Page 37 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
I force myself to look away and think of something else. ‘What Fergus said earlier – is the market really in trouble?’
‘Yeah, kind of. It’s great at this time of year because it’s a buzzing Christmas market. It’s on a couple of “best of’” lists online so tourists come, people come to the UK and do tours of all the best Christmas markets, and that’s great, but from January to September, it’s not like that. It’s quiet, the only people who shop there are loyal locals and the other traders. It’s a big space and it’s only profitable for four months a year, so the council have been making noises about relocating the traders and flattening it to build a new bus interchange. There’s one in Peterhead that’s being demolished and local councils are competing to be the new location.’
‘Bus interchange?’ I say in surprise. ‘Aren’t the roads too narrow? Your truck barely fitted down the main street. How would that work?’
‘Exactly. How do you widen roads without taking down the houses on either side? There’s already talk of compulsory purchase orders on the people who live there. If we lose the market, Elffield as we know it will literally be flattened.’
‘That’s terrible.’ There’s a pang in my stomach and my heart speeds up. Surely it’s not normal to feel this attached to somewhere you’ve only been once?
‘Funding has been cut further every year, to the point where there’s no money for anything now, not even the most basic of repairs. We have to club together and pay for essential maintenance ourselves, which is another chunk out of our earnings that most of us can’t afford to lose, and people are seriously starting to consider giving up. Lots of them have been there since the early days and are long past retirement age, and there comes a point when the work on their products, the setting up every day, the early mornings, the cold weather … it’s not worth it anymore. I’ve had a feeling for a while now that this will probably be the last year that Elffield market exists as we know it.’ His voice breaks and I look over at him, but he keeps his eyes resolutely on the road.
‘What about the relocation?’
‘There’s nowhere to relocate to. If they relocate us, it’s going to be to some industrial estate a couple of miles away, somewhere that no one walks past and little old ladies can’t toddle down to with their shopping trolleys. The whole point is that the market is local and convenient, anyone who pops to the post office or needs a pint of milk wanders in because it’s on the doorstep. If they make it a car journey, a parking fee, or a bus ride away, who’s going to bother?’
‘I’m sorry.’ I bite my lip. ‘Is there anything we can do?’
‘It’s been coming for a long time now. If we have an amazing Christmas season, we might be able to delay it for another year, but we’ve all been trying to figure out how to add year-round interest and none of us have managed it yet. We’d need sponsors or local businesses advertising or something, and that’s fine when you’ve got Christmas tourists coming in, but impossible during the months that you haven’t.’
‘People keep mentioning me selling trees there … I was surprised by how many pumpkins went this morning, but are people really going to buy trees like that?’
‘You’ll be surprised. Peppermint Branches is the only tree farm for miles. People have got to drive a heck of a long way to get a real tree since Evergreene died. Most don’t bother. You’ve already got more of a fanbase than you realise, and Fionaisright that having a huge tree right in the entrance of the market with a Peppermint Branches sign next to it will be amazing advertising.’ He looks over at me and quickly swivels his eyes back to the road. ‘And half the stall is yours from mid-November.’
‘What?’
‘No one buys pumpkins once Halloween is over. From mid-November, I use the stall only to sell my mum’s baked goods and a crate or two of culinary pumpkins and a bit of winter veg. You’re far too late to get a stall of your own now, they’re in high demand and the last space for rent had sold out by March, so you and your trees can take the space of the pumpkins until after Christmas. I’ve got a good spot and I don’t need it all. Why shouldn’t we share it?’
‘Why?’ I say, so surprised by such a kind gesture that I can’t find the words. ‘Why would you do that? I mean, I’ll pay you whatever the rent is, but I don’t … I didn’t know they were in such demand—’
‘Lee, it’s fine.’ He reaches over and touches my hand where it’s resting on my thigh, and I wish the warmth of his fingers would linger before he quickly pulls them away. ‘And I’m paying the rent anyway because it’s too good a spot to give up, so don’t worry about it.’
‘Why?’
‘Can I tell you something?’ He looks at me and quickly back at the road again. ‘My wish on the mince pie was that Peppermint Branches would be a success. I’ve thought for years that the place would be demolished, and if you’re not going to do that, then I’m going to do everything in my power to help you, because Evergreene was like family to me. It’s what he would’ve wanted, and it’ll be good for Elffield.’
We’re coming up to the first of his pumpkin fields and I can’t take my eyes off them as we pass. They look like someone’s about to sing ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’ and turn them all into fairytale carriages, and it makes me feel more positive than I have in years. ‘Then you know what? Let’s make this the best Christmas that market has ever seen, even if it’s the last one. Let’s make it a Christmas to remember.’
‘To a Christmas to remember.’
I’m grinning wider than I have for months as we drive towards the sun twinkling in the sky, making the trees in the distance look dark green and perfect.
Chapter 8
‘And you had the nerve to insult my neon flashing pumpkin headband,’ Noel says as I open the door.
‘I’m cleaning.’ I become the epitome of sophistication by poking my tongue out at him as he stands on the doorstep.
‘I see that.’ He reaches over and plucks a dust bunny from my hair, which has started to tumble down from the knot I tied it in.
I pull away but I don’t know why. He saw me first thing this morning; Marigolds up to my elbows and messy hair aren’t any worse than that sight, which was terrifying enough to send even the most haphazard of scarecrows running for cover.
He’s got boards of wood under his arm, a huge toolcase in his hand, and a holdall slung over his shoulder. Glenna appears behind him with Gizmo under her arm, carrying her own bucket of cleaning products and rubber gloves. ‘Come to help, flower.’
‘Gizmo’s going to help too,’ Noel says. ‘Assuming a vital job is keeping a Chihuahua-sized spot on your sofa warm.’
‘Giz!’ I pull the gloves off with my teeth and push past Noel on the step to get to the little dog when he starts wagging his tail so hard that it looks like Glenna’s having trouble keeping hold of him. I offer him my hand, which he sniffs and licks, and then I give him a double ear rub when he moves from sniffing to trying to nudge my hand onto his head. He strains in Glenna’s arms to get closer, and I can’t resist his happy little brown and white face. I bend down to rub my nose against his, but accidentally get a bit too close and a slimy doggy tongue swipes across my mouth.
As I splutter, Noel’s laughing so hard he has to lean against the doorframe. ‘I know which member of the Roscoe family I’d rather kiss too.’
