The Magic of Christmas Tree Farm

by Erin Green

Nina

  Thursday, 13 December

  ‘How did it go?’ asks Kitty as we ready ourselves in the snug by dressing in layers for yet another cold morning on the farm.

  ‘Emotional… but cathartic,’ I say. ‘I’m surprised how good it felt this morning coming down to a clean home.’ One with fewer reminders plastered on every surface.

  ‘A job well done, then?’

  ‘Absolutely. Twenty-seven black bin liners of… removed from the house.’ I can’t bring myself to say rubbish, but still.

  ‘And?’ Kitty continues, her face spreading into a beaming smile. ‘How were the fellas?’

  I attempt blasé, but she continues to watch me as I add another jumper.

  ‘I’m waiting.’ Kitty gives a giggle, her blonde fringe dancing.

  ‘They were amazing, and really caring…’ I fade to silence.

  ‘And yet?’ Kitty stands, hands on hips, bulging in a puffa jacket, extra padded trousers and large boots. She looks quite comical.

  ‘Bram was his usual cheeky self, asking for a date, but Zach was amazing, comforting me whenever I got upset.’

  ‘So?’ she urges.

  ‘Shouldn’t I feel something more?’

  ‘Duh! Yeah!’

  ‘That’s the problem… I don’t.’

  ‘Nina!’ cries Kitty. ‘I thought… you were getting the whole…’

  ‘Heart-racing and stomach-flipping sickness?’

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘Nah!’ I grimace.

  Kitty’s eyebrows are lost into her fringe as she shakes her head.

  ‘That’s not good, girl.’

  ‘I didn’t think it was. I always hoped I’d feel the whole shebang when I met the right guy but…’

  ‘I know that feeling,’ Kitty says, unable to keep back her glowing smile. ‘Ahh, my legs turned to jelly ten times over. I knew the minute I saw Connor that…’ She ceases to speak. She doesn’t need to finish her sentence; her expression says it all. Kitty is in love, head over heels, totally smitten. Her face comes alive the moment she thinks about Connor, like an internal light bulb that beams. Each night he collects her from work. She can’t wait to be with him, so jogs over to his car, hastily shouting bye to us. They’ve been together for a couple of years and still the magic is alive. That’s what I want. Someone who ignites my world, and I theirs.

  The snug door bursts open. It’s Shazza, gasping for breath.

  ‘The boss is spitting feathers out here. You’re both late and he wants all hands on deck – the herd of reindeer have arrived early,’ she calls.

  ‘In a minute,’ says Kitty, eager to finish the conversation.

  ‘No, now!’ says Shazza. ‘He’s in a devil of a mood. They weren’t due until tomorrow and he’s just discovered that the kids have cut through the fencing again and had some kind of winter barbecue amongst the spruce. There’s cider cans and aerosol canisters everywhere.’

  ‘Is this happening every night?’ I ask, pulling on my embroidered jacket.

  ‘Virtually,’ says Kitty. ‘Shazza, tell him we’re on our way.’

  Shazza disappears, with an unconvinced look on her face.

  Kitty rubs my forearm and gives me a puppy-dog look.

  ‘So now what do I do?’ I mutter.

  *

  Holly

  I stare at my mobile: ten text messages all from Alfie about his pizza night with his mum. Doesn’t sound like it was a fun night, and I can completely understand that.

  It’s 7 a.m. Do I reply? He must have fallen asleep only three hours ago – how is he going to get through double physics today?

  I ready myself for school, pack my book bag and dive downstairs for breakfast. It’s the usual scene: a cramped huddle about the breakfast table all shouting for Frosties and sharing the decreasing milk, eyeing the remaining amount left. I’d love to live in a house that has plenty of milk. We never have enough milk. I squeeze in at the breakfast table between Hope and Hettie, though I fear for my school uniform given the way they dribble and throw their cereal around. Dad is scooping milk from a bowl, while trying to pour orange juice; Mum is frantically trying to spread sandwiches on a Formica sideboard that is covered in an array of plastic lunch boxes. When I’m older, much, much older, I won’t be having this many children. I look around the table. Having six sisters is probably the best contraception I could ever wish for. Living amongst this amount of pink is probably more influential than those safe sex film shown at school. Two babies, even one, might be enough.

