Page 60 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
And I smile to myself because I think I understand him a bit more than he thinks I do.
***
Even before six in the morning, the market is buzzing. It’s busier today than any other time I’ve been here. I’ve noticed a huge increase in customers recently, and there are more traders too – stalls that have been reserved but empty until now are starting to open up, selling Christmas decorations, handmade gifts and cards, and traditional festive food from different countries.
Today, there are cars and vans parked all the way along the country lanes that take us into Elffield, and the main road to the market is choc-a-block with people parked up on either side. Noel performs some impressive driving manoeuvres to squeeze past.
The market looks amazing in the dark. Everyone who works there has clubbed together and bought numerous decorations for the building, and Noel and the others have put in a good few hours of stapling up lights and garlands. The pillars on either side of the main entrance are wrapped with twinkling fairylights, the trees that Fiona requested for the outside are against the walls, laden with multicoloured baubles and sparkling lights. The sparkling continues along each edge of the building and up to the roof. Inside, through the open entranceway, the welcoming main lights of the market give us a glimpse of the Peppermint fir – an impressively symmetrical seven-foot tall specimen that Noel selected as the best – currently standing in the centre of the market, decorated with input and help from all the traders.
Noel made up a gorgeous double-sided chalkboard sign, with ‘Peppermint Branches’ written in big, swirling letters with holly leaf swashes, directing people to the tree stall on one side and advertising the opening next weekend on the other side, and I’ve been reassured by the fact that the tree has elicited a gasp of admiration from everyone who’s seen it so far.
Noel knocks his knee into mine. ‘Doesn’t it look amazing?’
‘Mmm.’ My knuckles have turned white where they’re gripping the door as Noel skirts the truck around yet another van parked on a diagonal outside the post office.
‘I’m not that bad a driver, am I?’ he asks, thankfully without taking his eyes off the road.
‘No. I just think this truck is so old that if you knock it even slightly, it will disintegrate around us.’
There’s no way he should be laughing that hard while trying to navigate this crowded street.
‘They came!’ I forget all about road safety when my eyes fall on a group of vans and cars parked near the entrance of the market, and one of the vans has the local news channel logo emblazoned across the side of it.
‘Local news?’ Noel asks.
‘Hopefully more than just them. Chelsea’s boss is in media law so I asked her to get in touch with some of their contacts, but I didn’t expect it to lead anywhere, and I’ve been emailing and tweeting every news site I could think of to tell them about trying to save the market and asking if they’d cover the competition. I didn’t get any confirmation, I was just hoping they’d turn up.’ My hand suddenly flies to my head in horror, where my hair is tied in a loose knot on top. ‘Why didn’t I at least use a mirror to put my hair up this morning?’
He laughs. ‘You could use a porcupine to brush it, it would still look gorgeous.’
It makes me laugh and blush at the same time. He never takes compliments but there’s something about the way he gives them that seems so genuine. I’ve always thought people only flatter you because they want something, but there’s something about the way he speaks that makes him impossible not to believe. I just wish I could get him to take a compliment once in a while too.
Thankfully, once we turn the corner behind the market, the trade entrance is clear of cars because the florist is outside in a hi-vis jacket stopping anyone who tries to park there. He waves us through the side entrance, giving us a thumbs up, the delight clear on his face. Most of the stalls are already set up as we edge through the buzzing lanes of Elffield market, and workers from the various businesses are crowded around their respective trees, making last-minute adjustments. Even Fiona is looking more colourful than usual as she sits on a stool next to Fergus, and they’re having a giggly conversation which involves lots of good body language. He keeps reaching over to touch her leg, her foot is hooked over her knee towards him and she keeps twirling a lock of lilac hair, and if they lean any closer to each other, they’re likely to crash together and fall off their stools.
‘Adorable, aren’t they?’ Noel says as he pulls up at the pumpkin stall and we sit and watch them in silence for a minute.
A minute is all we get before Fiona sees us and gets so excited that she spills her coffee, leaving Fergus to clean it up as she rushes over to the truck.
She’s waiting at the door before Noel’s even got it open. She takes his arm and drags him around to my side as I slam the door behind me, where she practically throws us together and embraces us both at the same time.
‘Good morning to you too, Fiona,’ he says, the tone of confusion in his voice making me giggle.
‘I know why you two are late!’ She squeals at a pitch that I haven’t heard since that time my grandfather sat on his hearing aid when I was little.
‘We’re much earlier than usual,’ he protests.
‘Traffic,’ I say.
‘Kissing!’ She chirps so loudly that several people nearby stop what they’re doing and look at us.
Noel chokes and extracts himself from the hug. ‘I assure you the only creature I’ve kissed lately is Gizmo. Who, admittedly,isa very good kisser. It’s only when he starts using tongue that you run into problems.’ He meets my eyes over the top of Fiona’s head and winks at me, and it doesn’t help the giggling situation.
‘And on that note, I’m going to start unloading seeing as we’resolate.’ Noel pats her shoulder and excuses himself, giving Fergus a wave as he walks round to the back of the truck.
‘I should help,’ I start but Fiona stops me.
She beckons me nearer like she wants to whisper something. ‘You have stubble rash.’
My hand flies to my face in a panic. Is she serious? I know I kissed him alotlast night, but I’ve never had stubble rash in my life. No wonder she knows there’s something going on between us. Why didn’t I look in the mirror this morning? It doesn’t feel sore or raised, but I rub my fingers over my chin worriedly, and she produces a handheld mirror from her pocket and hands it to me.
