Page 19 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
‘And there was me thinking you were just another rich city girl with more cash than sense and enough money to wake up one morning and say “I think I’ll be a Christmas tree farmer today” while dear old Daddy pours money into your trust fund.’ He must clock the look on my face because he looks suitably guilty. ‘Sorry. That wasn’t meant to be as offensive as it sounded. I’ve met people like you who come up here thinking it’ll be an easy get-rich-quick scheme in a film-worthy setting. They’ve seen the size of the land and dollar signs appear in their eyes. I assumed you were the same.’
‘The last thing I thought about was getting rich. I bought it because my parents would’ve loved it.’
‘Would have?’ he asks gently.
‘They died. Just over two years ago. I had the money from the sale of their house. I didn’t know what to do with it, only that I wanted to keep it for something important, and then I saw the auction and … I don’t know. It spoke to me. My dad always wanted to move back to Scotland. HelovedChristmas trees and my mum loved Christmas, and I knew they’d love it. It seemed magical from the pictures.’
‘It was, once upon a time. A real winter wonderland.’ He looks around the dingy kitchen. ‘But that was a long time ago.’
There’s emotion in his words that makes me look at him,reallylook at him. I take in the slump of his wide shoulders and the sadness in his voice, and he realises it too because he shakes himself. ‘You could replace the windows one at a time to spread the cost. If you want me to, I can come over tomorrow and board up the remaining ones upstairs. And Evergreene had been intending to fix the roof for years, so there’s new roofing felt in the barn. I don’t mind nailing that over the hole as a temporary fix until you can afford to get it repaired properly. It’s a priority because the more water that gets into this place, the more damage is being done.’
My stomach drops like I’ve just got into a lift. How many Christmas trees will I have to sell to afford this sort of thing?
‘And I’ve got a builder who does all my building repairs. If you want his number, he’ll give you a decent price on the roof. Most of the materials are already here. The replacement tiles are stacked in the garden. You probably came across them when you were running from the monster squirrel earlier.’
‘It wasn’t the squirrel, it was the shock of the squirrel,’ I say, knowing that I’m never going to live it down, no matter what I say in my defence. ‘I’ve never been confronted face to face by an unexpected squirrel before, okay?’
He raises both eyebrows with a look of scepticism on his face. ‘From a spectator’s point of view, it was hilarious. I only wish I’d had my phone out to record it. Millions of views on YouTube beckoned. I’ve never heard such a bloodcurdling, ear-piercing scream over something so small and cute before. I thought you’d found Theresa May doing a dance or something equally horrifying.’
His ability to create the most random mental images is impossible not to laugh at.
‘Thank you,’ I say when the mattress starts letting out squeals of air because it’s full. I watch as he gathers up the pump and puts it back with the pile of other things, and sort of hovers next to it, paused halfway between helping with something else and picking up his stuff and leaving.
‘How about a cup of tea?’ I ask, because I don’t want him to leave yet. ‘I’m knackered after all that pumping.’
He is, of course, not even slightly knackered. He hasn’t broken a sweat and he isn’t gasping for breath or anything. ‘That bodes well for the amount of Christmas trees you’ll have to lug around if you really are going to get this place up and running again.’
‘Thanks for pointing out my complete lack of fitness. I’m so glad you noticed,’ I wheeze as I unscrew the flask to refill my empty cup and the other one for him.
Instead of replying, he gets the sleeping bag out and lays it on top of the mattress. Finally, he throws a camping pillow next to it, and sits down cross-legged on the floor next to the heater.
I take the two cups of tea across the room and hand him one, his fingers brushing against the back of my hand as he takes it. I wonder how his skin can be so warm when it’s still chilly in here, even with the heater going. I go back and collect the tin with a loaf of pumpkin bread in it. It’s still warm from the oven and the smell of cinnamon and spice that wafts up is mouthwatering. I sit down opposite him on the clean patch of floor, surprised to see the tiles are actually cream and have delicate beige leaf patterns along each edge. Patterns and colours are something that was lost under the grime earlier. I put the bread between us and push the tin towards him, and the way he hesitates before pulling the crust off is quite sweet.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. I want to look at him, to watch that lip piercing because I can see it out of the corner of my eye, catching the glow from the heater as he eats, but I tell myself to stop being weird. I concentrate on the chunk of pumpkin bread in my hand instead.
‘Do you think I can?’ I ask when the silence is almost as cloying as the smell of paraffin the heater is giving off. ‘Get this place up and running, that is?’
‘If you’re willing to put the work in. You’ve got a good six weeks to prepare for the Christmas rush. It won’t be easy, but if you get out there and shear the trees and dig up the weeds, you could be ready to open to the public in December – assuming you’re planning to run it as a choose-your-own tree farm?’
‘As opposed to what?’
‘There’s a Christmas market in Elffield. It’s a wee craft market all year round, but in September, it becomes a gorgeous Christmas market. Villagers gather there to sell their local produce, and there are people selling handmade gifts, crafts, and festive food and drink. It’s a real hub for the local community, and it’s popular with tourists too. Evergreene used to cut the trees himself and take them there to sell. When he was older and the work got too much for him, he opened Peppermint Branches up as a cut-your-own farm, but I’d never trust people to walk around my farm unattended with sharp blades. Choose-your-own is great, but you need staff on hand to do the cutting.’
‘What do you do with your pumpkins?’
‘I do both. I have a stall at the Christmas market so I’m there every morning from September onwards, and then in October, I open as a pick-your-own pumpkin patch. No one needs sharp weapons to pick a pumpkin, and I’ve invested in good fences to keep people out of the growing areas I don’t want them stamping across, so you can generally leave people to their own devices. It’s different to letting people run around a tree farm with saws. Evergreene had all kinds of trouble with it – people would start cutting one down and find it too difficult, or their kid would run off and find one they liked better, and he’d have a load of half-cut trees, and I mean with damaged trunks, not drunk.’
I once again start giggling at the mental image of drunken trees swaying in the wind, and he laughs too. ‘The funny part is that I know exactly what you’re thinking, and Iknewyou were going to think it as soon as I said that.’
‘Well, I don’t know what trees get up to in their spare time, do I?’ I try to compose myself. I’ve already cried in front of him tonight, I can’t start a giggling fit too. ‘They could be right old lushes for all I know, off down the pub every night to get blootered.’
‘They do that leaping sprint on the way and the wobbly crawl on the way back. Haven’t you ever been to a Christmas tree farm at night? They all disappear down the local and stumble home in the early hours, and by the time you get up, they’re all leaning over groaning and there are pine needles thrown up everywhere.’
The fit of laughter takes over and I let out a snort even more embarrassing than the snot bubble earlier. ‘Are you still trying to make me feel better or are you naturally this funny?’
This time, his cheeks definitely turn red, and his hair falls across his face as he looks down. I have a sudden and unexpected urge to tuck it back, and I’ve never had the urge to touch a complete stranger’s hair before.
‘This place means a lot to me. To everyone in Elffield.’ His words are quiet and directed at the floor. ‘And it can’t be brought back to life by someone who doesn’t understand that. And I didn’t think you did.’