  ‘Morning, Holly!’ says Dad finally, looking up from his spent bowl. ‘Are you wearing make-up?’ He peers at my face then turns to view Mum’s anxious features, her butter knife suspended mid-action.

  ‘A bit… just mascara.’

  ‘Hump!’ snorts my mother, returning to duty.

  ‘Mum says he’s got nice manners…’ jibes Dad, adding his bowl to the mountain of dirty crocks on the drainer.

  I raise my eyebrows. This feels so foreign. I expected him to lecture, to ban me from having a boyfriend, but to compliment, wow!

  ‘He comes from the Rowland’s Way Estate,’ I say, as if that explains everything Dad needs to know.

  My parents exchange a glance and pull a face.

  ‘La-di-da, is he?’ asks Dad, circling the table and giving out kisses before he dashes to work at the garage.

  ‘No! Pretty down to earth, actually.’ He annoys me with that comment. What’s la-di-da got to do with having nice manners? He makes Alfie sound like a posh-weirdo.

  Dad comes closer to plant a kiss on my forehead before speaking.

  ‘Maybe you want to invite him over for tea one night. I’m sure his mum won’t mind,’ he says.

  ‘It’s just him and his dad. His mum left.’

  My mother whips around from her butty duty, her eyebrows high.

  ‘Single parent family?’ she mutters, and shakes her head.

  ‘It’s not his fault, love,’ adds Dad, smoothing his newspaper to take with him.

  ‘Exactly. I’ll ask him, Dad.’

  ‘Any attempt to get a boy in the house.’ Hannah laughs, and Dad pretends to swipe her with the folded newspaper.

  ‘Ha, ha, young lady. We may ask to trade him for you. Maybe his dad would like a daughter for a while before sending you back!’ Hannah pulls a face, as Dad gives Mum her final peck on the cheek. I like the fact that they openly kiss in front of us. I think it’s how it should be when you’re married. I wonder if Alfie’s parents had stopped kissing in front of him. Maybe that’s stage one towards the divorce courts.

  Within ten minutes of Dad leaving, I’m back upstairs faffing about trying to get Heidi dressed. She won’t wear her woollen tights, she won’t have her hair brushed and at this rate I’m going to be late calling for Demi.

  ‘Stop wriggling about and get dressed properly,’ I snap. I see her eyes widen. As little as she is, she knows that’s not me. ‘Sorry.’ Heidi gets dressed without fuss; she knows when she’s crossed a line with us older ones.

  My mobile bleeps, which distracts me from my guilty conscience.

  It’s Alfie.

  Walk to school?

  I answer, not wanting to push my best friend aside.

  What about Demi?

  His reply takes ages to arrive. I stare at my screen, willing him to answer, as Heidi pulls her woollen tights over her scabby knees.

  Her too.

  Right answer, Alfie. I’m thrilled. I’ve never like it when friends get blown out just because two people start dating. Demi’s unaware of the fact, but she’s done that to me a couple of times and it feels like the pits. Then the minute they get dumped they call you up to go down town as if nothing happened. I’ve always gone with her when she’s asked but I’ve had the hump inside for days. I quickly reply.

  OK ☺

  ‘Come on, slow coach, race you downstairs!’ Heidi belts from her bedroom and dashes downstairs. I follow, leaving her in Hannah’s capable hands, grab my coat, kiss Mum and shout goodbye from
the open doorway.

  *

  Alfie waits on the corner of Raveloe Drive, his rucksack lolling from his shoulders and his new fringe swept to the side, chomping a bacon roll from the corner shop.

  ‘Is that your breakfast?’ I ask, on approaching.

  ‘It only costs a quid,’ he says. I hesitate. Are we at the ‘kiss you on greeting’ stage or just when in private? ‘How are you?’

  ‘Good, though my sister refused to get dressed this morning… so I feel tetchy as hell! Come on, otherwise Demi will think I’ve stood her up.’

  We fall into step side by side, him nearest the road side of the pavement and me on the inside. His free hand links into mine. My fingers wrap around his like a glove.

  ‘My dad said you can visit for tea one night if your dad’s OK with that,’ I say, unsure of how he’ll feel. A household filled with screaming girls and Barbie dolls in comparison to being calm, peaceful and surrounded by computer games.

