The Magic of Christmas Tree Farm

by Erin Green

  Lots of families pass in between my position and his stance; I crane my neck to keep him in view between the bodies. I pray that no one asks for my assistance as regards the difference between a spruce and a fir.

  In no time, he’s thanking Shazza and is striding towards me faster than I can decide what I am supposed to be doing. Minus the stubborn donkey, I’m adrift in the middle of the yard, lingering amongst the crowd with Luca heading in my direction. I just wish I had something, anything, to busy myself with so that I can casually pretend that I just happen to be present as he walks by towards his vehicle.

  I glance up at intervals, when he’s twenty paces away, ten paces, five and two.

  ‘See you, Nina,’ he says as he passes in a fleeting stride.

  He knows my name! How does he know my name?

  ‘Bye.’ My hand lifts to give a stupid half-wave. What the hell was that wave for? I blush. Did he ask Shazza? Did Shazza mention me? I need to know.

  And he’s gone. Gone.

  *

  ‘Shazza, did that guy not want a spruce after you’d explained each species?’ I ask in the snug as we change at home time. I waited all day to ask but don’t dare arouse her suspicions – when have I ever asked about a specific customer’s conversation?

  ‘Who?’ she asks, peeling her layers off and dropping them into her plastic storage box.

  Who? What the hell? As if he didn’t stand out a mile from the numerous customers she served today.

  ‘The guy with the dark curls… I called you over when he asked for an explanation but Gertrude was refusing to walk, so I couldn’t assist…’

  ‘Oh, him,’ she says, adding, ‘He said he needed to go back and relay the information, before he could purchase a tree.’

  Great, that must be to his wife-to-be.

  Shazza hangs her coat on its hook – her name is embroidered on the back above the Christmas tree logo. My heart sinks a little – that’s how he knew my name.

  ‘Did you run through the aftercare routine?’ I ask, trying to cover my inquisitive nature. I know Shazza rarely includes it in her explanations. She’ll happily talk through each species, but customers need to know how to care for the Christmas tree once purchased and at home.

  ‘Yeah, but I can’t see him returning. Who visits the farm, asks for details and then doesn’t buy on the day but promises to come back another time?’ She shakes her head profusely. ‘A waste of time.’

  I disagree. Why wasn’t he with his wife-to-be? Why am I even thinking about a guy that has simply said, ‘Bye, Nina’ and is out of my league, and very soon to be attached forever?

  Shazza is staring at me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing…’ She looks away quickly, a wry smile dressing her lips.

  ‘Seriously what?’

  ‘I could be wrong… but I swear, I just saw something…’ She smiles again, before giving me a doe-eyed expression.

  I turn away, just in case she spots it again.

  *

  Holly

  ‘They’ll get a caution and a record of the incident at the police station – so, that really wasn’t worth it, was it? Fancy having a reputation as a thief for the rest of year eleven,’ says Alfie, as we walk hand in hand along the snow-covered Long Street.

  I thought the same thing, so I’m pleased that Alfie is on the same wavelength as me. We only have school until next Friday – surely I can avoid getting into sticky situations with the mean girls in that time.

  ‘Let’s forget about them.’

  We head towards the memorial car park so that Alfie can practise his skateboarding tricks alongside his mates. I brush the snow from the nearest bollard and perch, huddled, watching, in awe that my boyfriend can actually perform such complicated stunts.

  *

  ‘Holly?’ Mum’s voice sounds angry through my mobile speaker.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You need to come home at once.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Can you just do as we ask, please?’

  ‘Mum, can’t it wait? I’m out with Alfie.’

  ‘As I suspected. No, it can’t wait. I expect you home in the next ten minutes.’

  My phone went dead.

  ‘Alfie, I need to go home. My mum wants me back straight away, so I’ll phone you later. OK?’ With a swift kiss I leave, concerned that my mum sounded pretty annoyed.

