by Clare Lydon
Fran glanced in Ruby’s direction. “I’m sorry that happened to you, but we’re not all the same.”
Ruby shrugged. “But money talks, doesn’t it? When I stopped selling, the label dropped me, and every person I encountered was all about the bottom line and how it could work for them. I was never in the equation. It was a wasted couple of years and I had to start again from scratch.”
“Have you ever taken the time to talk to music people, though? Really understand why they’re doing their job?”
Even in the low lighting of the car, Fran saw Ruby’s cheeks colour pink. “Nothing in depth,” Ruby said, “but I know the type.”
“Really.” Fran turned her body towards Ruby, every fibre of her truly pissed. Maybe she shouldn’t have offered her a lift, neighbour or not. “That type is me? Because I can tell you, I love music. My job is to get good music out into the world. The role I play is balancing the artist with what the label can offer, and it’s all part of the creative process. Just like you making music is, too. But I care about my artists and I’m good at the business side.” Was Ruby not listening to what she was saying on purpose, or had she just convinced herself that her beliefs were the absolute truth?
Ruby tucked her chin into her neck. The car was silent for a good few moments.
Fran cleared her throat as annoyance and frustration rumbled through her.
Ruby still didn’t say anything.
Had Fran gone too far? She thought about it for a few moments, then decided she hadn’t. Ruby had made assumptions about Fran and her career. She was wrong.
“It’s the reason I tried to sign you. Because I think you’re talented. Because I think your music deserves to be listened to on a much larger scale. I get that you want to help out your family at Christmas, but it’s a big thing to put your career on hold for six weeks every year. Most people wouldn’t do it, and if you want my professional advice, it’s not the smartest career move. Wouldn’t you rather be playing a gig that might get your music out there and open doors, rather than selling Christmas trees? If it’s money you’re worried about, you could help your family out far more when your sales go through the roof.”
Fran wasn’t done. “If you want my professional opinion, it sounds like you’re making excuses to thwart yourself. Your family is a great excuse, and nobody is ever going to call you on it. But I see what you’re doing. You’re scared of trying, but even more scared of being a success.” Fran winced. She hadn’t meant to go into a rant, but Ruby had riled her.
She held up a palm. “I’m sorry, but I don’t like being misrepresented.” She held Ruby’s gaze. “Also, I don’t like wasted talent. It’s part of my job to spot it.”
Silence settled on the car. Seconds ticked by.
Ruby took a deep breath, then sat up in her seat. “Listen, Fran...”
But just then, the bright lights of the AA truck lit them up as it pulled in behind.
Both Fran and Ruby turned into the light, then squinted.
“Saved by the bell.” Fran yanked open her door and got out, then flicked up the hood of her coat against the swirling snow. Only another few hours to survive with Ruby. She wasn’t sure her plan of buttering Ruby up had gone that well. But frankly, when Ruby thought so little of her, did Fran really want to work with her anyway?
Mike couldn’t fix Fran’s car. “More than the exhaust,” was his not-so-helpful assessment. He loaded it onto his recovery truck, with Fran and Ruby riding in his cab up-front.
When they arrived in Mistletoe an hour and a half later, the snow was still falling at a steady rate, and the village was picture-postcard pretty. The journey had been quiet, and luckily the traffic had eased. Fran kept her eyes on the road and her thoughts to herself. She’d avoided looking at Ruby too much. When she had, Ruby’s eyes had been closed. Whether she was asleep or just attempting damage limitation, Fran wasn’t sure.
As they both lived so close, the drop-off point was the same. Mike gave Fran a number to call to arrange a replacement rental while hers was being fixed. “Although,” he said, looking into the sky, “if this keeps up, you might not be able to get it.” The snow swirled around his face, like someone up there was grating the sky.
Fran shook her head. “I don’t really need a car while I’m here. I’ll follow up with the garage to see when they can get it back to me.”
He nodded, then drove off.
Ruby stood as the snow fell, her numerous gift bags at her feet.
“You want a hand in?” Fran might still be annoyed, but she was polite.
Ruby shook her head, grabbing all the handles in her fingers. “I can manage.” She took two steps, then a third.
