Page 64 of Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm
‘Because you keep texting me about his arms and his chest. If you mention those mystical forearms one more time, I’m liable to drive up there to see for myself.’ She sighs reflectively. ‘Ooh, ruggedly tearing the branches from Christmas trees with his teeth? Topless, of course. Sawing wood back and forth, gentle but firm at the same time? No shirt, the breeze blowing his hair …’
‘It’s snowing! No one’s going shirtless in that.’ I’m in the kitchen, still the only room with a window, and the wind outside is blowing up the already fallen snow and hurling it around. ‘It’s a bit of a blizzard actually.’
‘Men can still go topless in the snow. You’d have an excuse towarm him upthen. Seriously, Leah, hasn’t anything happened between you yet?’
‘Oh, something’s happened all right.’ I tell her about what I found out on Friday.
It’s Monday afternoon now and I haven’t seen Noel since. After Fergus and Fiona left, I told him I needed air and walked home, and when he phoned that night, I told him I was tired and going to bed.
Since Friday, the stall at the market has been invaluable now that it’s Christmas tree season, and every tree I’ve sent there has been sold, along with the wreaths, but I’ve made Iain go in my place with the excuse that I need to get the farm ready to open to the public this weekend. This Saturday will be the last day of November and it’s officially opening day, so it’s not exactly an excuse. Thereistons to do. There are final checks of the caravan’s food preparation area, and still plenty of trees left to shear. If the snow keeps up, then I’ll have to grit every inch of the path around the farm. The Santa I hired has had to be shown around and it’s taken a while for the background check paperwork to come through. Apparently Noel’s been painting the finished sleigh a beautiful metallic red with gold edges and sparkly silver stars – or so one of the farmhands has reported back to me because I don’t want to run the risk of seeing him – and I’ve sprinkled glitter all over the freshly cut grass in the empty field opposite the house, ready for where it will stand for children to meet Santa.
‘What does it matter if he was the other bidder?’ Chelsea sounds confused. ‘You won and he didn’t, end of story. I lost out on a fabulous handbag the other day because Lewis distracted me. Another bidder got it for an absolute steal, but fair’s fair. I’m not going to track them down and claw it off their arm.’
I laugh at the thought and it makes me realise how much I miss seeing Chelsea every day. We text all the time, but it’s not the same as meeting for lunch or a quick drink on the way home from work. ‘This is a bit more complicated than a handbag, Chels. And the point is that he lied about it. It wouldn’t be as bad if he’d just told me, believe me there’s beenplentyof opportunities, but he didn’t.’
‘Probably because he knew you’d react like this.’
‘On the first day I arrived, Imentionedthe other bidder to him. Why didn’t he say, “oh yeah, by the way, that was me”? He didn’t know how I’d react then. If he was anything like the straight-to-the-point, honest, stand-up guy I’ve thought he was, he wouldn’t have kept it hidden.’
‘He probably knew how it would look. If you’d have known, you’d have been sleeping with one eye open waiting for him to poison you in the night.’
‘Which is exactly what I’m doing now, except he’s been killing me with kindness. He’s given me so much advice, Chels, and I’ve trusted everything he’s said. He even told me not to worry about studying books on Christmas tree farming because I could ask him. He obviously said that because the books might give me good advice that goes against the rubbish he’s been telling me to make sure everything goes horrifically wrong and the only way out will be to give it up and sell it to him.’
There’s a crash outside as something blows over in the wind, and Chelsea sighs. ‘Are you sure he didn’t say that because he wanted an excuse to spend time with you? All men like to feel needed.’
I walk to the door and pull it open, entering a battle of wills with the wind that does its best to pull it back again. A flurry of snow hits me in the face as I stand in the open doorway. I look out across the fields in front of me as I shake it out of my hair. The novelty has already worn off. It’s barely stopped snowing since Thursday night. The roads are impassable now and we’re so far out in the countryside that no gritting lorries come past. The white stuff has settled up to mid-calf level, with drifts along the roadside and around the house that are much deeper. I just hope it melts by Saturday because, although the trees look pretty covered in snow, the reality is that the whole farm is obscured by the blizzard, the fields look bleak and empty, it’s freezing, and the wind is galeforce. No one is going to come to pick their own Christmas tree in this. Not many people would be daft enough to risk leaving their houses.