  The police car is parked before the house, partly on and off the pavement. I walk up our driveway, which my dad has carefully cleared and gritted, wondering what has happened.

  As soon as my key enters the Yale lock my mum opens the latch from within.

  ‘Into the lounge, young lady,’ she says; her tone has an edge. The house is unusually quiet – where are my sisters?

  In the lounge sits a female officer, and a young male officer stands by the window. My dad is sitting in his favourite armchair bouncing Hope on his knee.

  ‘Holly, this lady would like to talk to you. Sit down,’ says my dad, nodding towards the female officer.

  ‘Hello, Holly, how are you today?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ I sit myself on the sofa, facing my dad.

  ‘Good, good, we just wanted to ask you a few questions to clear up a matter of interest. Is that OK?’

  I nod. My mum stands beside my father’s armchair. Her knuckles are white, and her eyes are on the brink of tears.

  ‘Do you work at the chemist on Long Street?’

  ‘Yeah, on Saturdays.’

  ‘And you like it?’

  I nod.

  ‘Yesterday there was an incident, wasn’t there? Tell me what you saw of it.’

  I explain that I saw the girls together, then Becca mentioned a possible theft, the CCTV image, and then I had to stand in the office until the police arrived.

  The adults glance at each other as I speak.

  ‘Holly… the girls claim that you were part of the theft.’

  I stare at her. I don’t understand.

  ‘Is there anything you’d like to tell us?’

  ‘Such as what?’

  ‘Are they correct? Were you part of their group?’

  ‘How can I be part of their group? They don’t even like me.’

  ‘Holly, did you do it because you’re frightened of them? Did they pressurise you into joining in?’ asks Mum.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘You only have to say, darling. Teenagers do stupid things simply to fit in with the cool kids.’

  My face prickles with heat. I can’t believe my own mother is asking such a question, or suggesting I want to hang with the mean girls.

  ‘Seriously, I know nothing about their plans. They stood staring at me a little time beforehand, but nothing else – they didn’t even speak to me… Haven’t you watched the CCTV?’

  ‘We have.’

  ‘So, you’ll know I was serving on the tills.’

  ‘Given the camera angle, it shows you nodding towards them, as if acknowledging and maybe indicating…’ Her words fade with meaning.

  ‘I never.’ I repeat the phrase numerous times, until tears flood my cheeks. ‘I don’t even like those girls at school. They are mean to everyone including each other.’

  My dad is out of the armchair in seconds.

  ‘Enough, you’ve asked your questions and she’s given an answer,’ he says, patting my back.

  ‘Steve!’ cries my mother. ‘If she’s involved, then I want her to have the same consequences. I blame that boy!’

  ‘Are you serious? Alfie had nothing to do with this. The girls are lying just to get me into trouble alongside them. They don’t like me because I’m seeing Alfie… but I haven’t done anything wrong, so I don’t see why I should be punished for things I’m not involved in.’

  I keep repeating my story for another fifteen minutes. I can tell only Dad believes me.

  Eventually, both police officers thank my parents; neither one says anything else to me. Rude, having accused me and then not even saying goodby
e.

  *

  Angie

  Nick grimaces when I mention ice skating. ‘Anything but,’ are his actual words.

  ‘But, Angie, what’s the point when I can’t even stand up? I’ll spend the entire evening on my ass.’

  ‘Try, Nick. All it takes is a little effort.’

  ‘I have never had good balance and to put me on blades – you’re asking for trouble.’

  I stood and watched animals – or no animals in some cases – moping around at the zoo.

  He has little to argue about, given that we are already at the ice rink, part-way through the turnstile.

  We queue for skates, hand over our own shoes and then the fun begins.

  I feel like a kid returning to the ice after a very long time but Nick is a different case, entirely.

  The cold atmosphere hits us as we near the ice rink. The surface of the ice glistens under the bright lights. We hold hands and gingerly make our way towards the rink. We sit on a bench, tying our laces around our ankles.

