The Magic of Christmas Tree Farm

by Erin Green

  ‘Angie… you can’t beat yourself up about stuff from sixteen years ago.’

  ‘Can’t I?’

  ‘No, love, you can’t.’ He glances at my puzzled face. ‘Seriously, just focus on the here and now.’

  I look up to view his intense gaze.

  I nod; he’s right.

  Here and now. That’s all we ever really have, isn’t it?

  *

  Nina

  It takes four hours to build the new festive grotto. Whenever I watch DIY programmes on the TV, nothing takes longer than ten seconds to build. Several times during the morning, I’m tempted to ask Old Bill if he can rattle a nail gun as fast as Tommy Walsh, but I suspect he’ll answer with: ‘Who?’. So, I help where I can and fetch tools from the truck or hold wooden panels at right angles, where necessary. I watch intently as his weathered hands bring the jigsaw together. Eventually, a large shed made of used pallet wood, painted white and topped with the cutest apex roof, is free-standing amongst the Blue spruce. Old Bill starts to erect a tiny rope-and-post fence to organise the queuing customers and I add suitable decoration inside our two-roomed creation to imitate an icy igloo. I nail-gun swathes of white wadding to every interior wall and ceiling in the hope that it looks like compacted snow. Strings of sparkly fairy lights and a collection of wrapped fake presents are stacked high as a fitting backdrop for Santa’s chair. I’ve even added a set of shimmery, sparkly door ribbons leading from the foyer area into Santa’s throne room, purely for effect, and I like the way the colours twinkle in the fairy lights.

  ‘There, that looks grand,’ I mutter as we stand back to admire our handiwork.

  ‘Are you happy now?’ grunts Old Bill, collecting his tools from the surrounding earth patch. ‘Suitably decorated for single occupancy to meet and greet his visitors – when I get time, I’ll deliver his throne and organise a larger generator.’

  ‘I am and I’m sure the boss will be too,’ I say, chivvying him along. ‘You’ve got until Saturday, so don’t worry.’

  ‘Good, because that’s taken far longer to build than necessary and I don’t need to remind you that we have a second, identical one to build on the south side of the farm.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘Yes, surprise, surprise, we’re having two grottos.’

  It was my clever suggestion said in jest, when our panel couldn’t choose between two identical roly-poly Santas. Surely two Santas would halve the queuing time, which would be a bonus for any family with excited children, resulting in a more memorable visit rather than the rush-and-push visits witnessed in most Santa’s grottos. The only downside would now be the number of elves descending on the farm. I hope this plan pays off, otherwise I can wave goodbye to my Christmas bonus.

  *

  Angie

  ‘Nick, Alfie hates me,’ I moan as we stare at the empty gorilla enclosure. There’s no sign of a majestic silverback and his mate, just tree trunks and plastic bottle crates. Obviously, the pair have more sense to be cosy inside their indoor enclosure, unlike us.

  ‘Angie… he doesn’t hate you. He’s trying to come to terms with what has happened. What did you expect him to do? Fling his arms around you like a three-year-old?’

  ‘Err, yeah – he used to.’

  ‘He used to wet the bed too but, hey, that ceased years ago.’

  ‘You didn’t even tell him it was me you went to dinner with the other night. Do you know how embarrassing it was to listen to my own son telling me the details of your mysterious date, knowing it was me?’

  ‘Angie?’

  ‘Nick… seriously, he was playing games with me, suggesting he was OK with you bringing back some bit of stuff for the night.’ My voice has risen three octaves so I am glad that we’re the only folk viewing the empty enclosure ‘And then—’

  ‘Stop, Angie.’ His voice is edgy and cold. ‘Alfie’s got his own opinions. He’s finding his own way in the world and sussing out the boundaries. What do you expect me to do?’

  ‘Talk to him, Nick, make him understand about us, me and you…’ Instantly I feel stupid defining ‘us’. ‘That we’re trying again. He needs to stop with these ideas of you and another woman… Nick?’

  ‘Don’t you think that would be pushing it a bit fast given we’re only on our second date?’