Fran kept a narrowed eye on Ruby. She didn’t look steady on the snowy ground.
On her fourth step, Ruby wobbled. On the fifth, she lost her footing, and almost in slow motion her right foot slid forward as her body jerked back. She landed with a dull thud on the pavement. Her gift bags scattered across the pavement, presents skidding out. A squashed “Fuuuuck!” escaped Ruby’s mouth.
Fran stood still for a moment, biting down a laugh. Then she clicked into gear, rushing over to her fallen neighbour. She gathered the gifts back into the bags, stood them up, then offered Ruby her hand.
Ruby looked up, grimaced, then took it reluctantly.
When their hands connected, a sudden boom ripped through Fran’s core. It wasn’t subtle. It was seismic, shaking her from the inside out. It almost knocked her sideways. She squeezed her toes together and managed to stay upright. She clung on to Ruby’s hand, willing her racing heart to slow down.
“After three,” Fran said, ignoring the ricochets in her body. They couldn’t be trusted. “One, two, three.”
Ruby held onto Fran tight and heaved herself off the pavement.
When she made it to her full height, they stood facing each other. Ruby a few inches higher, her lips almost at Fran’s eye level.
Fran hadn’t considered Ruby’s lips once in the car. At least, she didn’t think she had. Ruby was attractive, but so were many women Fran came into contact with. She was used to attractive singers in her orbit. It was her world.
However, none of them had ever caused a mini-earthquake in her with a touch of their hand. Damn it, Fran really didn’t need the one person who did to be Ruby. Not after the way their breakdown chat had turned so sour.
There must be something faulty in her wiring in Mistletoe. Something off. Maybe it was the snow.
She wasn’t used to snow.
That was probably it.
“If it’s any consolation, you went down with the grace of a top ballet dancer.” Fran paused. “Will you accept some help to your front door, now? I promise, as soon as we get there, I’ll leave and you’ll be shot of this music exec.”
Ruby grabbed some bags, letting Fran take some. She gave her a weak smile. “Thanks.” Ruby began walking, limping slightly. She glanced across at Fran, looking like she was about to say something, then didn’t.
Fran let it go. “What are your plans for this weekend?”
It was still snowing, and every word Fran uttered was topped with wet snow. It settled all around her in thick layers.
“It’s going to be a busy one,” Ruby replied. “The start of December means the annual Christmas Tree Contest and Treasure Hunt, so this weekend is big news in Mistletoe.” She flipped her head to the sky. “I just hope this snow, pretty as it is, doesn’t cause an issue. Otherwise, there might be many furrowed brows in the village. Still, it’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before.”
They walked down the drive to the farm in silence, battling the growing snow storm, Fran swallowing down many flakes by the time they arrived. She didn’t have a hat or gloves. Her fingers were numb and her hair wet. She was sure she had a nose like Rudolph, too.
Ruby was just fishing in her bag for her key when the door swung open. Mary appeared on the other side, her cheeks flushed with warmth. It was in stark contrast to the pair of them. Chipper ran c
ircles around them, jumping up at Ruby.
“Oh my goodness! Get in! Get in! You both look frozen!” Mary said.
“Hello, Chipper! Good boy!” Ruby flicked a worried gaze to Fran.
She didn’t need to panic. Fran was happy to get as far away from Ruby at the fastest speed possible. “Thanks, but I was just giving Ruby a hand with her bags. Turns out she buys a whole lot of presents.”
“That’s our Ruby!” Mary took the bags from Fran’s hands. “You sure I can’t offer you a coffee or a hot chocolate at least?”
Fran shook her head. “No thanks. My dads are waiting for me. I better get home.” She gave Ruby a tight smile. “See you soon.”
Ruby dipped her head. “Thanks for the lift.”
Chapter 8
Being woken at 7am and told she had to get up to help the village wasn’t Fran’s idea of the perfect Saturday morning. Especially not after the journey she’d endured last night, including a broken-down car and a spluttering friendship. Apparently, a siren call had gone out across Mistletoe this morning by text. Like it or not, Fran was part of the village now. She checked in the mirror, wiped the sleep from her eyes and splashed her face. Did she need to apply make-up? Who for? She didn’t even know these people.