  The crowds whiz around in one direction, limbs flying, feet out of control, and in between them swerve the graceful skaters whizzing back and forth with their expert moves.

  We stand at the gate edge waiting for a traffic gap to appear big enough for both of us to cut in and survive on our feet. We make several attempts but at the last minute we snatch back to the rail without risking our lives.

  Finally, we take our lives in our hands and go for it.

  My hand clutches Nick’s. Our arms are stretched and lengthened in all directions but secured by a knot of ten digits.

  *

  Within fifteen minutes, the seat of my jeans is wet through, my teeth are chattering but we’re laughing – my ribs hurt and cheeks ache. The kind of laughter that brings two people together in the quickest space of time ever.

  ‘I’ve missed this,’ mutters Nick as we cling together at the barrier edge.

  ‘Ice skating?’ I grimace, unsure if I’ve ever seen him in skates since we met.

  ‘No. Us.’ His face is inches from mine, staring into my eyes. His breath warms my face.

  My stomach flips. It’s weird that this one man, in the history of all men, has the ability to do this to me with a word, a phrase or simply a look.

  ‘And me.’ I drop my head forward, to cover my blush. Nick leans closer. I feel his breath increase on my skin. If I stay as I am, head down, I might ruin this moment. Look up. Look at him.

  Instantly, I look up.

  Nick kisses me. Kisses me hard. Gone is the polite exchange, the gentle meeting of skin; instead I can feel the depth of feeling, the passion, the reason why this man, and only this man, makes my stomach somersault. His right hand lifts and slides around my neck, earlobe and into my hairline, gently pulling my face towards his. His kiss is hungry. An underlying passion surges to suggest a need and want. It’s not Nick’s usual offering: soft and gentle. Vanilla is how I used to describe it, but this… My lips respond to his. I want him to know for sure that this isn’t a faddy attempt to reignite us. It isn’t a rebound situation. I want my marriage back, no, correction, I want me and Nick back. The Nick Woodward and Angie Howard of yesterday, before the wedding, before the house and baby. That’s what I want.

  Nick’s mouth slowly eases from mine, a gentle nip to my bottom lip as he withdraws into his own space.

  I smile as his face returns to focus.

  He smiles, looks about the vicinity at the crowds of laughing faces, all ages.

  ‘It’s easy to be happy surrounded by other happy people, isn’t it?’

  I nod.

  ‘I haven’t had a moment of happiness since—’

  I raise a finger to his lips, as if muting his words can alter his feelings.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  He nods.

  ‘If it makes you feel any better, there were times in recent years when I wasn’t happy either, you know,’ he says.

  This is news to me.

  ‘Oh, yeah, plenty. I’ve had moments when I would wonder if it was worth the sacrifice… but I never wanted to be without you, so never got past the acknowledgement that we weren’t happy.’

  I can’t speak. My eyes are fixed on his expression. There is a deep sadness that is surfacing for the first time and I’m not about to trample on his moment. I want to know. I need to know that he understands and experienced doubts similar to mine.

  He pauses, gives a weak smile and inhales. It isn’t easy for Nick to be this open; he is the ultimate closed book.

  ‘You never said,’ I whisper, hoping he continues.

  ‘Was that my job to say, to complain about my lot, or simply get on with the life I had?’

  ‘Even so, you should have told me.’

  Nick lowers his gaze and stares at his skating boot kicking the wooden barrier.

  ‘Nick.’

  He returns his gaze to mine. It isn’t the best place to have a heart-to-heart but, given the expanse of ice covered in one night, it feels right.

  ‘Tell me, please.’

  *

  Nina

  We sit at the corner table in the busy lounge of The Rose pub, with a glass of mulled wine and his Stella, amidst open packets of peanuts. Overhead the speakers play Christmas tracks, much like the farm’s music loop.

  ‘Was it that bad?’ asks Zach, after his first sip of Stella.

  ‘Worse. I lacked conversation, interest and knocked my red wine over the white tablecloth.’