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘I think it’s best for everyone concerned if we leave things as they are for now… See how we fare first before telling him that we’ve decided—’

  ‘Nick!’ I can’t believe he’s saying this. I thought this was what he wanted. What he’s hoped for, for months and months, and now I’m some sordid secret kept from my own son.

  ‘What?’ He sounds tired again.

  ‘I think I’ve paid the price for my decision back in January. I’d like Alfie to know.’

  ‘I’m not saying you haven’t but… you weren’t here, Angie. You haven’t seen what the lad’s been through and I don’t want to raise his hopes in case we… don’t make it for a second time. I’m putting Alfie first. That’s what we need to do.’

  I am fuming. I wish I hadn’t called in sick to spend the day with him.

  ‘We need to focus on us, Angie. If we take our time, make sure we’re sure… then telling Alfie will be the best thing ever. He’ll understand. He’s not a kid any more.’

  Obviously not, given his relaxed attitude as regards his father’s potential sleepovers.

  *

  Holly

  ‘Are you OK with your dad dating?’ I ask as Alfie grabs bags of crisps from their kitchen cupboard. Their dog, Rolo, watches him intensely as if he’s anticipating a treat.

  ‘Oh, yeah. He hasn’t left the house for months, yet today he was singing in the shower.’

  ‘Ah, that’s sweet.’

  ‘It is from a middle-aged guy. Seriously, I haven’t got an issue with it but I think my mum will go spare.’

  I frown.

  ‘Surely, she has no say.’

  ‘You think?’ He laughs, leading the way to their lounge, which is as neat and tidy as their kitchen. ‘Take a pew.’

  I look around at the large leather couches in warm creams with contrasting mocha cushions, surrounding a glass coffee table complete with an array of remote controls.

  Rolo follows us and flops onto the floor before the fire hearth, his big brown eyes noting our every move.

  How lovely to have a choice of seat from which you don’t have to pick up and move a pile of plastic: baby dolls, jelly shoes or bricks. I choose the sofa opposite their large plasma TV and sink into the plush cushions – it takes me by surprise. Alfie flops down beside me and offers me a choice of crisp flavours.

  ‘Cheese and onion or salt and vinegar?’ He holds the two out.

  I like both but want to be generous.

  ‘What’s your favourite?’

  ‘Cheese… but you can have them.’

  ‘Nah. I’ll take the salt and vinegar ones, please.’

  ‘You sure?’

  I snatch the bag and open it before he can play the gallant gent. He laughs, a sound that I’m beginning to enjoy hearing. We sit crunching crisps, which gives me chance to eye their lounge and him time to play with the remote controls, flicking from channel to channel. They haven’t any decorations or a tree yet and it’s halfway through December.

  We don’t talk, just munch crisps. Even with my sisters this would feel weird, as if one of us had to speak or joke to fill the silence, but this feels right. It feels nice to be beside Alfie, saying absolutely nothing.

  I spot a wedding invite card on their mantelpiece exactly the same as we have at home.

  ‘Are you invited to a wedding on Christmas Eve?’ I ask.

  ‘Yep, the bride’s father was my dad’s uni lecturer – it sounds weird but dad was such a good student that they kept in touch and remained friends.’

  ‘Us too! Isabella and Luca?’

  Alfie nods, but scowls.

  ‘I’m bridesmaid, if that makes you feel any bette
r about attending.’ I laugh.

  ‘It’s not that… We’re supposed to be going as a family, Mum included.’

  Oh, I see.

  Silence lingers.

  ‘Would your mum return, given the chance?’ I finally ask, unsure if that conversation has truly finished.

  ‘Nah! It was her decision to leave… She wanted out. Dad was gutted when she left. He’d have taken her back but reckons she’d met a guy at work and then shacked up with him until…’ His voice fades. I can’t imagine how it must feel when parents go their separate ways. ‘He probably dumped her after having some fun.’

  ‘Oh. You don’t know for certain, then?’

  ‘Not exactly. I think she’d met someone else but when he ditched her she had to figure out how to save face so stayed as she was.’