  ‘Cool, I’ll mention it when I get back. Next week would be better for my dad – I know he’s home early for the rest of this week.’

  My mobile bleeps; it’s Demi.

  Where the hell are you?

  I instantly feel guilty. Dawdling, that’s where.

  ‘Come on, we’re late.’

  We do a stupid jog-speed walk action as we cross the road and head towards Demi’s.

  *

  ‘I see. Like that, is it?’ calls Demi as she slams the porch door behind her.

  ‘Morning, Demi,’ calls Alfie, in a jolly voice.

  Demi gives him a sly stare.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Has Spud said anything to you?’ she says, joining us on the pavement.

  I didn’t think she was that keen on Spud.

  ‘Boys talk,’ warns Alfie.

  ‘Demi?’

  ‘Hasn’t she told you?’ jibes Alfie, releasing my hand. ‘Well, Spud’s saying that on…’

  I stare at Demi, who has gone decidedly pink beneath her tinted moisturiser.

  ‘Shut up, Alfie Woodward. You know nothing. He’s lying.’

  Alfie raises his eyebrows at me.

  ‘Boys talk, do they?’ I ask, cheekily.

  ‘Not me. I don’t,’ he quickly adds, taking my hand as we trundle back along the street towards the school gate.

  *

  Nina

  ‘I daren’t ask whose bloody stupid idea this is,’ grumbles Old Bill, the farm’s eldest and long-suffering handyman-come-gofer, as he loads the final wooden pallets onto the truck’s trailer.

  ‘Mine,’ I offer, keeping my head low, knowing that my suggestion has caused additional work for others.

  ‘Cheers, Nina… as if I haven’t enough to do around here,’ says Old Bill, quickly fastening the strap ties across the pile of pallets. He heads for the truck’s cab, hitching up his baggy corduroy trousers as he walks. I could complain, I could grumble too, but I’m not going to. I follow suit, jumping into the passenger seat.

  Instead of a day in the sales yard, I am helping Old Bill create a new festive attraction.

  ‘Every other year the traditional grotto that’s been stashed in the end barn has always been good enough, but oh, no, not this year!’ mumbles Old Bill. He draws breath and starts again. ‘I don’t stop fetching, carrying and building sodding projects on this damned farm, you know?’

  He drives across the sales yard and through the gate towards the spruce growing in the north fields.

  ‘The boss wants something attractive for his customers. They don’t want the same old thing every year, do they?’ I offer.

  ‘Boss wants something new then leaves it until two days before opening to assign me the time to build it. And as for those bloody reindeer – have you seen the size of them?’ His white overgrown hair shakes constantly as he talks; everyone knows when Old Bill is not best pleased.

  ‘Bill, you know what it’s like around here come Christmas time – it’s always manic.’

  ‘Seriously, you girls with your bright ideas. It’ll not secure you one of the twins, you know?’

  ‘Oi!’ I snap, as he touches a nerve. ‘You’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Plus, we’re all busy. I’d much prefer to be on the sales yard amongst the customers and spruce than this.’

  ‘Phuh! Wait till you have to muck out the reindeer – then you’ll be moaning about being busy.’

  ‘We are! Jackie’s got a Christmas Eve wedding to organise, Shazza’s trying to plan the perfect carol service and, despite it being my great idea, I’ve been lumbered with helping you build the new grotto.’

  ‘Who has a bloody wedding this close to Christmas, I ask you?’ he scoffs, navigating the muddy pathway.

  ‘I think a winter wedding is romantic,’ I answer, staring from the passenger window at the rows of growing Norway spruce.

  ‘Like there’s shed loads of snow about to fulfil her winter wonderland dreams,’ grumbles Old Bill.

  ‘True, if the bride’s wanting snow it looks like she’s picked the wrong year,’ I say, noting the abundance of muddy brown earth and emerald moss carpeting the ground amongst the passing spruce.

  ‘The forecasters are always bloody wrong. Mark my words, there’ll be no snow this year despite what the boss says.’

  ‘Jackie’s the queen of weddings – she’ll deliver whatever the couple have asked for. Anyway, you don’t even work the weddings so what are you chomping about?’

