Page 65 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
‘Probably just as well because we can barely fit a tree into the living room as it is, Lewis would lose the plot if I came home with one for each room. Unless they’re really tiny. Have you got any tiny ones that would survive a journey in the post? It seems wrong that my best friend’s got a Christmas tree farm and I’m getting a dusty plastic one out of the attic.’
I stand up straighter. ‘That’s actually an amazing idea. How many people would be thrilled to have a tiny tree? Loads of people must be without the space for a big one but would still like a real Christmas tree, and there are loads here. The years without shearing have allowed the mature trees to produce cones and their winged seeds have spread on the wind and sown themselves. Little trees are springing up everywhere. Noel said they need digging up and putting through the shredder because they’re not evenly spaced and they could’ve cross-pollinated with an unknown wild tree and grow up without the characteristics that customers want in their perfect Christmas trees. Why aren’t I selling them? I could slash them into the traditional shape, plant them into pots and sell them as little tabletop trees. Most of them are only about a foot tall. They’d be easy enough to pack and send in the post. I could have a website and sell them online.’
‘Are they going to grow big though? I’d love one but you’ve seen the size of my garden, I couldn’t plant it afterwards, and we’ve already had leaflets through the door saying the council are going to charge us thirty quid if we leave the Christmas tree out with the recycling. It’s a shame you can’t rent them out for Christmas and then take them back.’
‘Oh my god. Chelsea, that’s brilliant!’ I yelp in excitement as my mind is flooded with plans. Renting Christmas trees is a fabulous idea. There must be so many people in the same position as Chelsea who would love a real tree but stick to a plastic one because it goes neatly back into its box in January. A real tree is a big thing to have to find something to do with afterwards. If you can’t plant it in your own garden, you’ve either got the responsibility of taking it to the tip or paying the council to get rid of it for you. What if it could come back here? What if I could deliver it at the beginning of December and pick it up in January? People could rent the same tree every Christmas. They could watch it grow every year. My dad would’ve loved that idea. He was always so sentimental about his Christmas trees. They were planted in the garden every January until we ran out of space. When I was young, I remember him getting the arborists in to cut down the oldest ones which had shot up to thirteen feet tall. In more recent years, the tree would stay up until Mum shouted at him about it being bad luck to leave it up after Twelfth Night on the fifth of January, and then he’d carefully lay it in the back of the car and take it to the tip. He would have been delighted at the prospect of having one for Christmas, sending it back to the farm and having it tagged with our family name, and then having the same tree back again the following year, a little bigger and a little fuller – the family Christmas tree. ‘I’m going to look into this idea. I could block out a whole field for returning trees so they’re all in one place and not confused with the trees that are for sale. It’s too late for this year, but I’ve got ten months ahead where I’ve got to work out the best way to make this a successful business. I need to find out if this is financially viable and what kind of area I could cover. This is such a brilliant idea. Thanks, Chels.’
‘See?’ She says. ‘Girl power, circa the Spice Girls, 1996. You’ve got this. You don’t need some sexy Scottish pumpkin farmer to help you.’
The wind slams against the house again, hitting it so hard that the building shakes, and I watch in dismay as one of the dormant trees in the distance suddenly lists to one side and slowly crashes down onto a bed of silent snow, sending up a storm of mud and snowflakes as the huge rootball at its base lifts from the ground and covers the now horizontal tree with a shower of earth.
‘How can the weather be so bad there that I canhearit through the phone?’
Thunder cracks behind a far-off mountain even though it’s still too light to see any lightning, as if trying to answer Chelsea’s question for me. ‘It’s awful. We don’t have storms like this down in London. Apparently it’s a blizzard coming in from Scandinavia that’s hitting land right at the corner of Aberdeenshire, only about twenty miles from here. People at the market have been talking about it for days but I didn’t think it was going to be this bad.’
‘It sounds awful.’
‘I’m going to go and have a look around. I’ve already lost at least one tree, probably more judging by the amount of creaking wood I can hear, and whatever’s in the shed where that roof came from needs to be protected from the elements. I’ll talk to you later, okay?’