  ‘And is she happy?’

  ‘Nope. The other night she stared at me when I said that Dad had finally plucked up the courage to take someone out. It’s not as if he’s not tried to win her back, he has, but she’s turned him down each time. Then I’ve been the one lying in bed at night knowing he’s downstairs drowning his sorrows with whisky.’

  I listen in silence. The words flow from him without thinking or effort.

  ‘It got quite bad when she’d been gone for a month or so, then he picked up, but then when the divorce papers came through the post he was back to square one. She hasn’t a clue what she’s done to him, she really hasn’t.’

  ‘Maybe she was hurting too?’

  ‘Doubt it. She hasn’t called me in ages, months, and then out of the blue she wants to go on a mother-son date… She expected me to drop everything. I said no way, but still she phoned again for pizza, so I agreed to go.’

  ‘Maybe she’s realised how bad it looked?’

  ‘Maybe.’ He falls silent, and stares at me. ‘You’ve got a crisp.’ He picks at the corner of my mouth.

  He flicks the crumb onto the carpet, and leans forward. My breath stalls. His face nears mine; his eyes have tiny flecks of yellow amongst the blue. Such white eyes, such huge pupils… His lips are on mine. I can taste the cheese and onion crisps. I wonder if he can taste salt and vinegar. His right arm lifts up, over and around my shoulder as our lips work, pulling me slightly closer towards him. I can’t believe this. I’m sitting in Alfie Woodward’s lounge, kissing him in the middle of the afternoon, when I’m supposed to be grounded.

  *

  Angie

  ‘Sorry.’ It seems the only feasible thing to say as Nick quickly indicates and pulls into the busy traffic just after four o’clock.

  ‘No worries. We’ve had a good day. We didn’t get to see many animals in their outdoor enclosures, given the turn in the weather, but it makes a change from The Rose.’

  ‘What do you expect in December? The poor bloody animals had more sense than us.’ We visited every outdoor enclosure and the majority were empty; only the Amur leopards, the two female elephants and the playful baby Orang Utan were obliging to brave the elements, like us.

  ‘Things are freaking me out… How can we go behind our son’s back and date without there being a shadow over the beginnings of this new relationship?’

  Nick nods.

  ‘I thought we were going for honesty here, Nick. I really did.’

  ‘We are. We both need to learn from our past mistakes but if I were dating someone else, which I’m not, I wouldn’t have introduced her to Alfie after the first or second date, would I? Or is that the norm nowadays – meet, date and immediate contact?’

  Is he actually asking me? Or was that hypothetical?

  ‘Angie?’

  Oh, he is.

  ‘No, but I’m his mother!’

  ‘I know. That’s why we are trying again after a separation, a costly divorce and several months.’

  Is he never going to let that drop?

  I smile.

  ‘Angie… don’t give me that look. I get that it’s difficult, but think about Alfie. If we say we’re back together he’ll assume you’re moving back into the house… and that’s not how we’re playing this.’

  I shake my head. I can’t speak for fear of an outburst of tears.

  ‘It’s best this way until we are one hundred per cent sure that we both want the same things, the same life, the same goals and the same—’

  ‘Did we ever have that much in common?’ I ask, without thinking.

  Nick shrugs.

  ‘So, why’s it necessary the second time around?’

  ‘Because the first time around we both wanted to start a family, finish our degrees and find a lasting relationship. Second time around I think some things have possibly changed, Angie.’

  I stare at his profile before asking.

  ‘What is it you want, Nick?’

  ‘I want happiness, security with someone that loves me, and I want to embark on the latter part of my life with a strong foundation. I know I don’t want the upset I’ve had this year reappear in my later years.’

  Good answer.

  ‘And you?’

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘I would like… no, I want my independence, the space to follow my goals in life and…’ I hesitate; my nerve has gone.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘A better sex life than the one I had when we were previously married.’

  ‘You weren’t satisfied?’

  ‘Satisfied with what I knew about but… but…’ Why do I keep doing this? I know exactly what I want to say in my head and yet the minute my mouth is brought into gear the words fade.

