Page 27 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
‘Actually I was laughing at how much he’s telling you off.’
Noel grins down at the little dog in his arm and drops a kiss onto his brown and white head. ‘No way is he going in the river at this time of year. His fur is really thick and takes hours to dry, and he doesn’t realise there’s a difference in water temperature between now and when he was happily splashing about in there in July.’
I barely have time to register the hot flush at the huge man being so openly affectionate with the little dog, before Noel’s in front of me. He leans over and deposits Gizmo onto my lap and my arms automatically encircle him to prevent him jumping off and giving chase to the fish again. As soon as he realises he’s on me, he turns in a circle and licks my arm before standing up to lick my chin. Noel sinks down on another rock to my left with a groan and leans over to unlace his boots.
‘I think he’s mistaken himself for a grizzly bear. You know how you see them in the shallows catching salmon as they swim upstream? It’s my fault for letting him watchCountryfileunsupervised.’
I stroke his tiny head as he turns in a circle to get comfortable and curls up on my lap. ‘Oh, bless him. Butter wouldn’t melt.’
‘Not now his dad’s got wet feet, it wouldn’t.’ Noel grouches.
‘You’re being a big baby, you know that, don’t you? It’s a lovely day, you’ll dry out quick enough.’
He glances over his shoulder at me with a raised eyebrow and a look of indignation. ‘I will, my boots won’t.’
Noel unlaces his boots and pulls them off one at a time. He tips the first one upside down, looking unreasonably forlorn as a trickle of water splashes onto the stones at his feet. He pulls the sock off and wrings it out, then does the same with the other foot.
I try to concentrate on stroking Gizmo, but it only gets more difficult when I catch sight of a flash of colour on his ankle and make a noise of surprise. ‘Is that a Truffula tree?’
He glances down at his foot and then back at me. ‘So, let me get this straight, you can identify a fictional tree tattooed on my ankle but you can’t identify a cedar standing right in front of you?’
‘I love Dr Seuss.’ I hold my hand out and scrunch my fingers together. He turns to the side and holds his leg out behind him, letting me see the tattoo.
I lean over Gizmo, who huffs at being squashed, to clamp my hand around his wet trousers and pull his leg closer until I can see the back of his foot.
‘I can’t believe you have aLoraxtattoo. That’s amazing.’ Without even thinking, I run my fingers across the red cotton candy tree and down the striped trunk that extends from a patch of grass at the back of his heel and leans over the outside of his ankle bone. ‘Unless,’ I say aloud, reading the word that’s written underneath it, an echo of the final stone-carved message The Lorax leaves behind when all the trees are gone. ‘Ilovethat quote. I had it pinned on the noticeboard above my desk in my old job.’
He’s gone from laughing to very still as I’ve been touching his foot and he murmurs the full quote.
‘That’s the most amazing tattoo I’ve ever seen,’ I whisper, feeling like talking in a normal voice will ruin the peace that’s settled over us. It feels special, like he’s trusting me with something by showing it to me. It’s hidden in a place that probably not many people get to see, and he’s gone so quiet that I get the impression he didn’t intend for me to see it. It feels too personal.
‘Thanks.’ He’s whispering too. ‘You’re the first person who’s ever understood that. My ex couldn’t understand why I had a “pretend tree from a Danny DeVito children’s film” tattooed on me. She thought it was a drunken dare or something. Didn’t even know it was a book first.’
‘Good clue as to where the “ex” part comes in.’
He laughs, looking as surprised by it as I am. It didn’t seem like a laughing moment. ‘I love the quote, I love the meaning of the story, and I love trees. Dad used to read it to me when I was little. One of my most vivid memories is snuggling up in bed with him and readingThe Loraxtogether. When I was older and he was ill, I got into bed with him and read it aloud and neither of us could stop giggling. It was the last time I ever heard him laugh. He never approved of tattoos but I think he’d approve of that one.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ I murmur, my fingers stroking the skin of his ankle.
He sighs, looking lost in memories for a moment, until he suddenly shakes his head and yanks his foot out of my grasp. He starts straightening the socks on the sunny rock like they need the concentration of a chess game, and I struggle to take my eyes off him. He tucks his right foot behind his left leg so the tattoo is hidden again then smooths the wet bottoms of his trousers out, trying to squeeze river water from the material.
It obviously means a lot to him, and I want to ask about his father, but he definitely doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. ‘I didn’t think you got this much sun in Scotland.’
He looks over his shoulder at me with a dark eyebrow quirked, like he knows I’m offering a much-needed subject change. He holds my gaze for a long moment, before he shakes his head again and looks determinedly back out towards the river. ‘A common misconception. All right, we get more than our fair share of drizzle, but we’re generally treated to gorgeous autumns and a good bit of winter snow. It’s not for everyone but I think it’s perfect here.’
I make noises of agreement as he starts talking about the Scottish weather because I’m as grateful for the neutral conversation topic as he is. There’s something about him that makes me want to say too much, makes me want toknowtoo much, and it can’t be good, because he obviously isn’t interested in sharing it with me. Besides, I definitely don’t want another man in my life – Steve was more than enough for one year. ‘What do you do with all your pumpkins?’
‘My goal is to sell as many to the public as possible, but it’s impossible to predict how many will realistically sell each year so I end up with loads left over. I sell some to restaurants around the county, and there’s a local produce shop in Peterhead that I supply throughout October. I sell a lot at the market too, and then at the very end of the season, there’s a farmer a couple of miles away who buys whatever’s left in bulk and uses them as cattle feed. But pumpkins are a fussy crop and need a lot of care to grow in this climate. You won’t have to worry about stuff like that with Christmas trees though – trees never expire. Whatever you don’t sell will still be here next year. Any trees that are dead, you can cut down and replant with saplings in the spring, and any trees that are okay but unsellable, you can use the branches for your wreaths, and anything that’s beyond saving, you cut up and poke the smaller bits through the woodchipper and use the chippings as mulch around next spring’s saplings, and dry out the trunks to use as firewood.’
‘You make it sound so straightforward.’ I try not to sound as nervous as I feel. I really hadn’t a clue what I was taking on here, and the huge number of things to do, learn, and keep track of, is beyond overwhelming.
‘You’ll get the hang of it.’ He looks up and meets my eyes. ‘Once you’ve done it a few times, you’ll get used to it. Give it a few weeks and you’ll be telling me what to do.’
I let out a laugh. ‘I can’t imagine anyone telling you what to do.’
‘You have met my mother, right?’ He pulls a face of pure terror and it sets me off giggling again.
I think he can hear that my laughter is covering my nerves, because he turns serious again. ‘Have you thought about taking on seasonal workers?’
