A Country Village Christmas

by Suzanne Snow

  The fell rescue association was shut, thankfully, reminding her of last Monday and how she’d watched the volunteers setting off into the snow to search for Tom. It wasn’t difficult to recall first the fear and then the relief when they had brought him safely back. The Christmas trees outside the barn were stacked up ready for tomorrow, and she wouldn’t have been too surprised if Santa Claus and his reindeer had shot across the sky in a scarlet sleigh. Frost crunched beneath their feet; their breath silvered shadows disappearing into the air. Someone walking a dog on the far side of the green raised a hand in greeting.

  ‘Wow.’ It seemed the most natural thing for Olivia to tuck her arm through Tom’s.

  ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’

  ‘Gorgeous. So quiet. I’d forgotten what being out of the city can look like at night. Those skies.’

  ‘What other new old traditions might you rediscover whilst you’re here?’

  ‘That’s a good question.’ She felt a clench in her heart, thinking about when her mum had been alive and how afterwards her family had shrunk to just her and her dad, aunties and uncles far away, grandparents elderly or gone. It was always so much easier to remember how family felt when she was back in Thorndale, never closer to a real Christmas than when she was here. ‘Singing carols, I used to love doing that. There’s just something about those songs in the depths of winter.’

  ‘Agreed. What else?’

  ‘The smell of turkey roasting on Christmas Day. My dad always took care of it, and I’d come down in the morning to pancakes and we’d sit around the tree to open presents. A frosty walk on Boxing Day followed by a lazy afternoon in pyjamas with a good book. The smell of a real tree.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful.’

  ‘Yes. Usually it was.’ Olivia heard the wistful note in her reply. ‘How about you? Any traditions from your marriage?’

  ‘Not really. Nicole and I usually ate out or spent it with her family. They were kind but it never quite felt like home.’ Tom’s voice was quiet and Olivia wrapped both of her arms around his. ‘My earliest Christmas memory is getting on a bus with my dad to spend it with my grandparents. Taking presents and having them look after us both. I liked that. We went every year but they died before my dad was really ill. Not much room for tradition then, I was just taking care of him and getting through school as best I could.’ Tom sighed. ‘You lost your mum too, though. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Slowly they drifted to a halt and then they were hugging on the high street. His arms tightened around her as Olivia carried on. ‘It was awful, we missed her so much and my dad was broken-hearted. But he and I helped each other and tried to do some things the same, though some had to be different. He adored the shop and his books, the people he knew. They looked after him too.’

  Gradually she and Tom separated and they strolled on, Olivia’s arm back through his. She could hear the hoot of an owl, and the post office and cafe appeared so different without the usual bustle of customers, the art gallery lit with light enough to frame the paintings and a sculpture of boxing hares in the window.

  ‘May I ask how your writing went today?’

  ‘I’m translating that as, “Tom, did you write the love scene today?”’

  Olivia adored the amusement in his voice, the way he countered her question with a comment that drew them back to flirting again. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Let’s just say they’re having an interesting evening.’

  ‘And?’

  Tom added nothing to her question and she tapped his arm with impatient fingers until he continued. ‘And that’s it. An interesting evening, like I said.’

  ‘You’re seriously going to make me wait for the book?’

  ‘Yes. Patience. But I am thinking maybe there is a way we could trade?’

  ‘Oh?’ She heard his lowered tone, realised suddenly that maybe their own evening was getting more interesting. She was already smiling at the irony of strolling through a darkened village lit by Christmas lights and stars in the dead of night. She tried to think of her inbox instead and failed utterly at his next words.

  ‘Maybe you could massage my shoulders when I’m done for the day, like you did before. In return I’ll cook supper. That lasagne was so grim, I wouldn’t have thought it beyond you to have chosen it on purpose.’

  ‘Done,’ Olivia said happily. ‘And I was in a rush when I bought it so it wasn’t exactly on purpose. I’ll buy some almond oil. Although,’ she crashed on, her face becoming warm despite the chilly air. ‘Better not. You’d need to take your top off and you can’t be doing that.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ His voice was soft, like another caress on her skin, and she felt her heart bump.

