Page 28 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
The idea of employing people, of being responsible for other people’s livelihood, even for a few short months makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and it must show on my face because he chuckles.
‘It’s not that terrifying. Evergreene and I used to share seasonal workers, because your season begins just as mine ends. The same two blokes still work for me every autumn, they’re trustworthy and hard-working and they know what they’re doing on a Christmas tree farm. If you get in quick before they find festive work elsewhere, I’m sure they’d be overjoyed to stay on and work for you too. Iguarantreeit. Get it? Guaran-tree?’
I laugh, mainly at how pleased he is with himself for such an excellent pun. And it makes sense, I know that. It’s becoming increasingly obvious that I can’t manage this on my own.
‘One of the guys at the market used to be a groundsman for Evergreene. Keeping the weeds down, path maintenance, gritting in winter, that sort of thing, and I happen to know he’s between jobs at the moment. He helps out with his dad’s gingerbread stall across the aisle from mine, if you wanted to have a word. I’m going in the morning if you fancy tagging along? Meet some of the locals? You’ll love Fergus and Fiona. They’ll never admit it, but they’ve got a little flirtation going on between them, that’s always fun to watch. And believe me, once they get wind of this,everyonein Elffield will know about Peppermint Branches reopening, and it’s never too early to start getting the word out.’
‘Right. Er, okay,’ I say, wondering what exactly I’ve got myself into here. Then again, where would I be now if I was still in London? Staring at the wall behind my desk, inputting data that starts to blur because it’s so boring that it all looks the same. Pumpkins, gingerbread, and flirty pensioners have got to be more fun than that.
Eventually he puts his wet socks and boots back on and stands up. I pick Gizmo up off my lap and tuck him under my arm without giving him another chance to escape and chase after the fish. Noel jumps up the bank and holds his hand out, and I slip my left hand into it. My hand feels small in his huge one, his fingers completely encasing it as he pulls me back onto the path and drops it quickly.
‘Will you tell me more about what it used to be like?’ I ask as we walk past another gate in the holly hedge, the sign on this one reading ‘Norway spruce’, the trees inside just as overgrown as the Nordmann firs and the ground just as overrun with weeds.
‘It’s a great place to come in the winter. You should open in December even if the farm isn’t ready and you just select the trees yourself, cut them, net them, and stack them on the driveway to be sold as pre-cuts. People came for dog walks when it was open and picnics by the river if it wasn’t too cold. Evergreene used to give kids tractor rides around the track when he went to pick up trees.’
‘Oh, that would be so much fun. If the tractor starts.’
‘It will. You’ll see. These things are built to last. It just needs a bit of care and attention before you make the poor thing explode again.’
I lean on the next gate and look over. A wide, overgrown tractor path is the only thing separating this field of trees from the next, which Noel informs me are Balsam firs and Blue spruces, the colour making it easy to differentiate between them. It looks magical. I can see why Noel was convinced there were elves here when he was a kid. I think back to when I was younger. I would havelovedto come to a place like this. ‘Has there ever been a Santa here for kids to visit?’
He shakes his head. ‘Evergreene wore a Santa hat throughout December, but that’s as far as it goes.’
‘I could hire a Santa. Set up a little Santa’s grotto for kids to meet him. And you thought elves used to scamper between the trees … I could hang some elf hats around like they’ve been snagged on trunks, and I could make stencils to put down some glittery footprints. All I’d have to do is get a couple of sheets of thin bendy plastic and cut out some little footprints and sprinkle glitter through them onto the ground. There could be some bells hidden in the highest branches so they’d jingle whenever the wind blew.’
Even Gizmo is watching me with his head on one side, his big ears twitching.
I close my eyes and think of all the films I’ve seen where the characters go to buy a Christmas tree. ‘We need loads of lights and some carollers. People are always walking aroundfa-la-la-la-la-ingin festive movies. At the very least, we could play Christmas music. Some of the trees need to be transplanted to the outer fields so it looks attractive from the road. I can string them with lights all along the driveway and the lane down to the fields. And hot chocolate! I could set up a stall outside the house. Hot chocolate is pretty much a requirement on a Christmas tree farm.’
He’s smiling as he looks at me with a sort of proud smile, his eyes twinkling as the morning sun reaches its peak in the sky.
‘What about the caravan?’ I ask, trying not to think about what that smile means.
‘I think it’ll take more than a cup of hot chocolate to fix that.’
‘No, I mean, it’s wrecked anyway. What if I drag it out of the garden and clean it up and paint it festively red. I could use it as a hot chocolate stand. It’d give me a little kitchen area to work in, everything would stay dry, and the back window could act as a serving hatch …’ I know I’m talking too fast as my excitement builds.
‘You don’t have a license to serve food to the public. And it’ll take longer than six weeks to get one.’
‘Oh.’ I try not to show how disappointed I am.
His smile goes from playing around his mouth to spreading all the way across his face and making his eyes dance. ‘But I do.’
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to ignore the fluttering in my belly at the sight of that smile. It’s just excitement about the tree farm. Nothing more.
‘If you take out the garden fence, which is rotted away anyway and shift the caravan about three feet to the right, it’ll be on my property, and I have all the necessary licenses. You can shift it back and get your own by next year, but it would do for this season.’
‘And you’d let me do that?’
He shrugs. ‘Sure. It sounds like a lovely idea. We do hot drinks when the pumpkin patch is open and they go down like, well, hot drinks on a cold day.’
We stand together looking out at the rows of silent trees until Gizmo starts pulling to chase a dried up oak leaf that’s had the audacity to flutter by.
‘Ideas.’ Noel nudges his shoulder into mine as the little dog catches the leaf and tears it apart with teeth and paws. ‘Maybe you’re notquiteas “not cut out for this” as I thought you were.’
‘Was that a compliment?’ I grin at him. ‘You weren’t kidding about these trees, were you? What kind of magical powers are they hiding if they can even coax a compliment out of you?’
His laugh rumbles around the farm and my chest is fluttering with festive joy as we carry on walking. I can imagine it as he describes it, and I’m suddenly brimming with ideas to make it a reality again.
