Page 5 of Big Nick Energy
‘Did you steal it?’ I ask her. This is the sort of tree they erect outside shopping centres and drape in lights to please the shoppers and create a vibe.
She doubles over laughing, in her brightly checked wool coat and fluffy lilac hat. On her feet are the New Balance I bought her, because I told her she’s getting old and I can’t have her shuffling around in glorified slippers, not on these cobbles. ‘Do you have a saw?’ she asks.
‘Yeah, I carry a saw around in my backpack most days.’ I live in a house share in Brixton. We barely have enough forks to get us through the day, let alone working tools. I look up at the treeagain, amazed at the sheer ridiculousness of it. ‘Have you asked your neighbours?’
‘Not yet. I called you first to have a look because, you’ve got to admit, it is funny. Plus, your phone is better than mine, so you can take pictures and we can put them on the Facebook.’
She stands next to it, working out how to pose. To get the right perspective and both of us in frame, I’d have to either lie on the floor or stand at the end of the road.
‘Pull it down and we’ll get a picture of me sat on the top as the fairy,’ she jokes.
‘You’d get pine needles up your minnie,’ I say, and she almost keels over laughing. ‘Pose next to it like a normal person.’
I’m unsure what pose Nana’s going for but she’s got a leg cocked up, embracing the tree like a koala, but with a face as if she’s presenting a gameshow prize. This picture is one hundred per cent going on our Christmas cards next year.
‘It’s your fault,’ she says, walking around the thing and admiring it.
‘My fault you’ve got a giant tree outside your tiny house?’ I joke.
‘You introduced me to that Facebook Marketplace.’ I did do that last year. Nana got into Facebook as a way of keeping up with me and my travels after I left university. She would like pictures and leave comments, usually reminding me to keep spare money in my bra. Her world changed completely when I taught her about emojis.
‘Yeah, so you could get useful bits and bobs – jars and side tables,’ I say.
‘There was this fella giving away trees. With only a week to go until Christmas, he said they’d all go to waste otherwise,’ she says. I take a moment to consider her reasoning. People normally pick up furniture on there, old clothes, baby items. Iscrunch my face up, throwing my head back to look at the size of this thing.
‘And you didn’t think to check the measurements?’ I say. ‘You always check the measurements.’
‘You know me, I don’t care for inches,’ she cackles.
I smile in return to see her so happy. ‘Some chancer giving away Christmas trees? You didn’t give him any money, did you? Your bank details?’ I say, wondering if my lovely trusting nana has been scammed.
‘Nah, he said it was his business. Lovely looking boy. Strapping’s the word. Good old-fashioned hunk. I asked him if he was single and said I had a lovely granddaughter. You’d look good together.’
I shake my head in silent resignation. Nana got a free giant Christmas tree, perved over the delivery boy, and then tried to set him up with me. Lovely. ‘But the strapping hunk dumped the tree here and didn’t think that maybe your little maisonette wouldn’t have the ceiling height for this? You don’t know how wide it is. How are you going to see your telly through the branches?’
‘He did say something but I told him I’d sort it out. I’ve got help,’ she says, unperturbed. ‘That would be you, by the way.’
‘Did the hunk have a name?’ I ask her.
‘You’re not going to call him up and tell him to take it back, are you?’ she asks, her eyes round and sad.
‘I want to check he’s kosher.’
‘He is. He had a van and everything. He let me hug him.’
‘Bet you enjoyed that,’ I say, cheekily.
She wriggles her shoulders at me, sticking out her tongue. ‘It’s big but isn’t it lovely?’ she says, trying to change the subject and peering up at her tree proudly. I look up. There is something to be said for a tree of this stature and magnificence; it turns this cobbled walkway into Trafalgar Square. How would you putlights on it though? I’d have to climb out the bathroom window and hang off the gables. It smells nice too. Earthy and fresh, like Christmas. I run my hand along a branch of waxy pine needles as Nana puts a number in front of me. ‘He said he worked on a farm.’
‘In London? That’s a great big scam if ever I saw it, the only time you see Christmas trees around here are in front of supermarkets and petrol forecourts.’ I dial the numbers on my phone and put it to my ear as it rings once before being answered.
‘Hello?’ The man’s tone is deep and gruff.
‘Hi, yeah… are you the man who just sold my grandmother a tree from Facebook Marketplace?’ There’s a silence on the end of the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘I sell a lot of Christmas trees. You’ll have to be more specific.’ I don’t care if this man is strapping or not, his surly tone makes me immediately dislike him.
‘Little old lady near Shepherd’s Bush. She said she hugged you?’