  ‘Stop it,’ she muttered crossly. ‘I might accidentally tweet it.’

  His laughter followed as they walked in an easy silence, turning left and making their way slowly beyond the village, lights petering out and leaving them in darkness. There was a lane ahead leading to a footpath and they followed it, eventually drawing to a halt outside an old farmhouse, its cobbled front garden bordered by a stone wall decorated with an overgrown rose bare of its leaves. Four sash windows neatly divided the front of building, the top two tucked into the roof beneath wooden eaves.

  ‘Let’s have a closer look.’ Tom dropped his arm so that Olivia’s hand slid down too and he caught it, pulling her gently towards the house. There were no lights, signs of occupancy, barking dogs or parked cars.

  ‘Tom, it might not be empty. We could be about to give someone the fright of their lives. And it’s trespassing.’

  ‘There’s no one there, I’m certain. I’ve been running past it most days and I would have noticed by now. Plus it’s for sale, so we won’t be the only ones having a nosy.’

  He pushed aside the metal gate and led the way to the front door. The path was covered with weeds bursting up between the uneven stones. Tom tried the door gently and Olivia would have been astounded had it yielded. Finally letting go of her, he leant in to stare through a downstairs window on their right, both hands around his face against the glass.

  ‘I think this is the sitting room, there’s another room on the opposite side and the kitchen’s at the back. It’s really rough, though, doesn’t look like it’s been updated in years.’

  ‘Let me see.’ She was alongside him now, her own hands to the glass and she could only make out an empty room, a carpet she was sure would be threadbare. A stone wall divided the house from the barn attached on its right and Tom placed a hand on the wall and swung his legs over it.

  ‘Let’s go around the back.’ He held out an arm through the darkness.

  ‘No thanks, your legs are longer than mine for getting over that wall, I’d probably go flying on the frost. I’ll walk round.’

  He waited for her, and behind the barn they found themselves in a scruffy concrete yard, lined by posts and rails and a farm gate, which separated it from a meadow. A wooden fence was having a go at dividing the house from the barn but half of it had fallen down, revealing an empty patio telling the same story of emptiness.

  ‘I’ve been amusing myself when I’m out running, thinking of this place and who used to live in it. What their story might have been.’

  Olivia followed Tom to shine the torch on her phone through another window. The back of the farmhouse looked even sadder and she felt sorry for it, trying to remember when it had last been occupied, and couldn’t. There was nothing more to see now, the ripple of a stream somewhere nearby the only sound.

  ‘I imagined a murder, a body boarded up, ghostly voices in the night.’ Tom reached for her hand, tucking it through his arm again as they wandered back out to the darkened lane. ‘Someone afraid to go to sleep.’

  ‘Always the writer, hey?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You didn’t picture a nice family then, farming their land, raising their children, a few chickens scratching about, cattle in the barn.’

  ‘I don’t like chickens.’

  ‘You pr
efer murder?’

  ‘To write about? Yes. But I can picture how the house might look though, renovated. A new family, a new story.’

  ‘Me too. And sorry to disappoint you, mine doesn’t involve dead bodies.’ Olivia was remembering the For Sale sign, her mind running through her clients. It was smaller than most of the properties she found, but even so there could be someone who might be interested. She decided to search online for the details tomorrow just in case.

  ‘What would your story for the house be?’

  It was a few moments before she could give Tom a reply. ‘I’m really not sure. A new beginning, I guess, like you said. New people. A new kitchen and heating for a start, convert the barn and extend the house. It would be a nice project for someone. But we should probably head back before I freeze to death and you turn into that ugly sister.’

  ‘As my fairy godmother, I hope you wouldn’t let that happen.’

