Page 22 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
Perfect. Again. He’s definitely got radar for the worst possible timing. Couldn’t he have come five minutes later when I’d tried it again and it miraculously worked this time? Which it is definitely going to, because I cannotafford a new tractor.
I clamber off the tractor and duck past him in the doorway to get outside into the fresh air. Gizmo looks up at me and wags his tail, and I kneel down on the concrete ramp to the barn door and give him a scritch. He’s wearing a hand-knitted blue hoodie with a paw print pattern around the edges and the hood tucked back under his harness. Just when I thought he couldn’t possibly be anymoreadorable.
I squint up at Noel in the morning sun. His hair is loose again, and the sunlight is picking out strands of golden brown that I hadn’t noticed yesterday amongst his mass of dark hair. His soft flannel shirt is red and grey plaid today, and he’s wearing black cargo trousers tucked into brown work boots laced up above his ankles. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was walking Gizmo and I heard the distinct rumbling of some idiot trying to fumigate themselves by starting a tractor that hasn’t been started for over four years indoors.’
‘How was I supposed to know it was going to do that?’
‘Common sense? It’s been sat there for years. At the very least it needs an oil change and checking over by someone who knows what they’re doing. You don’t just ram the key in and try it. And you needsomeinstruction on how to drive it. They’re dangerous things to operate and you’ve clearly never seen one before in your life.’
I mentally addTractors For Dummiesto my list of books I need to order the moment I can get a Wi-Fi signal. ‘I was trying to be proactive. I can’t do much unless I know exactly what the situation is here.’
‘Killing the tractor is not going to help.’
I glare up at him without taking my hands out of Gizmo’s short fur, and he leans against the doorframe and hooks one leg over the other and nods into the barn. ‘I’m impressed with your progress. So far you’ve managed to open the barn door. Even that would prove too much for some city girls.’
‘What have you got against people from cities?’ I say in babytalk as I make faces at Gizmo.
‘Nothing. I just don’t believe in worlds colliding. You’re a …’ He gestures towards me, waving his hand around like he can’t find the right word. ‘You’re a shopper. No matter how good your intentions might be, you don’t even own a pair of wellies. How can you attempt to be a farmer when you don’t own a good pair of stomping boots?’
‘Did you come out of the womb wearing welly-boots? Which would’ve been really weird. And really uncomfortable for your poor mother,’ I snap because he seems to have completely missed the fact that these things can be bought.
He lets out an unexpected burst of laughter and hands Gizmo’s lead to me, then he strides into the smoky barn and comes back out with the notebook I was using. ‘Your inventory-taking skills are enviable.Tractor. Lots of tools. Metal thingies. Long sharp knives.’ He reads aloud from what I’ve scribbled down so far. ‘Otherwise known as shearing knives – your most important tools during shearing season.Lots of saws. Strimmer. Hedge cutter. Chainsaws. Big metal frame thingy with wheels and blades.’ He’s laughing to himself as he reads it.
‘It’s not funny,’ I say to Gizmo, who leans up to lick my nose.
‘No, it’s hilarious that someone who wants to be a Christmas tree farmer can’t identify a plough.’
Sothat’swhat it is. ‘I knew that.’
‘Aye.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘It’s a chisel plough. In January, you hire a stump grinder and pull out the stumps of the trees previously cut. Then you hook the plough up to the tractor and plough the empty fields, and put down pre-emergence weedkiller, then in March and April, you can plant saplings out, but you have to be vigilant with the weeds. Larger trees can handle them but saplings will be overpowered and you’ll lose the whole spring’s worth of work and fields of stock for future years. That’s what the strimmer and the lawnmowers are for, and the …’ He runs his finger down the list until he finds my entry. ‘Gallons of unknown chemicals.’
‘Have you just come to make fun of me or do you actually want something?’ I get to my feet, pull my notebook out of his hand, and thrust the plastic handle of Gizmo’s extending lead back towards him.
Our fingers brush as he takes the lead, and instead of leaving, he reaches into his shirt pocket and hands me a piece of paper covered in his calligraphy-like handwriting. ‘I came to give you these. Phone numbers for the electricity and water companies. If you give them a ring, they’ll probably have you back on in a couple of hours. I’ve also put down the name and number of that builder I mentioned, and my Wi-Fi password if you need it. Reception’s patchy up here and I know you don’t have a landline, so hop onto mine anytime you want to.’
‘Wi-Fi! I could kiss you!’ I clear my throat. ‘But I won’t. Obviously.’
Despite his harsh words, he’s kind and thoughtful too, like last night. Never mind builders, electric, or water, I pull my phone out and type the password in, and squeal in delight when it connects to his WiFi, even at this distance.
I know my face has lit up because when I look up from my notifications, he’s looking at me with one of those dark eyebrows raised. ‘Has anyone ever told you that there’s more to life than the internet?’
‘Yeah, but, like … what? I mean, if you’ve got Amazon, what more do you need?’
The other eyebrow joins the first.
‘I’m joking, Noel. But now I can buy books on growing Christmas trees.’ I can hear the glee in my own voice when I glance back into the barn. ‘And identifying farmyard machinery.’
If his eyebrows go up any further, they’re going to pop off and go on a minibreak to the Outer Hebrides. ‘And you think this is the kind of industry you can learn from a book.’ He sighs. ‘I have nothing to say to you but good luck – good luck in finding another buyer when you decide to give up on your drunken whim and realise this is a difficult job and you need some level of natural aptitude and passion for it.’
‘I have passion,’ I say as he tugs Gizmo to walk away but the little dog stays wagging his tail at me. ‘And I have a plan. Assuming that aptitude as a Christmas tree farmer isn’t based solely on rubber footwear.’
‘A plan?’ He turns back and folds his arms. ‘This should be good.’
It does not sound like a compliment.
I get the page of scribbled notes out of my pocket and unfold it as I hand it to him and watch his light eyes scan over my scribblings. I get a bit self-conscious when he doesn’t say anything but lines start creasing his forehead.
