by Clare Lydon
Instead, here she was.
With Ruby.
Again.
It seemed like their lives were being thrown together whether they liked it or not.
Outside Mistletoe Stores, the snow was already grey and sludge-like from the early morning foot-traffic. Fran and Ruby set off down the road back towards the farm. A home they shared. Sort of.
“Seems like everyone’s quite excited about this. They like being woken up early and giving up their Saturday.” Fran was still a mix of perplexed and impressed.
Ruby shrugged. “Community is important around here. The village is important. It’s one of the reasons I like to come home at this time of year, to feel that. It’s why I value community in my music. It’s not all about money for me.”
Another dig at Fran. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”
Ruby shook her head, then stopped walking. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her thick coat, glancing Fran’s way. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. I was tired and hungry, but that’s no excuse for tarring everyone with the same brush. It was unfair. Not all music execs are born the same, I know that. I wouldn’t have liked it if you’d done it the other way around, but you didn’t. I apologise.” She stared at Fran.
Fran took a deep breath. “I apologise if I overstepped the mark, too.”
Ruby shook her head. “I deserved it. Can we start again?”
Hadn’t they started again a few times already, yet they always seemed to end up back where they started?
However, when Ruby’s green gaze snagged Fran’s, her doubts disappeared. Maybe they could. They should at least try. For the village’s sake, if nothing else.
She nodded. “Let’s put it all behind us. Clean slate. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Chapter 9
When they arrived at the farm, Ruby led Fran past the main house and down to the large courtyard behind. There was a wooden stage in the middle that Ruby had avoided singing on ever since Scott and her dad built it seven years ago. Firepits and picnic tables were dotted around the space, and a decorated Christmas tree studded each corner.
Flanking the courtyard stood three stone outbuildings that had been painstakingly renovated by her parents over the years. They now housed a cafe, a gallery that exhibited local art, and the all-important Christmas shop.
Apart from everything being covered in snow, the farm was ready for today. The four Christmas trees were the first they had to de-snow, so the contest could go ahead.
Three villagers — Roger, Betty and Joyce — were waiting at the nearest barn door. Ruby greeted them, gave them a bunch of keys, and they left.
“They’re gritting the car park, then getting the café and food ready for later on.” Ruby waved a hand around the courtyard. “These four trees are in the contest. There are 38 trees scattered about the village, decorated and ready for judging. It’s the most we’ve ever had in one year.”
Fran was standing next to one of the courtyard trees, sniffing one of its branches. “It smells like Christmas.” She spread her arms wide. “It’s making me feel all warm inside, even though I’m bloody freezing.” Fran shook the tree. Snow cascaded onto her. She scrunched her face and blew it off.
Ruby could do nothing but laugh. “You need a thicker coat before you do that again.”
Fran wrapped her arms around her torso. “Tell me something I don’t know.” She stared up at the tree. “The theme for this one is Scotland?” The tree was wearing a kilt with a tartan hat on top, and had an inflatable bottle of Glenfiddich in its branches. Heather peaked out of its pines, too, and a laminated life-size bust of Rod Stewart hung from its right side, a scaled-down Nicola Sturgeon stared from its left.
Ruby nodded. “Well done.”
“I saw the tree at Mistletoe Stores. That’s my favourite so far.”
Ruby grinned. “Victoria is responsible for the Elvis tree. But it can’t win, seeing as we’re running the contest. Victoria’s still pissed.”
“I would be, too. But I can already see there’s stiff competition. Who knew a Christmas tree could be Elvis?”
They crossed the courtyard side by side.
“How does the contest work?”
“Local businesses, charities, and families pay to enter their trees into the contest. They get a pot and a location. They buy a tree from our farm, plant it, decorate it with a theme, then write the theme on a card under their tree.”
Ruby pushed open the tall Christmas Shop door and invited Fran in. “Then people pay to buy a Treasure Hunt map from the store and the challenge is to hunt down all the trees in the village and surrounding roads, write down each tree’s theme, then pick your top three.”
Ruby was so used to the wealth of festive paraphernalia on offer inside, she didn’t even pause as she entered.
