Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm

by Jaimie Admans

  Have you found a gorgeous, sexy farmer in a kilt yet?

  Noel laughs. ‘Please let me reply to that?’

  I nod. In for a penny and all that. When he holds up the phone to show me what he’s written before sending, it reads:

  Yes, I have! The only thing missing is the kilt – too well-ventilated – but the wellies are sexy enough to make up for it! We might have a romp amongst the pumpkins next door!

  I burst out laughing again, thankfully minus any snot bubbles this time. ‘Romp? Who uses the word “romp” these days? Have you time-travelled from a Charles Dickens novel?’

  He shrugs as he presses send again. ‘Made you laugh though, didn’t it?’

  The skin of my face is taut where the tears have dried, but I can’t deny it. ‘Chelsea’s going to know I didn’t write that.’

  ‘She’ll probably think you’re hanging out with your sexy new neighbour in his kilt and welly-boots.’ He winks at me, making the lip piercing shift and glint in the light of the car. ‘And before you go getting any ideas, I would never defile the pumpkins like that.’

  Before I can say that I’d rather snog a Jack O’Lantern than romp anywhere near him, Chels texts back again.

  Romp? Bloody hell, are you in Scotland or the 1870s?

  I take the phone back and quickly type a response.

  That was Noel, he thinks he’s clever, and also of the Victorian era, apparently.

  She replies instantly.

  Ooh, sexy name! Fittingly festive! Please tell me he sounds like David Tennant!

  I hold the phone up to show him and he laughs. ‘Do I?’

  ‘No.’ I don’t tell him he sounds better than David Tennant. Instead, I type back to Chels:

  No, but he looks like the sexiest version of Luke Evans you’ve ever seen.

  I go to throw the phone back onto the dashboard without showing Noel my reply, but he plucks it out of my hand and reads it.

  ‘Cheeky bugger,’ I mutter, realising that talking about his looks while he’s crouched next to me was probably not the best idea.

  Chelsea sends back a series of drooling emojis and he laughs again. ‘I don’t know who that is. If I Google him, I’m going to find he looks like the back end of a mangled cow, aren’t I?’

  It makes me laugh again. ‘No. Surprisingly, that wasn’t an insult.’ I take the phone back out of his hand and push it onto the dashboard. He leans heavier against the doorframe of the car and shuffles his feet with a wince. He’s been crouched there for ages, his legs must be getting sore. And I need to stop thinking about his legs in those well-fitting jeans.

  ‘It’s not as bad as you think, you know.’

  ‘What, this place?’ I glance up at the tumbledown house looming over us. ‘I think it’s the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. The only way it could be worse was if I’d accidentally bought a slurry pit. Which, in some parts of the house, is actually not an unfair description.’

  ‘What I said earlier … I was out of line. You took me by surprise and it’s taken until now for my brain to catch up with my mouth. I shouldn’t have been so blunt.’

  ‘But you were right. I don’t know the first thing about Christmas trees. The extent of my horticultural experience is pulling dead branches off a houseplant and putting some crocus bulbs in the lawn for Mum one winter. How did I ever think I could be a Christmas tree farmer? It would be bad enough if it was the working farm I’d imagined, but this … I can’t do this.’

  ‘But you were right too,’ he says gently. ‘You can learn. And it really isn’t as bad as it seems. You’ll see when you look around tomorrow. Your trees aren’t all dead. Most of them are overgrown, but they can be sheared. Weeds can be pulled. You have fields full of saplings that didn’t survive so you can dig the ground over and start again in the spring. There’s so much potential here for someone who isn’t afraid of a challenge.’

  I didn’t think I was, but I’m definitely having a wobble tonight.

  ‘If you phone the electric and water companies in the morning, they’ll have you back on by lunchtime. As for the house, it probably needs a few repairs but it’s still structurally sound.’

  ‘There’s ivy holding it up.’