But she knew Ruby.
Fran pushed that thought to one side and trundled down the stairs, where her dads already had their coats, hats, scarves and boots on. They were Mistletoe-ready.
It was only now she did a thorough inspection of the hallway she took in just how all-in Dad and Pop had gone on the Christmas decorations.
Back in Surrey, they’d been far more reserved. The one thing her parents always made sure they had was mistletoe. Her dads had a thing for mistletoe. It was how they’d got together one snowy night in Soho some 40 years ago. They’d been inseparable ever since. Hence, when they’d seen a village in Suffolk named Mistletoe, it had seemed like destiny. Resistance was futile.
Now, Fran took in the Christmas cards on strings and the tinsel on door frames. The fake snow on the window panes. She’d even spied Christmas tea towels hanging from the AGA last night. They hadn’t even bought a tree or really got started yet. She blinked, gave them both a good-morning kiss on the cheek, then shrugged on her too-thin coat and inappropriate shoes. The clock had barely scraped past 7.30am when they opened the front door. There hadn’t even been time for a cuppa.
When Fran walked out, the crisp, dazzling stillness tickled her cheeks and stole her breath. There was something to be said for being out this early. The holly bush had a brilliant snow jacket. The fir tree was majestic. The rest of the plants sported a snow trim. When Fran stepped onto the garden path — which Pop had semi-cleared — the thin layer of snow crunched underfoot. The best part of any snowfall was being the first one to tread in it. It never happened in London. It hardly ever happened in Surrey. But in Mistletoe? She could roll around to her heart’s content and still have fields and fields of snow to go.
“Wow. I feel like I’m inside a Christmas card.”
Dad nodded. “Isn’t it magical? This is why we moved to Mistletoe.”
Fran couldn’t argue with that.
“We’ve done some fabulous bike rides around these roads and trails, too,” Pop added.
“No doing that in this weather.” When she heard the words, Fran rolled her eyes at herself. When had their roles of parent and child begun to shift?
“Yes, Mum.” Pop gave her a wink.
They walked to Mistletoe Stores, the air so fresh Fran wanted to bottle it. She could make a mint selling it in London. They were silent, and the only noise was occasional bird song. Fran made sure her steps were small and heavy as her shoes had no grip. She’d seen what happened with Ruby last night, so she was taking no chances.
Signs along Farm Lane directed people to Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm and the Christmas Tree Contest and Treasure Hunt. There was also a massive sign at the junction with Mistletoe Stores. Tall, elaborately decorated trees lined the route. Fran hadn’t noticed them last night, in the snowstorm — she’d had other things on her mind. Now, she had no idea how she’d missed them.
When they arrived at Mistletoe Stores, they walked around a massive tree adorned with everything Elvis. It even had a sparkly jacket and a quiff. Fran wanted to stop and stare. Get her phone out and instantly Instagram it. However, everyone else took this tree in their stride, as if it happened all the time. Perhaps it did in Mistletoe.
She and her parents headed to The Bar. Outside the back door, a row of shovels were propped against the wall. Somebody had already been busy. When she walked in, Fran blinked again. The Bar was absolutely packed. She hadn’t expected that.
There was barely space for them to squeeze in, but the villagers made room, slapping Michael and Dale on the back. The low hum of the coffee machine working overtime mixed with the chatter of the locals filled the air, along with the smell of freshly roasted beans. What Fran would give for a coffee. However, to get there, she’d have to hurdle at least 30 people. She didn’t want to come across as a pushy Londoner.
Fran spotted Mary and Paul behind the bar, along with Victoria and Eric who were doling out the drinks. Scott and Ruby were at the other end of the bar, giving out mince pies and chatting with Sue and Penny. At the sight of Ruby, Fran inhaled a long breath. Ruby was deep in conversation, her face animated and alive. She looked happy. Fran hoped she’d get that version of Ruby today, rather than the spiky one. That they could get over last night and be civil to each other.
