Page 21 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
He glances over at me. ‘Where’s the annoyingly perky made-for-TV movie character who tried to kidnap my dog earlier?’
‘That’s twice now you’ve referenced those made-for-TV rom coms. Don’t tell me you watch them?’
‘My mum watches them. If I’m in the room, I try my best to ignore them, but the main characters are usually so annoyingly shrill that their voices penetrate even the most industrial of headphones, and then I end up getting sucked into them. There you go, judge me.’
‘I would never judge you for that. In fact, I think that might be the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.’ The harder I try to stop myself smiling at him, the more he makes me smile. ‘I love them too. I record them when I’m at work and watch them in the evenings and weekends. I can get through five on a Sunday if I try really hard.’
He bursts out laughing. ‘I don’t have weekends off, but I try to marathon a couple in the evenings. One of my guilty pleasures is lying in bed with a tin of Christmas chocolates and watching them.’ He’s gone so beetroot red that even the semi-darkness of the kitchen doesn’t disguise it. ‘And I can’t believe I just admitted that. Even my mum doesn’t know that.’
‘Nothing to be embarrassed about. In December, I turn down invitations to go out for Christmas drinks with work colleagues in favour of curling up on the sofa with a hot chocolate and as many romantic comedies as can reasonably be fitted into a weekend. I like escaping into the perfect fantasy life that none of us can ever hope to live. You can believe the world is a better place for a couple of hours.’
‘Maybe that’s why you bought a Christmas tree farm? That’s exactly the kind of thing one of the annoyingly squeaky main characters would do. Or inherit one. The busy marketing executives usually inherit unexpected things, don’t they?’
I grin because I’ve never met a guy who likes these films before. ‘And of course they meet the gruff but sensitive, slightly grumpy and disapproving guy who rescues them and shows them the ropes, and you know they’re going to fall in love from the moment he steps onscreen in some adorable accident where she pours coffee all over him or something.’
‘Hah.’ He scoffs. ‘Well, we can be certain that’s not going to happen here. Unless there’s a sheep in a nearby field you fancy.’
‘I did pass some very handsome cows on the drive up …’
‘And on that note, I’d better go.’ He gets to his feet and gathers up his stuff.
‘Thank you for everything.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he says as I hover in the hallway, watching him shrug his coat back on and pull the hat down over his thick hair.
He must sense my sudden nervousness at being alone again, because he looks up in the middle of pulling his boots on. ‘Don’t worry too much. Things will look better in the daylight.’
It’s exactly what my mum used to say and a lump forms instantly in my throat and I have to swallow it down. I can’t possibly cry any more tonight. But somehow hearing it makes me feel better too. A little reminder that life goes on tomorrow, even without my parents here. Peppermint Branches is mine now, and I owe it to them to be brave and do the best I can with it, come what may.
Even if it’s mountain lions.
Chapter 6
I might not know much about Christmas trees, but for the past few years, I’ve been inputting sales figures from retail shops so someone more qualified than me can analyse them and present the retailers with facts and figures for maximising profit. I’ve spent most of the night lying on the air mattress, formulating a sort of business plan on the back of the estate agent’s map and when I wake up after a couple of hours of disturbed sleep, I’m feeling a lot more positive about things. This is a business, a retail establishment like any other. To make enough profit to live on, I have to bring in more money than I fork out. Simple.
I’ve been studying the map too, trying to work out how many fields there are and divide the six thousand trees Noel mentioned into some kind of number that makes sense. This is simply a matter of numbers. Trees grown per square acre versus trees sold. I don’t feel as out of my depth when I think about it like that.
I sit up and look around the darkened kitchen, wrapping the sleeping bag around my shoulders because the heater has burnt itself out overnight and the chill in the air is back with a vengeance. I’m excited to get out there. It doesn’t feel as overwhelming as it did last night. It feels like the first day of the rest of my life, and I feel like I can face anything as I pull on some clothes and run upstairs to wash my face and clean my teeth, using only the two-litre bottle of water that Noel brought last night. I eat the last of the pumpkin bread for breakfast and pretend that yesterday’s water is my usual coffee. I promise myself several cups of tea later when the water and electric are back on and I’ve got the kitchen box out of the car.
I’ve got a plan. Noel’s right in that I have absolutely no idea what I’ve bought, so the sensible way forward is to start by making a full inventory of everything I’ve got and everything I’m going to need, and prioritising the budget for it.
Outside, the sky is blue and bright, and I take a picture and send it to Chelsea to prove that we get sun in Scotland. There’s a patch of land behind the farmhouse that’s home to several outbuildings – a huge barn and a handful of tin sheds in varying states of decay, and I decide to start there. The grass is a grey-ish brown and overgrown to knee-height, tangled and flopping over, and there’s an unsteady stone wall separating my land from Noel’s, with half the top fallen away and stones missing, leaving gaps of weeds poking through. It’s mostly shaded by the buildings and a tall hedge, and even I can tell that nothing but the couch grass is going to grow here.
At least I understand why there are so many keys on the keyring the estate agent gave me now. I start with the big barn first, trying different keys in the rusty padlock until finally one turns.
The double doors are so heavy that it takes all my strength to haul them open, then I realise that I need the light from outside, so I have to let them close, find a stone fallen from the wall and kick it across to use as a prop when I’ve dragged them open again. As I stand in the doorway, panting from that tiny bit of effort, I’m surprised that a swarm of bats don’t swoop out. It looks like the kind of building that would have bats hibernating in it. The stench that hits me is damp rotting wood, rusty metal, and leaking petrol. It’s definitely a machine graveyard, because there’s a tractor and trailer parked in the middle, surrounded by other bits of metal machinery, none of which I can identify.
There are tools too – an array of shovels, spades, forks, rakes, and a huge pile of saws in all shapes and sizes. There are wooden holders nailed to the brick wall with long knives hanging from them in sheaths. A rusty push-along lawnmower. Shears, strimmers, hedge trimmers, and all manner of equipment that I don’t recognise.
I feel my confidence ebbing away as I step inside and wander around the damp barn. How the heck am I supposed to take an inventory if I don’t have a clue what half of this stuff is or what it’s used for?
My eyes fall on the tractor. I know what that is. And it doesn’t look like it’s in bad condition, apart from a few cobwebs. I imagine myself bouncing along on the red tractor, cheerfully waving to passersby as I drive it around the farm. I wonder if it starts? At least it’d be one thing I could tick off the list. I give it a wary glance. The spiders have certainly had a field day with it. I brush cobwebs away as I climb up onto the seat, find the ignition key on my keyring and push it in. It’s going to be like the manual car I learnt to drive in. It won’t be a problem. I use my feet to press down on the clutch and the brake as I turn the key, and the tractor rumbles underneath me. Just as I think it’s about to start chugging merrily, it lets out a huge bang and the engine cuts out as the barn fills with smoke.
Perfect. I cough and cover my mouth to avoid breathing in the fumes.
‘That went as well as I expected.’
I jump and spin around in the seat to see Noel standing in the open door, waving smoke away from his face. Gizmo is on a lead beside him, peering worriedly in from a safe distance.