  ‘Ah, but it’s structurally sound ivy.’ He looks towards it, nearly overbalancing with the movement and his hand grabs at the seat to stop himself falling, his arm brushing against my thigh. ‘Can I tell you what I think?’ He shifts his hand back to the doorframe, waiting for a response. He wasn’t unforthcoming with his opinion earlier, but now I get the impression that if I told him to mind his own business, he would. ‘I think you come from a flat in London which has always got hot water, electricity, and central heating, and whatever you expected Peppermint Branches to be like, it wasn’t this. And now your fight or flight response has kicked in, and you’re sitting here wanting to run away, and you’re disappointed in yourself for wanting that, and you’re also a bit embarrassed because you’ve built it up so much in your mind, and seeing the actual place has left you deflated and panicking about how you’re going to deal with it.’

  I try to muster up some indignation and tell him he’s wrong, but he’s hit the nail on the head with surprising accuracy. ‘How do you know that?’ I ask instead, my voice so quiet that he has to lean in to hear me.

  ‘You’re not the only one who’s ever made a mistake.’ His voice is just as quiet and he looks away for a moment and then turns back to me. ‘I know this house well. I don’t think there’s anything that can’t be fixed. Can I see inside?’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘Well, mainly I’ve got to get up because my legs are killing me with cramp. I’m too old to be crouching like that for long, so I was just looking for an excuse not to admit I’m old and creaky and in agony here.’

  I can’t help watching as he stands up and stretches. He looks in his late thirties. I’m 36 and he can only be a couple of years older than me. I should look away, but I can’t tear my eyes off him as he shifts from one foot to the other and stamps his feet, keeping his hands on the car for balance.

  ‘I’ve not been inside since Mr Evergreene died, but the outside gives a good indication of the state of things. Maybe I can help?’ He hesitates. ‘And I’ve just realised that I’m a complete stranger and I didn’t make the greatest of first impressions earlier and you probably don’t want to be alone in a dark house with me, so don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to be pushy.’

  The fact that he’s aware of that makes me trust him a lot more. And honestly, the thought of going back into that house by myself is a much scarier option. He seems knowledgeable and if he could give me even an indication of where to start … ‘That’d be great.’

  He looks surprised that I’ve agreed and moves away from the car to give me space as I swing my legs out and groan when I stand up because I’ve been sitting still for too long.

  He’s still trying to get feeling back in his legs with some demented version of the Hokey Cokey.

  ‘Why are you being so nice?’

  ‘I don’t know whether to be offended that you think I’m such a horrible person or just to apologise for being such a twat earlier.’ He sighs. ‘Because I can’t bear seeing people cry. No one with a heart could watch someone else cry and not try to help in any way they can.’

  The way he speaks is so gentle that it’s a war with myself not to start welling up again.

  ‘If you’re anything like me, you just needed to let out a bit of frustration before you pick yourself up and get on with it.’ He leans across and pushes his torch into my hand. ‘Here. Let me go and grab some supplies and I’ll be back in a minute.’

  ‘Supplies? At this time of night?’ I call after him because he’s already started walking off across the driveway, his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved into his pockets.

  ‘You’ll see,’ he replies without turning back.

  ‘Watch out for those mountain lions,’ I call before he reaches the road.

  He laughs,
and this time he does turn back, the wind blowing his wavy hair across his face. ‘There aren’t any mountain lions.’

  ‘I knew that,’ I mutter, but I don’t think he hears me.

  Obviously there are no mountain lions. I knew that all along. Mountain lions in Scotland. Hah. No one would’ve fallen for that.

  Chapter 5

  It’s not long before there’s a knock and I open the front door to find Noel at the top of the three steps, laden with stuff. ‘What’s all this?’

  ‘Supplies.’ He hands me a folded-up air mattress and a foot pump, and then pushes a sleeping bag at me. Then he bends down to collect something else from the ground by his feet while adjusting the rucksack on his back.

  ‘Are you moving in?’ I look at the array of things in bewilderment. How did he manage to carry all this at once? His arm muscles are obviously as strong as they looked through his shirt earlier.

  ‘No, you are.’ He shoos me out of the way while he drags a little heater and bottle of paraffin in with him and closes the door behind us.