But Fran did. “Blimey. It’s like someone vomited Christmas in here.” She stamped her feet.
Ruby glanced down: she bet Fran’s toes were numb. “That won’t be our new slogan in case you were wondering.”
However, Fran was right: this shop was a love letter to Christmas. The farm was competing with local garden centres, so it had to be. Festive-themed soft toys, tree ornaments and baubles in all shapes and colours stood to Ruby’s right, along with tinsel, tree beads, and tree-toppers. To her left were the greener options, including wreaths, poinsettias and a vast range of festive plants. The back wall was full of chocolates and confectionery, along with stocking fillers as far as the eye could see. If you wanted a Christmas tea towel, mug, wine glass or tin opener, you were in the right place.
Ruby walked over to the till area, leaned down and grabbed a wedge of paper. “These are the Treasure Hunt guides, listing the locations of every tree in the village. A committee makes up 50 per cent of the judging — basically, our family, as we run it — and then everyone who pays for a treasure hunt gets to judge the entries, too. The judging takes place over today and tomorrow, then we announce the winner on Sunday at 4pm. All the money collected from the entries and the treasure hunt goes to charity, and the top three winners get prizes donated by local businesses.”
Fran shook her head. “I absolutely love that, it’s so creative.”
“It is. I love coming back for it every year. Scott’s trying to get digital ads up and running for the farm as well, and it’s working. But the contest and treasure hunt drive people to the village, get them to the farm and hopefully they then spend money and buy trees.”
“Who came up with the idea of the contest in the first place?”
“Mum and Dad did when the business needed a boost after big shops started selling Christmas trees. We’re not all country bumpkins selling eggs from the side of the road.” Ruby banged her hands together. “Ready to do the treasure hunt before anyone else and de-snow some trees?”
“Can we get coffee first? It’s still early and fucking cold, and I didn’t get one in the stampede at The Bar.” Fran walked up to the large rack of Christmas crackers by the door. She picked up a box. “Also, I like these.”
Ruby walked up beside her.
Fran turned and their gazes met.
Ruby shivered, even though she wasn’t cold. The blue of Fran’s eyes seemed richer than before. Her skin glowed. Ruby couldn’t quite make sense of the way her heart began to thud in her chest. She focused on the crackers, not the fact that she was going crackers.
“Mum and Dad have been making them for the past month. It’s their big hope for this year. They’re pretty cool, and the presents inside are actually things you might want. You should see the spare room, it’s stacked with them.”
“They should stock them in Harrods, they’d make a killing. Double the price, too.”
Ruby laughed. “If you know a buyer for Harrods, do let me know. Mum and Dad would be well up for it.” She gave Fran a Treasure Hunt map. “Here you go — pirate treasure in tree form. We’ll call in at the cafe, grab a coffee, grit the yard and surroun
ding paths, then tackle the trees. Ready?”
Fran stamped her feet and shivered. “Ready.”
But Ruby shook her head, then frowned. “You know what we have to do before we do anything else? Get you a proper coat and boots so you don’t freeze to death today. Fashion shoes and your thin jacket won’t do. It’s a criminal offence not to have the correct footwear and jacket in Mistletoe. Even when the rest of the country has no snow, Mistletoe is often the blind spot.”
“Next you’ll be telling me Santa makes a special stop on his sleigh here, too.”
Ruby gave her an exaggerated shrug. “This is where he refuels, of course.” She leaned in. “He even gets his tree from Mistletoe Farm. We give him a discount, naturally. We’re not mercenaries.” She tilted her head towards the house, her eyes stuck on Fran. “Enough chat. Let me give you some proper boots, at least. What size are you?”
“Six,” Fran replied.
“Perfect. Mum has boots for every occasion, and she’s a six. She also probably has a spare coat, too. You’ll thank me later.”
Chapter 10
Their first job was to grit the paths in and around the farm. Fran got the hang of shovelling grit pretty quickly after Ruby kept shouting at her to “just fling it!” However, Fran had a different method than flinging. She preferred to drizzle. The trick was to get as much orange grit on your shovel as possible, and then shuffle the contents liberally on the ground. Gritting was also a surprisingly good workout once you got going. Fran’s hips hadn’t moved this much since she was… well, since Delilah. Too long ago.