  ‘Classy. And Bram?’

  ‘Really? You want me to discuss this with you?’

  ‘Sure – you’d say if it was another guy you’d dated.’

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘We had a decent meal, he chatted about the fishing trip he’s planning for next spring, and we laughed about antics on the farm…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘It just didn’t feel right. Then as we walked across town there was a homeless guy…’

  ‘On the benches by the library?’

  ‘The exact place. Anyway, as we neared the guy looked up and muttered something. Bram rummaged in his pocket and brought out a handful of change. He picked out a two-pence piece and flipped it in his direction and said to me, “It makes you feel like a king, doesn’t it?”’

  ‘It makes you feel like a king?’ whispers Zach. His face distorts with disgust. ‘Bram said that whilst donating to a homeless person?’

  ‘I thought he was joking at first, but he carried on walking.’

  ‘What did the guy do?’

  ‘That was the worst part. Sitting alone in the dark, he actually thanked him for flinging a two-pence coin at his feet. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life… and after he’d just spent a shedload of cash on our meal.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I couldn’t walk past him. I opened my purse and quickly gave him a note. I just kept apologising. Bram kept walking but then said I was being stupid because it wouldn’t be spent on food but probably on drugs.’

  ‘I’d have done the same as you… and the guy?’

  ‘He blessed me for being charitable. From that point on, he was all I could think about. He hadn’t a home, a decent sleeping bag or warm food in his belly. This is the season of goodwill and yet people can’t be charitable towards others. I’ve never seen that side of Bram before. I know he can be brash with his comments, egotistical sometimes, but that was simply mean.’

  ‘That’s not like Bram. Do you think he was trying to impress you with a joke and got it wrong?’

  ‘A couple of quid would have impressed me. It ruined the evening, Zach.’

  ‘Did he walk you—?’

  ‘Hi, Zach, where’s Bram tonight?’ interrupts the newcomer to our table.

  We look up to view Selena Hall, her red glossy pout and extended eyelashes fluttering provocatively.

  ‘At home, I think,’ says Zach as I return her polite smile and a head-to-toe glance over. Every item of her clothing, from her tiny leather jacket,
tight bejewelled top and killer heels, screams expense, unlike mine.

  I glance around the lounge and spot a table of females agog beside the inglenook fireplace. Their group looks full of festive cheer, which complements the garland decorations adorning every aged beam.

  ‘Any plans for him to join you?’ she purrs, running her finger along the back of the spare chair.

  ‘None. He was out last night on a date so I doubt—’

  ‘A date?’ she gasps. Her painted mouth drops wide. I want the floor to swallow me whole. ‘Are you joking me?’

  Zach shakes his head, collects his pint and sips.

  Selena stares from us to her table of friends and back again.

  ‘I can’t believe that… Do you know who with?’ she asks, feigning a nonchalant tone.

  Zach replaces his glass to the table and shrugs.

  ‘Selena, I’m not my brother’s keeper, am I?’

  ‘Do you know?’

  She catches me unaware. Selena Hall never speaks to me, ever.

  ‘Me?’

  She waves a dismissive hand in my direction.

  ‘Never mind. I’ll catch up with him later.’

  I simply nod.

  ‘Anyway, tell him I said hi,’ she adds before strutting back to her friends.

  I glare at Zach.

  ‘What? She was all over him like a rash last Saturday night. If he’s interested he’ll make his own plans, won’t he?’

  ‘But still.’

  ‘Phuh! Bram’s only got eyes for you at the minute… question is whether he’s messed up what could have been a very merry Christmas?’

  ‘I’m not doing Christmas. How many times do I have to say?’

  ‘Even you can’t cancel Christmas, Nina.’

  ‘I can and I will!’

  ‘Don’t you fancy reconnecting with your mum this Christmas?’ asks Zach.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because…’

  ‘Because she fled as soon as she couldn’t cope with MS?’ I say, grabbing a load of peanuts.

  ‘Because she’s your mum.’