  I watch as he stomps his boots on the remainder of the doormat and looks around. The smell of his autumnal woody aftershave and the chemical hint of paraffin from the bottle he’s carrying have almost obliterated the cloying smell of damp emptiness that permeates the entire building. His eyes fall on the half open kitchen door and he shakes his head. ‘Evergreene had been meaning to fix that for years.’ He glances between that and the living room and then up the stairs before looking back at the kitchen. ‘That’ll be the cosiest room. Let’s take everything in there.’

  He watches in amusement as I squeeze through the gap, pushing the air mattress through first, tossing the pump after it, then squishing myself through, getting my boobs unpleasantly squashed, and pulling the sleeping bag in behind me. When I’m finally in the kitchen and panting for breath from the exertion, his hand slots around the edge of the door and he lifts it easily, pulling it fully open. He gives the hinge a good smack with the flat of his hand and it stands upright, making me feel like a bit of a fool. Why didn’t I think of that?

  He looks around by torchlight. ‘If I set up this heater and pump up the mattress, you’ll be nice and cosy in here. You can “camp out” until you’ve got the bedroom sorted.’ Before I have a chance to say anything, he shrugs the backpack off his shoulders and holds it out to me. ‘Mum sent this over for you.’

  I put the bag on the unit I wiped clean earlier. It’s warm to the touch, and when I undo the zip, the most gorgeous spicy cinnamon smell wafts out.

  ‘Thermos of hot pumpkin soup, pumpkin bread just out of the oven, another slice of pumpkin pie, and a flask of tea,’ he says before I can question what’s inside.

  ‘And if you don’t like pumpkin?’

  ‘You’re stumped.’ He laughs at his own joke. ‘Stumped, get it? You know, tree farm, et cetera?’

  It does actually make me laugh, mainly at how pleased he sounds with himself for such a good pun. ‘Anyone would think you were a pumpkin farmer.’

  ‘Well, I think we’ve proved that I’m not a comedian.’

  This time my laugh is genuine as I unload the bag and set the lovely things Glenna has sent out on the unit. The sight of a flask of tea makes my eyes sting again. I knew I was desperate for a cuppa, but I had no idea quite how desperate until this moment. I force myself to swallow and bite my lip until I’m certain I won’t cry again. ‘Thank—’ I go to thank him but my voice breaks on the first word.

  I can’t believe I didn’t even think to bring any food with me. I just thought I’d pop down the street to one of the many shops or takeaways, like I do in London. I didn’t even consider how remote this place is and how vast the countryside seems.

  I can feel his eyes on the back of my head, and he seems to know that I’m barely holding it together in the face of warm, pumpkiny food and PG Tips.

  ‘And yeah, don’t ever eat with us if you don’t like pumpkin. I grow eight thousand pumpkins a year, we have a lot to use up afterwards.’

  ‘Eight thousand?’ I say in surprise. ‘Your farm must be massive.’

  ‘So’s yours.’ He sounds nonchalant. ‘Bigger than mine, even. You’ve got about six thousand Christmas trees.’

  ‘Six thousand?’ My voice has risen to a pitch only audible to whales. He’s got to be joking. ‘And they’re not all dead?’

  ‘Of course they’re not. But don’t go getting too excited, they’re not in sellable condition either.’

  ‘What am I supposed to do with six thousand Christmas trees?’

  ‘Origami?’

  It makes me laugh again. I can hear him doing something behind me, so I turn around and watch as he goes to a cupboard under the stairs and comes back with a mop. He takes the keys the estate agent gave me off the unit and lets himself out the back door. Outside there’s a bucket of steaming soapy water waiting, which he must’ve left there on his way over. He plunges the mop in, squeezes it out, and comes back inside to start swiping over the floor.

  ‘Are you seriously mopping my kitchen floor for me?’

  ‘There’s no point in putting clean things down in this mess. It won’t take a second.’ His eyes are twinkling in the low light and there’s something in his smile that makes me smile. ‘Have a cup of tea, you look like you need one.’

  I can’t argue with him there. I gratefully guzzle tea from one of the plastic flask cups. Within minutes, the kitchen floor is a totally different colour than it was before, and Noel’s unfolding the air mattress and spreading it out. He inserts the nozzle of the foot pump into the hole and starts pressing his foot up and down on it.