  They strolled back towards the village, frost sparkling on the ground and clinging to plants, giving them a ghostly whiteness beneath the stars. Olivia liked her hand on his arm again as they walked to the opposite side of the green in the centre of the village. Just as she had that thought, Tom removed her hand and crossed the cobbles towards the trees bundled outside the fell rescue barn. He was rummaging through the collection, separating them as he pulled one from the other.

  ‘Tom, what are you doing?’ Her question was a horrified splutter as he lifted a tree to assess it.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ She heard, rather than saw, his grin. ‘There’s no tree back at the house and we should have one. The smell, remember?’

  ‘We don’t need a tree. And certainly not one that you’ve stolen.’

  Tom came to stand in front of her, holding the tree triumphantly. ‘I’m not stealing it. I’ll leave a note and come back tomorrow with the money. It’s a bit small but better than nothing. After all, what’s a home at Christmas without a tree? New old traditions, remember?’

  ‘Maybe, but I always take the decorations down on Boxing Day.’

  ‘Boxing Day! Olivia Bradshaw, you’re a disgrace. Don’t you know there are twelve days of Christmas?’

  ‘In theory, but that doesn’t mean you need to surround yourself with wilting trees spilling needles everywhere. Anyway I’m not sure where Dad’s put the decorations since we last had one, he might’ve even got rid of them.’ As far as she was concerned Christmas was for people who had time to prepare and then enjoy it. ‘There’s so much stuff in the house and it’ll probably be January before I can lay my hands on them.’

  ‘They’re in the shop, I’ve seen the boxes. I’ve started clearing out some of the books that aren’t fit to sell, and he keeps reminding me to go through everything. That’s when I found the Christmas decorations.’

  ‘The shop? Why would he put them in there?’

  ‘No idea.’ Tom’s head was bent as he scribbled a note from a pad he produced from his pocket and stuck it to another tree. ‘I’ve signed it from Olivia so if anyone’s seen us pinching a tree it’ll be your neck on the line, not mine. I’m famous, remember. I can’t have any scandal attached to my name.’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘No, of course I didn’t, I just said it was Tom at the bookshop, they know where to find me. Let’s go, it is perishing out here.’

  ‘I’m not decorating it tonight,’ Olivia warned him. ‘I need my sleep first.’

  ‘But not beauty sleep, though, do you?’

  She liked that, she thought, helping to carry the tree between them as they crossed the green to the house. The library was still lit, its lights shining down onto the shallow front garden and offering a welcome to her and Tom that felt like home.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Olivia reached for her phone first thing in the morning as usual. She flicked a cursory glance over her emails and messages, more Twitter notifications, and replied to the message from her friend Gina, checking in about their brunch date in a couple of weeks. They messaged for a bit and when Gina had to disappear, Olivia searched for the farmhouse she had seen last night with Tom. She soon found it and read the agent’s details with a practised eye. She knew about the attached small barn and learned there was planning permission for conversion already granted.

  She hadn’t expected the acre of land or that the stream she and Tom had heard was at the bottom of a tree-lined meadow. There was plenty of work to be done in the house and she saw some of its history revealed in the photos. An old story for sure, and a new one waiting to be written, just as he’d said. She saved the details on her phone, thinking over a couple of clients who could be interested. It was in a lovely location, beyond the village but not far, and it wouldn’t be long before someone snapped it up.

  They’d left the Christmas tree outside last night and when she walked into the kitchen, Tom had already brought it into the house and wedged it firmly inside a metal stand. She had to smile at the sight: Tom flat on the stone floor, tightening the ratchet that would keep the tree upright, spiny green branches poking in all directions.

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘Good thing I saw your feet,’ he muttered, still on the floor. ‘Otherwise I’d be thinking you’re trying to scare the living daylights out of me again.’

  ‘You’re the one on the floor this time. And I can think of better ways to scare you.’

  ‘Oh?’ His voice was still muffled and Olivia saw him sliding out from underneath the branches.

  ‘Baking. You have no idea what you’ve let yourself in for. Where did you find the tree stand, by the way?’