‘Leah, be careful,’ she calls after me as I hang up.
I shove my arms into a hoodie and shrug a waterproof coat over the top of it, pulling it tight around me. I yank my welly-boots on and brace myself to go outside.
The blizzard slams into me from all sides as I spit out a mouthful of snow and pull my hood back up from where it’s flapping behind me, trying to make a break for freedom from the rest of the coat.
The wind tears the gate out of my hands as I go to open it, and I have to chase it until it clatters against the fence on the opposite side of the lane and drag it back to secure the latch. I pull my hood tight and shove my hands into my pockets as I trudge down the lane, the depth of the snow making it hard to walk. I told Iain and the other two workers not to come in today, even though there’s still so much to do and we really need all hands on deck. According to the news, there’s transport disruption across the whole east side of Scotland, there are trees down across roads and railways, and it seemed too dangerous to work amongst trees when the wind is this strong.
I tell myself it’ll be better tomorrow while I peer into the Nordmann fir field, the wind banging the heavy wooden gate against the post like it weighs nothing, clattering with every gust. Two trees are down and one of the tallest ones is leaning precariously against its neighbour. It’ll be extra work to remove the fallen and damaged ones before Saturday and make sure it’s safe again, but there aren’t as many casualties as I expected given how bad it sounds out here.
Further around the track, the Peppermint fir field looks pretty much unscathed, and as I turn away from the gate and start traipsing towards the bridge, I hear a shout.
‘Leah!’
Bollocks. Bollocks bollocks bollocks. Noel’s through the hedge and dashing between the Peppermint firs before I have a chance to turn and run. I should have known he’d be out checking things on his farm too and been more careful to avoid him. I’ve seen him in the distance a few times since Friday and managed to sneak away before he’s caught sight of me, but there’s nowhere to hide this time. I’m going to have to face him.
My heart is hammering in my chest at the thought of seeing him again, and not in the same way it was last week.
He puts a foot on the gate and vaults over it rather than pushing it open, landing with a thud in the deep snow. At least he’s dressed for the weather in snow boots up to his knees and a thick padded coat down to his thighs, a red scarf is wrapped across his face, under the hood of the dark coat which is curled around his face like an Eskimo.
He pulls the scarf down so he can speak. ‘At the end of this, we’re going to wake up in Oz with a witch’s legs sticking out from under the house.’
‘I’m sure we are.’ I give him a tight smile.
I see the hurt cross his face. He’s not stupid. He knows I’m not pleased to see him and it makes something ache inside of me. ‘What are you doing out in this?’
‘Making sure everything’s battened down. Did you see half the shed roof go flying off just now? Have you got any damage?’
I wave my hand vaguely towards the Nordmann firs. ‘A few trees down. Nothing I can’t handle.’ The cold air bites my fingers and they’re tingling within seconds. I quickly pull my hand back inside my sleeve as he turns around to survey the area.
‘I did a circle of my land this morning to check for damage, I couldn’t help noticing you’ve lost a few in the lower fields too, and that was only the parts I could see. There’ll probably be more before this blizzard ends.’
I shrug and look down. ‘Oh well, these things happen.’
When I look up, he’s turned back and is watching me with a raised eyebrow. He knows there’s something wrong, and I try to hold his gaze, to challenge him, because he has no right to act like I’m the one who’s done something wrong here.
‘Things are going well at the market. Visitors are up, and the whole of Elffield is busier than it has been in years because of the news coverage, the tourists are loving it all, and the main Christmas shopping season hasn’t even started yet. No one’s going to knock down something this profitable. They’ve already taken Elffield off the list of contenders for the bus interchange. It’s not the answer to all our problems, but we’ve saved ourselves for now, and the council have agreed to a meeting with the stallholders in the new year to make a plan going forward.’
‘That’s good.’ That’s not just good, that’s brilliant. We did it – the one thing we set out to achieve, even if it’s only for a year and next Christmas we’ll have to do something bigger and better. I want to jump on him and cheer and celebrate, but what I actually do is burrow the toe of my welly-boot down into the snow until I can press it against a stone.