  ‘But?’ encourages Nick.

  ‘I tried to say this the other night, but… I’ve realised how little I knew about life or relationships.’ There, it’s out in the open and Nick can make of it what he likes.

  He nods and remains silent. Clever tactic. You can’t make a false move whilst silent, or put your foot in it and ruin stuff.

  I watch as his expression deepens and the cogs turn.

  ‘Nobody we know, was it?’ he finally asks.

  ‘Good God, no!’ I retort. ‘Nick… what do you think I am?’

  ‘Just asking… I always thought Phil held a candle to you over the years.’

  ‘Phil and Carol, Phil?’

  Nick nods.

  ‘Really? Oh, no.’

  A smile cracks upon his taut features.

  ‘You honestly thought that Phil Clarke, with his huge hands and bandy legs swathed in Bermuda shorts, is the kind of fella I’d go for?’

  Nick smiles.

  ‘Nah!’ A small gallery of men flickers through my recent memory – I won’t be divulging the full details but Phil Clarke isn’t amongst them.

  Seven

  Nina

  Friday, 14 December

  ‘I haven’t told him yet,’ I whisper to Kitty as we dress in our layers.

  Kitty winces, which makes me feel worse. I should have spoken to Bram before now. And thanked him for being so amazing at the cottage. We could have talked any time during the week but I’m not completely sure about how I feel so the best bet is avoiding such discussions altogether.

  ‘I feel awful,’ I mutter, pulling on my sweater. ‘I don’t want to go and yet… he’s picking me up at eight.’

  ‘Nina, you need to stop worrying about Bram’s feelings and think about your own.’

  ‘But, Kitty…’

  ‘But Kitty nothing… you’ve put this off for long enough.’

  The cabin door closes behind her. I’m alone. As there is no ‘get out of jail’ card coming via my friend, I need to buck myself up. Tonight, it looks as if I’m going on a date.

  *

  Angie

  As I settle at my desk, Jilly swivels her office chair around to stare.

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s getting complicated… with each date we have.’

  I don’t bother feigning recovery after yesterday’s absence; Jilly knows I pulled a sickie. She’ll take a duvet day when it suits her family.

  Jilly pedals h
er feet, bringing her office chair and her morning coffee to my desk.

  ‘Tell me more.’

  With our heads together, obscured from the rest of the office behind my tiny fibre-optic Christmas tree, I quickly fill her in on the ‘me and Nick’ situation.

  ‘So, you’re in a relationship… not content with the dating stage?’

  ‘We are… but just further along on dates than we were on our original set of dates.’ I pause; I hear my ludicrous remark. Thankfully Jilly keeps a straight face, so I continue. ‘Basically, we’re dating as if we were strangers, but it’s damned hard trying to forget the details of a man that I’ve known all my adult life.’

  ‘Confusing, then?’

  ‘For starters, we keep bickering about Alfie – who wasn’t a consideration the first time around.’

  ‘But still, Angie… he’s going to fly the nest in the next few years – are you sure your future lies with Nick?’

  I nod. I am certain. If we can just rebuild the good bits, resurrect the foundations of what could have been – I know we’ll be happy.

  ‘I could never have returned to my Mike, not after the divorce,’ says Jilly, pursing her lips. ‘I knew once it was dead, it was dead.’

  ‘And you never regretted it?’

  ‘Never. Even when our Nina refused to come with me, I knew I’d never go back.’

  ‘That must have hurt though, Jilly?’

  ‘It did, when the family court asked who she wanted to be with and she came straight out with it, ‘my dad…’ I was cut to the quick but, still, it was her choice.’

  ‘How long afterwards did you meet Chris?’

  ‘Four, maybe five years… but in that time, I never wanted to go back home.’ Jilly watches me as her words linger.

  ‘I didn’t… until recently,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe it’s the time of year. Christmas time can do funny things to folk… brings up a lot of sadness and regret in some,’ she adds.

  I watch as Jilly’s eyes glisten and flicker before recovering in an instant.