest and pulled. It took a couple of attempts, but eventually she managed to light up the room. She twisted around to see a gaping hole in the wall, about five inches in diameter, where the extract fan had once been.

  What the…?

  It wasn’t long before her part-formed question was answered in the most horrific of ways. A wide grey rubber tube, akin to a tumble dryer hose, had been inserted into the aperture and a spurt of white foam sealant applied to the outer circumference.

  Rosie began to scream, but because of the tape she could only produce a muffled moan. She climbed onto the toilet seat and stared through the tube. There was nothing to see. A few seconds later, the quad bike engine became more insistent as the rider revved the accelerator, and the toxic stench of exhaust fumes spurted into the room. Nausea grasped at the back of Rosie’s throat but she wasn’t sure whether it was the fumes or her abject horror at what was happening that had caused it. She began to cough as the harsh acidic tang scorched her lungs.

  She knew that if she vomited she would choke to death well before the oxygen had disappeared. She had to think quickly. She lay down on the floor, forced her tongue firmly into her cheek, and dragged her mouth along the floorboards until the tape began to roll and she was able to discard the gag. Once free, she mistakenly inhaled a few deep breaths and regretted her folly immediately as another intense coughing fit wracked her body.