I can’t help thinking about Noel and wondering where he is, though I’m annoyed at myself for still caring. All his pumpkins are gone from the fields now, only the ones he’s stored in the barn for winter remain, and the view from my backdoor is white and bare. Even his farmhouse in the distance is concealed by the fog. I kick a chunk of snow off the top step and think about him feeling needed. Chelsea’s kind of got a point there. He’s said as much in one of his unguarded moments. But if it was that simple, why didn’t he tell me that he wanted Peppermint Branches too?
‘I cried in front of him on the first night, Chels. I told him about Mum and Dad. He knew I was vulnerable. He—’
‘I know Steve took advantage, and I know catching him like that hurt you much more than you’ll admit, but not all men are like that. Noel could be a genuine good person who wanted to help someone who needed it.’
I pick up the doormat and jiggle it around to shake off the snow that’s blown in, then I close the door and wander back towards the kitchen with the phone to my ear. ‘No one isthatkind. He’s invested in Peppermint Branches being a success this year because he wants a strong customer base ready for next year after the trees have all been cut badly and the saplings have all died because I planted them wrongly and I’ve run out of money to fix the problems, and he can swoop in to buy me out. He knows exactly how tight my budget is – I told him on the first night.’
‘Just because Steve was a git …’
‘At least Steve was honest about what he wanted. Noel wanted Peppermint Branches – he just conveniently didn’t mention it.’ I lean my elbows on the kitchen unit and look out at the blanket of white outside, the huge white flakes fizzing around in the air. ‘He let me share his market stall at no cost.’
‘I thought you said he didn’t need the space once pumpkin season was over.’
I ignore the little pang. He did say that, and Fergus and Fiona did tell me it was nice to see his stall in action after October because usually it goes quiet. ‘And what about the trees? The Peppermint firs, Chels. He’s been taking care of this certain type of tree that Evergreene grew. He said it was because they were a special, scientifically perfect variety, but how can I ever tell now? How can I trust anything he’s said?’ My voice wobbles and I have to stop myself and take a few deep breaths, because I did trust him. I trusted him so much, and now I keep going over everything he’s ever said and questioning his hidden motives. I wish I could go back to before I knew and carry on thinking how lucky I was to have moved in next door to the most generous and thoughtful neighbour in existence.
‘If you didn’t care about him, you wouldn’t be so upset,’ she ventures. I can tell from her tone of voice that she’s half-expecting me to hang up on her.
I did care about him – that’s the problem. I’ve never felt the way Noel makes me feel before. And now to find out that he’s hidden something that changes everything …
The wind howls, making such a screaming noise outside that it echoes how I feel on the inside. Half the roof of an outbuilding sails past, crashing into the skeletal trees and lodging itself on the wire fence on the opposite side of the road.
‘I don’t need him.’ I watch the fence slowly sag under the weight of the roof. ‘I bought this place becauseIwanted to run a Christmas tree farm, not because I had a sexy neighbour to help me. Nothing has changed from when I got here. I’ve already learnt loads – enough to get me through the first Christmas season, and then I’ll have plenty of time in January to learn what to do in the spring. I’ve got farmhands working for me now. I can put a trailer on my car and deliver trees to customers and transport them to the market. Stall leases will open up in the new year, and Fergus and Fiona are bound to have their ears to the ground about that one, so if I can get in quick enough then I’ll have my own stall. Idon’tneed him.’ I say it again for emphasis but I’m not sure which one of us I’m trying to convince. I was out of my depth six weeks ago, but I’m not now. I don’t need him, but it’s been nice to have him, and not just because he’s full of advice and he’s not entirely disagreeable to look at. It’s because he makes me laugh. He makes me feel special. He catches my eyes across the busy market and it makes me feel like we’re the only two people there. It’s because his kisses are so gentle but so full of passion and need and desire, and his hugs are something that should be sold as a cure for all the world’s ills, the way his arms wrap around me and squeeze just a little bit too tight and linger for just a little bit too long – just long enough to make me feel like the most precious thing he’s ever touched.
I don’t realise I’m crying until tears drip onto the unit.
No wonder I swore off men before I got here. This sort of thing doesn’t happen if you stay single.
Chelsea must hear me sniffle because she does that changing the subject thing when she isn’t really sure whether I want to change the subject or whether she should let me cry for a bit. We’ve had many conversations like this since my parents died. ‘I wish I was closer. I’d buy a tree for every room and proudly tell everyone that my best friend grew them.’
I half-snort and half-laugh at the idea of Chelsea having a tree in each of her miniscule rooms. ‘At this stage, the trees are anything from five to ten years old. I didn’t have anything to do with growing them this time around. I’ve got my predecessor, Mr Evergreene, to thank for that.’
