Page 12 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
‘London,’ I mumble, my cheeks burning with redness. First I nearly cry in front of her, and now my stomach is auditioning for the role of Pavarotti. And I bet her charming son told her exactly how much of an idiot I am, so I must’ve made a stonking first impression on my nearest neighbour so far. ‘And I didn’t bring any food with me. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this. A pumpkin pie from a pumpkin farmer – thank you.’
‘Noel’s the farmer, flower. I make use of the produce to save it going to waste. We have alotof pumpkins.’
‘Do you want to come in?’ I look behind me into the dusty, dark hallway, but the look of distaste on my face is mirrored on hers. ‘I mean, you’re welcome to but I wouldn’t recommend it …’
‘Let me guess – no water, no electricity, and quite a lot of spiders?’ She leans forward and peers in the door. ‘You’re not really staying here on your own, are you?’
‘Well, I have nowhere else …’ I start, before swallowing hard as I realise I really am alone up here. Tears threaten again so I paste on a smile. ‘The sooner I get started on cleaning up, the better.’
Which is true, but my smile is so false that it actually hurts my cheeks to hold my face in that position.
‘What a lovely positive attitude. You must be very brave.’
Am I? I don’t feel brave. I feel cold and lonely and like the idiot her son thinks I am.
‘Aren’t you freezing?’
‘I’m fine,’ I say breezily, despite the fact I’m hugging the pumpkin pie to my chest in an attempt to absorb any residual warmth from it because I’m so cold that I genuinely can’t feel my toes and I’m surprised she hasn’t noticed my teeth chattering by now.
‘Noel said you weren’t in the farming industry?’
Oh, I bet he did. ‘I’ve got a lot to learn,’ I say, using the same cheerful voice and wondering if she can tell that my teeth are gritted.
‘Have you had a chance to look around yet? Such a lot of land and an excellent bargain too.’ Her Scottish accent isn’t as deep as Noel’s but it has a way of making things sound sincere, and she seems like she’s making friendly conversation with a new neighbour rather than being judgemental and insulting like her son.
‘I didn’t have a chance,’ I say. ‘It got dark so early.’
‘You’ll have to get used to that, flower. I’m sure you’ll have fun learning all the quirks of Peppermint Branches. It’s such a special place, it deserves a special owner too.’
My body betrays me by letting my eyes fill up again. It’s the first positive thing anyone’s said about this place, and it’s been a long time since anyone thought I was a special anything.
She gives me a sympathetic look and reaches over to pat my arm. ‘It must seem overwhelming, but you’ve definitely got the right mindset.’
I get the feeling she knows that if she stands there being nice to me for much longer, I’m not going to be able to hold back the tears, and no one wants their new neighbour sobbing all over them.
‘You’ve obviously got a lot to be getting on with so I won’t keep you. I only wanted to say hello …’ She hesitates and winds her finger in a lock of grey hair that’s loose across her shoulders. ‘You know where we are if you need anything? If you want any advice or help with moving in, Noel’s a strong young chap, he’d be glad to help you with any furniture or anything you want shifted when you clean up and clear things out.’
Yeah, I’m sure. ‘I’m good, thanks,’ I say, hoping she doesn’t notice the shudder at the thought of himhelpingme with anything. ‘Thanks for the pie,’ I add quickly, because I don’t know what I would have eaten without it.
‘You’re very welcome. It was lovely to meet you, Leah. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other. Come by anytime. I’ve always got a hot kettle and a warm slice of pie for my only neighbour.’
‘Are you okay getting home?’ I say as she walks away.
‘Oh yes, thank you. It’s only across the field, I know every ridge like the back of my hand, don’t you worry. Cheerio!’
‘Give Gizmo an ear rub from me!’ I call after her.
‘Sorry, flower, I didn’t quite catch that,’ she calls back. ‘Did you say Gizmo or Noel?’
‘Gizmo!’ I shout loud enough for astronauts on the International Space Station to hear me.
No response. Great. Sending Noel’s mum home to give him an ear rub on my behalf would be the icing on the cake of this ridiculous day, wouldn’t it? If I was going to ask her to give Noel anything, it’d be a swift whack with a broom, but I’d be worried she might take the pie back.
I take the plate into the kitchen and squeeze around the broken door, which is now hanging halfway between closed and open, and use my phone light again to survey the damage. Like the living room, it’s got boarded up windows at the front and back, a sink and draining board built into an empty counter that runs along one wall and curves around the corner and underneath the front window. I use my sleeve to wipe part of the unit free of the muck and grime that’s settled after years of not being cleaned and put the plate down. I’m starving and I could murder a cup of tea, but I settle for the bottle of water I’ve got in my bag and make do with giving my hands a good anti-bac wipe before I unwrap the slice of pie and take a bite. I’ve never had pumpkin pie before and the sweet creaminess of condensed milk and pumpkin, cinnamon, cloves, and ginger combine to make it taste like autumn in a mouthful. It’s a good job the only neighbours are likely to be of the rodent variety because I’m definitely having aWhen Harry Met Sallymoment. I hadn’t even realised how hungry I was until the first mouthful filled my belly with warmth, and I stand there in the dark kitchen, taking bite after bite, washing it down with lukewarm water that’s been in the car all day. There isnothingI wouldn’t do for a cup of tea right now.
There isn’t much to see in the kitchen. There’s a rusty old fridge-freezer standing next to the passageway that goes under the stairs and straight through to the living room, past a back door that leads out into the garden where the caravan is. Cupboards line the upper walls, and it smells like someone never got around to throwing out whatever was left in them, because the kitchen is heavy with the smell of food that’s been gradually rotting for years.
My phone pings on the unit where I’ve put it down and I look at the screen. Another text from Chelsea, asking me if it’s a magical winter wonderland, following on from the one she sent earlier asking if I’d seen any elves yet, which I ignored because I couldn’t face answering with the truth.
