Page 84 of A December to Remember
All eyes turned to Doreen as she showed the crafters how to take handfuls of the stiff mixture and smoosh it into their cookie cutter shapes. The shapes would then be pushed out onto the baking sheets, holes made in their tops for threading later, and left to set overnight.
Artemis padded up and down the center of the tables inspecting proceedings, but nobody paid her any mind. The wind had picked up further and it buffeted the walls of the marquee. But people seemed happy enough to work in their coats and scarves, and the Christmas music had a warming effect. There was something about being inside, even inside a tent, when the weather was blowing a hooley outside, that made people glow with gratitude. And when Belinda arrived with a catering urn of hot chocolate, and a pillow-sized bag of mini marshmallows, the cozy factor ramped up to ten.
Simone couldn’t quite believe the response to their call to arms. Two weeks ago, she firmly believed reinstating the winter solstice festival would be an impossible task. She certainly hadn’t expected that she would enjoy herself after decades spent looking down her nose at what she’d felt was a provincial little village. And now she was standing in a decorated marquee filled to bursting with that same community, who had welcomed her home with open arms. Perhaps she didn’t need to choose between being the confident, accomplished woman in Greenwich and the girl she’d been in Rowan Thorp. Maybe there was room for both.
38
The storm’s namewas Holly, and Holly had been busy. No one had expected the low-pressure weather front pushing over from France to exact a freak blizzard upon Kent. Holly had raged throughout the night while Simone had laid in bed listening as rubbish bins were toppled and twigs, ripped from their branches, scratched the windows.
She had got up twice in the night to peer out through the bay window, craning her neck to try to see the marquee. But it was almost impossible to make anything out between the thick dark and the swirling mass of snow.
At six o’clock in the morning, her phone buzzed with a text. It was Maggie.
The storm took out the marquee. Come now. I’ll bring coffee.
Simone’s heart sank. Surely it couldn’t be completely gone? She threw her coat over a pair of hastily chosen jogging bottoms and a hoodie. She hadn’t brought any boots with her, but Mrs.Dalgleish had a pair by the back door, which she wriggled her feet into and headed out into the dark morning. Artemis was waiting for her on the gatepost.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
Artemis gave a long slow blink, then threw her head back and meowed mournfully like a werewolf at the moon.
“That bad, huh? Come on, then, let’s go.” The cat jumped softly down into the snow and trotted beside her.
As she passed her car, she noticed a crack right along the center of the windscreen. “Great!” It had either been walloped by flying debris or the chip in the glass made by the tractor had fractured in the cold.
Holly’s histrionics had burned themselves out, and the air was calm with a glacial sting. The village was transformed. Snow banked up against garden walls and postboxes and crunched under her boots. Fairy lights lit the predawn streets.
She saw it as soon as she turned the corner: the marquee skeleton was a buckled and bent carcass; torn strips of fabric hung limply from its brittle bones. The trestle tables had been overturned; some had been blown into the gardens of the Rowan Tree Inn and the Stag and Hound. The white tablecloths were scattered around the green, having been redistributed by the wind. Some of the garlands hung listlessly from the ceiling beams, but most had been ripped apart and lay scattered in the snow along with the trays of lovingly made bird feeders.
In the dim glow given off by the snow, Simone could see Maggie’s eyes were red rimmed. At the same moment, a gasp from her left made her look around; Star was raking both hands through her bed-mussed tresses and shaking her head in disbelief. They’d worked so hard.
Maggie bent and handed them each a mug of coffee she’d set down on a torn piece of PVC. They said nothing. Simone didn’t know how long they stood there quietly contemplating.
“I know this sounds stupid, but it feels like we lost him all over again,” she said finally.
“It’s not stupid,” said Maggie.
“I know what you mean.” Star sniffed. “We did it all for him and now it’s gone. Just like he is.”
Simone put an arm around her. “We really tried. I think he would know that.”
Star nodded. A tear splashed into her coffee.
One by one, lights started to appear in windows as people began their day. Maggie continued to stare at the shreds of canvas that littered Holy Trinity Green. Her usual can-do attitude appeared to have been temporarily stymied.
Simone cast her gaze around the rest of the high street. The Christmas trees hadn’t suffered too badly; a few baubles had loosened and the tinsel had bunched in places, but they were otherwise unharmed. If anything, they looked even better now that their fairy-lit branches were laden with fresh snow. It was as though Holly had focused all her attention on the marquee, like Dorothy’s house in Kansas.
Duncan jogged up the high street and came to stand by them. He was wearing shorts and a sweatshirt, which looked faintly ridiculous in this frozen landscape. He bent, resting his hands on his knees while he caught his breath.
“Bloody hell,” he said presently.
“And then some,” Simone agreed.
“I went out through the back of the pub this morning; I didn’t see any of this.”
“Is there damage anywhere else?” Maggie asked.
“No. There’re a few branches down but nothing serious. The snow’s not even that deep, considering. Bloody hell,” he said again, and then, noticing that Star was upset, he immediately went to her side to comfort her.