  ‘I can do that,’ I say, thinking I should probably start doing something to prove I’m not completely useless at fending for myself. I’ve pumped up a few paddling pools and inflatable flamingos over the years, when the summer’s hot and Chelsea decides to put a kid’s pool in her miniscule back garden and sit in it drinking wine.

  I go over to where he’s standing and try to take over without losing any of the air he’s already pumped in, but the process of me standing on one leg was never going to be a neat one – what I actually do is stamp on his foot and nearly overbalance. I flail around like a drunken great white shark trying to perform the Bolero routine and clutch the sleeve of his flannel shirt to stay upright. When did he take his coat off? I glance through the open kitchen door and see it hanging on the rack in the hallway, along with the hat he was wearing earlier. He’s wasted no time in making himself at home.

  Once we’ve established that I’m not going to fall over and I’ve got a rhythm going with the foot pump, he goes back to the collection of things he dumped by the refrigerator and takes the heater outside to fill it. When he comes back in, he sets it on the floor, lights it and puts the safety guards in place, and sits back on his knees to show me the knobs to operate it. It makes the room smell like a Saturday morning at the garage. ‘This can burn quietly all night to give you a bit of light and warmth. The fumes will burn off in a minute, and you’ve got no roof or upstairs windows so there’s plenty of ventilation.’

  I can feel the heat emanating from the little heater already, and it makes something that’s been tight in my chest since the moment I set foot in this house start to loosen.

  He nods towards the pump. ‘Are you all right carrying on with that? Can I go and have a look around?’

  ‘Do you need a tour guide?’

  ‘This was my second home growing up, I know my way around.’ He takes a few steps across the kitchen but stops before he reaches the door. ‘Unless you want to give me the grand tour, that is? This is your house now, I have no right to walk around uninvited.’

  I wave a hand dismissively and nearly overbalance again. ‘Be my guest.’

  He adopts a French accent, which doesn’t work at all with his deep Scottish tone, and sings a few lines of ‘Be Our Guest’ from Beauty and the Beast. It makes me laugh so much that I nearly overbalance yet again. Disney songs and imitating singing candles
ticks are the last things I expected from him, and his French accent gets progressively worse as he goes up the stairs and strains of the song filter down through the floorboards.

  The mattress is starting to take shape, and I manage to switch legs without falling over when my thighs start to burn. I listen to the creaking floorboards as he crosses the landing and goes into the rooms above me. I like that he thought to ask if I wanted to show him around, even though he undoubtedly knows this house better than I do, and I’m strangely comforted by the sound of his footsteps upstairs.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ I ask when he comes back into the kitchen.

  He cocks his head to the side. ‘It’s not that bad.’

  ‘Not that bad? There are more bits of the house missing than still in existence.’

  ‘Your main problems are the roof and the windows. Everything else is superficial. Things will look better once you have electricity, water, and some cleaning products, but the windows all need replacing.’

  Considering there are no windows left to replace, even I could’ve guessed that. ‘How much is that likely to cost?’

  ‘I don’t know. A few thousand, at a guess. You haven’t got one whole bit of glass in the house.’

  My eyes widen in shock. ‘I can’t afford that.’

  ‘You could afford this place,’ he says with a shrug.

  ‘Yeah, exactly. That was it. I put everything I had into buying it.’

  ‘And you didn’t think you might need to set aside some of your budget for essential repairs?’

  ‘Well, yeah, but I have a very limited amount left and it has to be prioritised.’

  ‘And there was me thinking you were just another rich city girl with more cash than sense and enough money to wake up one morning and say “I think I’ll be a Christmas tree farmer today” while dear old Daddy pours money into your trust fund.’ He must clock the look on my face because he looks suitably guilty. ‘Sorry. That wasn’t meant to be as offensive as it sounded. I’ve met people like you who come up here thinking it’ll be an easy get-rich-quick scheme in a film-worthy setting. They’ve seen the size of the land and dollar signs appear in their eyes. I assumed you were the same.’