  ‘In the shop.’ He was upright again, smiling at her in a way that made her want to kiss him good morning. ‘I’m guessing your dad might’ve had a tree in the shop at one time. Morning.’

  There was a moment when it looked as though he might be having the same thought about kissing. Tiredness cast shadows around his eyes and she loved the way his gaze lingered on hers before moving away.

  She helped herself to coffee and refilled his empty cup. She felt more tired than usual, wondering if her body was finding it harder to adjust, to settle into doing less now that she was meant to be winding down to annual leave. Her mind was working at a speed that was fractionally slower than the normal pace, her work not at the forefront of her focus in these hours with Tom.

  ‘Have you thought any more about Twitter?’ Olivia passed his cup across the table. ‘We’re still getting notifications from yesterday. It’s fine if you don’t want to carry on.’

  ‘Thanks. Actually I have and I hope you might find it interesting.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘Let me move the tree out of the way first.’ He looked at her. ‘Where do you want it?’

  ‘Between the windows in the sitting room.’ Her smile was sad. ‘It always went there.’

  ‘Then that’s where we’ll put it.’ Tom disappeared in a flurry of branches, leaving green needles scattered in his wake and she pulled a face that was also merry. And so the clear-up had begun.

  She took her coffee and followed, watching as he set the tree in place. ‘Have you paid for it yet?’ She bit back the question she wanted to ask, about whether he could afford it.

  ‘I went first thing, someone was already there and had seen the note. So you’re off the hook, Olivia, no one is going to come pounding on the door and chasing us down for stealing a Christmas tree.’

  ‘Good.’ She paused. ‘Want to split the cost? It seems only fair.’

  Tom still had his back to her as he turned the tree until he was satisfied its best view was facing them. ‘Can it be my treat, to the house for Christmas? And you and your dad, obviously.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘I am. It already smells gorgeous.’ He stepped away from the tree, and she liked the triumph she saw on his face. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Beautiful, if a little bare.’

  ‘If your plans for work aren’t too heavy today then we could decorate it later. If you
’d like to. I am hoping not to have to do it all alone.’

  ‘I’ve already checked my inbox and there’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. Seeing as it’s a Sunday and all.’ Olivia winked. ‘I guess if you ever write that Christmas movie you’ll need to know your way around decorating a tree, it’s always crucial to the plot. So technically this is work for you.’

  ‘Movie or pantomime? Which would you like me to write first?’

  ‘Oh the movie, definitely. Look at how much research you’ve already done: tree lots, Christmas market, hot chocolate, starlit walks, petty theft.’

  ‘It was not theft, I’ve already paid for it. Temporarily borrowed maybe, I could’ve always taken it back. And the starlit walk was your idea as I recall.’

  ‘I just wanted a walk, I didn’t know there would be stars as well.’

  Tom gave her a look that suggested he didn’t believe a word of it, and they were both laughing again. She loved how easily they did that and tried to remember a time when she had laughed with someone else quite like they did, but couldn’t.

  ‘So what were you going to suggest about Twitter?’ Olivia dropped onto the sofa, watching as he chose an armchair nearby.

  ‘What do you think about creating a hashtag for sharing Christmas books that the shop recommends? Old classics, family favourites? We’ve got less than two weeks to Christmas now and I was thinking we could maybe change the book every other day? We could call it Bradshaw’s Books at Christmas. Plus hashtag, of course.’

  She could already see the tweets, the interest, the charm. ‘Tom, that’s a brilliant idea. We could ask my dad for personal recommendations, he would adore that.’ Olivia paused, thinking over the practicalities. ‘What about you? If we do start getting more visitors, then your cover could be well and truly blown.’

  Tom shrugged. ‘I’ll cope. Twinkly eyes, cute smile, remember? For the selfies.’ He winked as she tried to pull a disgusted face. ‘I thought I might even do a recommendation of my own. Maybe you could too? Given all that bookselling experience you keep telling me about. Honestly, it’s like you’re trying to get me to write you into my book.’