“You’re creating some lovely patterns in the snow.” Ruby put a hand on her hip and assessed Fran’s handiwork. “You’re wasted in the music business. You clearly should have been an artist.”
“I did two years of an art degree.”
Ruby’s eyebrow lifted in surprise. “You did?”
Fran nodded. “I never said I wasn’t creative. You assumed that. I just favoured going the business route. But like I told you, that can still be creative.”
Ruby winced. “You’re right. I did assume. I promise I’m going to stop doing that.”
Fran hoped that was true. She let it go.
Once the farm’s courtyard, drive and paths were gritted, Fran helped Ruby clear up the rest of the courtyard trees. The other three had themes of Madonna (the pop star, not the mother of Christ), love, and Italy. Fran had never seen a tree decorated in red, white and green dried pasta before, along with a pizza tree-topper, but there was a first time for everything. The Madonna tree won this round, though, with its mix of lace, leather, leotards, cowboy hats and pointy bras. Whoever was responsible had covered all of Madge’s key eras.
Once the courtyard trees were done, there were four more nearby to clear. As they walked, Fran flexed her toes to keep her blood moving. Her warmth factor was infinitely better than it had been at the start of the day. Ruby had been right — getting a pair of Mary’s boots had been a smart move. She’d also accepted a bright pink ski jacket, scarf, and bobble hat. She’d have frozen to death by now in what she had been wearing. Her mission when she got back to London was to get all-new outdoor wear and be Mistletoe-proofed.
Ruby took Fran’s gritting shovel and stowed it with hers by the farmhouse front door.
“I just need to check something at the cafe, then we’ll go.”
Fran nodded, then blew out a breath. It froze in the cold morning air. It was still only 10am, but they’d accomplished so much. Fran’s days were always busy, but some whistled by and she had to think hard about what she’d accomplished. It wasn’t like that in Mistletoe. The jobs were tangible. Grit the yard. Bake the pies. Shake the trees. There was none of the ambiguity of modern life. The feeling of accomplishment was on a different level.
She took off a glove and held it between her teeth, the ends of her fingers still numb as she prodded her phone. She asked her dads how they were getting on. They replied almost instantly that they were nearly done, and heading to The Bar for coffee and refreshments in half an hour. She told them she’d meet them there.
Five minutes later, Ruby’s voice carried in the air. Fran turned as she strode towards her. There was no doubt about it, Ruby did stride. She looked so at home in this environment, too, which was such a long way from Fran’s comfort zone. She was wearing black jeans, a black Berghaus jacket (“built for warmth” as Ruby had told her before), plus a thermal hat and gloves. She didn’t have any make-up on, but her skin was unblemished and naturally rosy.
Ruby fitted here.
Fran had admired Ruby’s style from the moment they met. It suited her and her music. How was it possible this country-living style suited her, too?
The farmhouse keys dangled from Ruby’s fingers. “You want to come in and get a blast of warmth while I pick up the food mum’s done for the hungry workers? We’ll do the tree inspections on the way.”
“Sure.” Fran followed Ruby into the house. As soon as she stepped through the door, her senses were overcome by the smell of baking. “Your house smells like Christmas.”
Ruby turned and gave her a grin as she dropped the keys on the table. “That’s why I like to come home. Mum was up at 5am. There’s nothing like waking up to the smell of fresh baking in the morning. Do your dads bake?”
Fran nodded. “They never used to, but now they’re living in Mistletoe, so much has changed. Every time I walk into the kitchen, they’re whipping up batches of scones and mince pies.”
Ruby grabbed a couple of tins from the table, and lifted the lids to check what was inside. “I challenge them to make them as good as these.” She closed the lids and walked towards Fran. “Can you take these?”
Fran held out her arms and Ruby plonked the tins into them. “Mistletoe will work its magic on your dads, mark my words. Before they know what’s happening, they’ll be putting on a Santa outfit and eating mince pies at every meal.”