Mary checked her watch, then clapped her hands. Silence descended on the bar.
“Thanks everyone for coming at such short notice, and for being such phone addicts that you had them on in the first place!”
Chuckles from the audience.
“Also, thanks to OnePhone for providing service that can survive a snow storm. Remember that year we had to go door to door, knocking everybody up by hand?”
“Yes!” came the chorus from the front of the bar, followed by laughter around the room.
“Anyway,” Mary continued, rubbing her hands through her short hair. It stuck up at all angles. “The village is looking picture-perfect this morning after all the snowfall overnight. But as you also know, picture-perfect means headaches for us. Especially this weekend for the Christmas Tree Contest and Treasure Hunt.”
“Headaches for us all!” shouted Audrey. “How am I meant to get over to the supermarket to get my shop when I can’t get the car out?”
Audrey was wearing what Fran could only describe as an artist’s smock. It seemed wildly inappropriate for the weather. But then, Audrey was wildly inappropriate, so perhaps it suited her.
“You could always just buy from us at Mistletoe Stores,” Eric said.
“When you start stocking my chorizo, passata and all the other goodies I get from Aldi, we’ll talk.”
Mary clapped her hands. “We don’t have a lot of time, so if I could bring your attention back to the matter at hand. I’ve spoken to the council, and the gritters are already on the case making all the roads passable up to Mistletoe perimeter. I’ve got a cast-iron guarantee on that. I told them we can take the rest.”
She paused. “As most of you know, our job today — as it has been every year when this has happened — is to make sure the pavements are passable, the farm is safe, and the Christmas trees scattered all over the village that are taking part in the competition are de-snowed, their themes visible. People will still come if they can drive their cars here, park it somewhere free of ice, walk on pavements that aren’t skating rinks and most importantly, so long as they can see the trees to judge them.
“The forecast is good, there’s no more snow, so let’s give this a positive slant. The snow couldn’t have come at a better time to make Mistletoe as Instagrammable as possible. Well, perhaps a day or two earlier, but let’s not split hairs.” Mary grinned. “The village is going to look gorgeous with your help. If we can all pitch in this morning, visitors will rave about our littl
e hamlet, then come back next year. Pavements and trees are the priority. Everybody ready to ensure Mistletoe is open for business?”
The whole bar erupted into applause and whistles. Fran joined in the clapping, somewhat bemused.
“Order! Order!” shouted Paul, as if he was the Speaker in the House of Commons. “See Eric and Victoria over here for the duties we’ve assigned you. If you have a problem, speak to them, but hopefully everyone will be happy. Over 70s, you won’t be shovelling snow, that much we can promise. Not after Norman’s back went three years ago.”
“I can shovel! I’m fit as a fiddle!” Norman shouted. He stood to demonstrate the point, waving his walking stick in the air.
Everyone ignored him.
“Tea, coffee and mince pies are on tap here to everyone helping. Take one before you go or come back afterwards.”
Fran stood at the back as the crowd chatter filled the room once more. There was a swell to the front to get coffee and duties, then a slow dispersal as the villagers marched out, mission in hand.
Ruby’s brother Scott bustled up, slapping Dad and Pop on the back. “Michael, Dale. You’re both fit and able. I’ve put you two on snow-shovelling duty on the main road into town. You and six others. You should get it done in an hour or so, with luck. Shovels are stacked up outside. That okay?”
Both her dads nodded, puffing out their chests.
Fran suppressed a laugh. Her dads were fit, even though they were both in their mid-60s.
“As for you, Fran. I thought the best thing would be to team up with Ruby to get the farm gritted and the Christmas trees around it set for the treasure hunt and judging.” He turned around, just as Ruby approached. “Here she is! I’ve given you Fran to help out. That okay?”
Ruby sucked on her top lip, then nodded. “Of course, that’s great.” Her tone was flat.
So far, this morning was going about as bad as Fran could have wished. She’d been hoping for a lie-in, followed by one of Pop’s famous fry-ups. Then perhaps a spot of Saturday Morning Kitchen on the telly, where she could watch people cook food she would never recreate because she didn’t have the time or the inclination.