  The cab of the truck wobbles us back and forth as the chunky tyres grip the uneven terrain. It’s not the same spruce-lined meandering pathway that the customers will walk whilst visiting the grotto, but it’s the widest path for a vehicle to deliver the pile of raw materials necessary for building.

  ‘Bloody good job. I’ve been here thirty-seven years and never have I known such nonsense as this. And that sodding carol service… whose bright idea is that to move it from the usual seated arrangement and make it a lantern procession?’

  ‘I think it’s nice.’

  ‘Phuh! It’s all a bloody gimmick, if you ask me. The customers don’t know half the carols anyway… they’d be silent without the song sheet stuck under their noses.’

  ‘Bill, December is the busiest month. We might not like events but that’s what we have to do to get through the year.’

  ‘Phuh!’

  ‘Without the extra money, some of us would be out of a job!’

  ‘Mmmm, and I suppose you think that about the bloody rental shacks down by the lake?’

  ‘I think you’ll find they’re log cabins, Bill… and yes, I do quite like them, actually.’

  ‘Utter bloody nonsense, if you ask me, folk paying good money to stay in a glorified shed – what’s so wrong with staying in their own homes? That’s what I say.’

  I remain silent.

  ‘We called it camping in my day and we did it under canvas but not now – your generation think they’re so daring and adventurous sleeping in a heated shed.’

  I’m sure he’s about to start complaining about our designated task again, and I don’t want to spend the day justifying why I think it’s a cracking idea. Plus, I can’t afford to add fuel to his fire, as I’ll never live it down if this project goes wrong.

  So I am thankful when we drive in silence amongst the spruce until we arrive at our designated spot.

  *

  Angie

  Nick indicates left and pulls the car into the sweeping driveway, drawing up behind a long queue of cars. Why is the zoo so busy on a weekday in December?

  I’ve taken the day off work by calling in sick. Nick has taken the day off. I feel guilty; Nick doesn’t.

  ‘The zoo?’

  He nods eagerly.

  ‘In eighteen years, we’ve never visited Twycross zoo and yet live fifteen minutes away,’ he explains.

  ‘We just never got around to it, that’s why. There was always something more important to do. Life on your doorstep is never important during the holiday seasons… so, why now?’

&nbs
p; Nick draws the car forward, chasing the bumper of the car in front.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because we didn’t even bring Alfie here – the school brought him on an away-day trip in primary school.’

  ‘Well, that was wrong, Angie. Parents should take their son to the zoo, not the bloody school. It’s not their job to raise our lad.’

  I watch his side profile; he’s staring ahead, having disappeared back into yesteryear. My yesteryears revolved around SATS, chicken pox and endless play dates. Is this the new Nick or a hidden remnant of the old?

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing, just thinking. What else have we missed over the years, Nick?’

  ‘Loads… we got lost along the way, I think.’

  I reposition the seat belt across my breastbone and stare from the passenger window. Did we?

  Nick steers towards the beckoning hand protruding from a fluorescent coat standing on the grassy car park area. He drives in as directed and pulls the handbrake on before killing the engine.

  We walk the short distance to the payment kiosks, Nick rummages in his pocket for his debit card.

  ‘Morning, two adults, please?’ Nick offers his card to the young lady.

  ‘Any children?’

  I watch as she glances over the kiosk ledge at the empty space between us, expecting to see little ones.

  ‘No.’ Nick laughs.

  We’re about twelve years too late on that parenting duty. Nick enters his pin code into the hand-held machine as I wonder what we did instead with our toddler. Probably sat at home, snuggled on the sofa watching animated crap on TV. A wave of guilt snags in my throat. Would Alfie be more forgiving if we’d taken more family day trips? Were we always destined to fall apart as a family?

  ‘Cheers.’ Nick takes the offered receipt from the attendant, and unfurls the offered map as we walk through to the entrance.

  ‘Were we happy when Alfie was a toddler?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Angie – you know we were.’ His voice is soft, caring and sure.

  I nod. I honestly can’t remember.

  ‘I just remember how rushed we were. Like ships in the night, dashing here, there and everywhere and yet we never did the things that mattered to him… or us. And now…’ My voice fades.