She and Ruby ferried three tins of pies to the van, putting them on the front seat. Fran slammed the door, and when she looked up, Ruby’s brow furrowed.
“You know what, on second thoughts.” She held out a thermal-gloved hand, and grabbed Fran’s arm in her grip. “Let’s go and see the trees now. You got your map?”
Fran patted her jacket pocket. “Never leave home without it.” She was trying to ignore the warmth racing up her arm, emanating from where Ruby was touching her.
“You’re a natural at this, London girl.”
Ruby threaded an arm through Fran’s and together they crunched down the farm pathway, stopping at the first tree which was 50 metres ahead. Ruby spread her arms before giving Fran a “ta-da!”, along with a broad smile. “This is Mistletoe Farm’s entry.”
Fran peered upwards, in awe of the tree’s height. It had to be at least 20 feet tall. “It’s wonderful. I love the candy canes. It reminds me of Elf, the one Christmas film I like. What’s the tree theme?”
“The O’Connells.” She pointed at a bauble. “See this? It’s me, aged nine, the first year we moved here which is when Mum began the tradition.” On the front of the bauble was a tiny girl with a wonky fringe, standing proudly next to a snowman. Ruby twizzled it around to see the number nine stamped on the other side. “Mum and Dad got a bauble done of each of us for every year of our lives when we bought the farm. Luckily, the tree’s pretty tall, and we have another one inside, otherwise we might run out of branches.”
“I never even knew personalised baubles were a thing.”
Ruby quirked an eyebrow. “So much to learn about Christmas.”
Never a truer word spoken. To Fran, Christmas was an unnecessary pause in her work calendar. She tolerated it because the final quarter sales were always the best, but she didn’t always celebrate it. Didn’t always come home for it. Whereas, the O’Connells embodied Christmas. “Do you still get the baubles done?”
Ruby nodded. “Every year. Plus, me, my brother and sister decorate this tree every year. I finished my part at 6am this morning. Scott
and Victoria did their bit earlier in the week. It’s another reason I can’t stay in London around the festive time. We have traditions I can’t walk away from, you know?”
Fran nodded, staring into Ruby’s eyes. “I’m kinda getting that impression.”
Ruby held Fran’s gaze for a beat, then shook her head. “Who knows, maybe Hollybush Cottage will enter a tree next year?” She gave Fran a smile. “And by the way, Elf is one of my very favourite movies. Never trust anyone who doesn’t like it. But there are plenty of other Christmas movies you really need to watch, too.”
Warmth coated Fran’s insides. Was Ruby offering to show them to her? Perhaps this morning had begun to turn their relationship around. “I’d love to get Christmas-movie schooled if you’re offering.” Fran scrunched her forehead. “That’s a sentence I never saw leaving my lips. Who am I in Mistletoe?” She’d been here less than 24 hours.
“Someone who’s discovering their Christmas soul.” Ruby reached out and shook her family’s tree. A mini-avalanche ensued, and Ruby jumped back seconds too late. She took off her bobble hat and shook her head, then gave Fran a grin. “Remember: snow looks pretty, but it can be bruising.”
They cleaned up the O’Connell tree, then walked to the top of the farm’s drive and turned right, just as they had a few months ago when Fran first arrived in the village. Then, she’d thought Mistletoe Farm was a little unkempt, a little rough around the edges. She no longer thought that. Plus, somebody had touched up the sign, and it looked good as new.
On top of that, Fran and Ruby’s initial war seemed to be ebbing away, and after a morning spent working together, the barriers were down. Now, Fran almost went to bump Ruby’s hip when she made a joke. Which was all sorts of weird. Fran didn’t even do that with her friends.
They walked up the road towards the store. They’d cleared this path earlier, too, piling up the snow into the ditches. The grit was doing its job. Now Fran understood the contest, she saw the trees in a whole new light. These ones didn’t have lights, but they had tinsel, baubles and strings of gold beads around them, as well as weather-resistant ornaments, visible when you were up close. Fran touched one of the ornaments, a polished wooden horseshoe. Anna, will you marry me? Love, Richard x was engraved on it.
