The Magic of Christmas Tree Farm

by Erin Green

  His mouth is moist and warm. Gone are the complaints about his mum; instead his arms wrap around my shoulders and my arms wind under and around his arms. I can feel his jacket brushing against mine. He’s slightly taller than me, which is nice because it feels protective when we stand like this in the dark and kiss. It seems like we kiss for ages but I know it isn’t, because when I begin to pull backwards Alfie’s mouth follows mine before he releases. He wants more, I know, but no. I have my own ideas of what’s decent. I don’t need my parents on my back telling me over and over again not to make the same mistake they did. I hate it when they use that word; it makes me feel as if they are referring to me as the mistake. They’re not, I know that, but it feels that way. They mean the mistake of having to get married so early, without all the trimmings at their wedding, the teenage holidays with their mates and the chance to buy cars and expensive gadgets. Instead they saved for prams, high chairs and sterilising units. I have my own plans. Holidays, driving licences, full-time jobs and saving for a future…

  ‘Goodnight, then,’ I mutter, knowing my parents will be watching the clock.

  ‘One more?’

  ‘Oooh,’ I tease, knowing full well that I’ll deliver. We come together in an embrace and kiss our goodbye. I pull away and this time Alfie lets me. He knows the routine. He lingers as I turn the key in the lock. He waits for me to wave from the doorstep, go inside and close the door. If I quickly open the door again, as I do tonight, I see him dash to the end of the driveway and head back through the estate, cutting into his estate.

  I close the door and chuckle. I really hope he doesn’t find his father in an awkward embrace in the middle of their kitchen but, on the plus side, if he does he’ll be heading straight back here.

  *

  Nina

  We didn’t get back to the farm until gone closing time thanks to a snarl-up on the M40, and the snow blizzard didn’t help matters. I couldn’t be happier to flop onto the sofa, but I can’t escape my thoughts. Today was magical, and for the first time I felt festive – I thought I’d never know that feeling again. To think our farm’s Christmas tree decorates Number 10 for the rest of the month, wow!

  Christmas was always such a lovely time at the cottage. We’d go the whole hog: the tree, the lights and a mountain of food for just the two of us. Many years, we’d still be eating mince pies in January and frozen yule logs come February. But every year we went overboard, to hell with the expense.

  Last year, I spent Christmas morning at St Giles Hospice while the staff served me copious amounts of hot sugared tea. I brought home his unopened present, which I placed beneath the stairs. ‘What am I to do with an unopened Christmas present containing a new towelling bath robe?’ My dad probably wouldn’t have worn it – but still.

  ‘Should I plan for Christmas Day? Or could I pretend it was a day like every other?’ I say aloud.

  I look across to the end of the sofa. Empty.

  Nobody is listening.

  *

  Rap a tap tap.

  I cautiously open the cottage door, not knowing who would drop by at ten o’clock.

  ‘Surprise!’ shouts Kitty, dressed up to the nines and barging past my pyjama-clad frame, Shazza in hot pursuit, in similar attire. ‘No arguing but you’re putting these on, these on and Shazza’s brought her box of tricks for your hair and make-up.’

  ‘What?’ I yawp, as Kitty holds aloft a sparkly dress, a pair of heels then points towards Shazza’s carry-case. ‘But—’

  ‘She’s serious, Nina. She’s collecting the Espresso Martini you promised her.’ Shazza laughs, closing the door and herding me towards the staircase.

  ‘Off you pop,’ orders Kitty, thrusting her items into my arms. ‘Connor’s waiting outside to drop us at The Edge. We’ll get a taxi back.’

  ‘A nightclub on a Tuesday night – are you serious?’

  ‘She’s serious, now go!’ shouts Shazza, tweaking her blonde curls in my recently cleaned hall mirror.

  *

  Angie

  ‘Alfie, is that you?’ Nick’s voice brings me to. I’m not aware of the time as I snuggle in the crook of his arm and wriggle deeper under the duvet.

  ‘Shhh, Nick, don’t…’ I utter.

  He nods and repeats his call.

  ‘Yes, Dad, just let myself in. I walked Holly back home.’

  ‘Good lad… you OK?’

  ‘Yeah.’ His voice seems to be moving nearer to the bedroom door. ‘Did you have a nice night?’

  ‘Yes thanks, lad. You off to bed now?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘See you in the morning, son.’

  ‘Night, Dad,’ shouts Alfie, before adding, ‘Night.’

  Nick smiles. He’s as pleased as Punch about his relationship with Alfie, I can see that. But why did Alfie throw another ‘night’ after his dad’s one?

  ‘Was that second night for me?’ I whisper.

  Nick shakes his head.

  ‘So, does he usually say, “Night, Dad, night”?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘He knows you aren’t alone.’

  ‘Angie, shhh.’

  ‘Seriously, Nick… he said goodnight to you and then shouted night as an afterthought… to me!’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, your teenage son knows you’ve had sex... tonight with your friend.’

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but my son, our son has a pretty good idea that I’ve had sex before now.’

  I can’t deal with this situation. I shouldn’t have stayed so late. We should have eaten and I should have made my excuses… even though I’d shaved my legs, just to be on the safe side.

  I begin to scramble from beneath Nick’s hooked arm.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asks Nick, rising from the duvet.

  ‘Home.’

  He pulls a face and grabs at my wrist.

  ‘Why bother? You’re here now, he’s gone to bed… You might as well stay the night and leave first thing in the morning.’ He gives me a wink.

  Common sense suggests I leave now. I instantly ignore her good advice and roll beneath the warm duvet, hoping my son remains a heavy sleeper.

  *

  Holly

  My mobile vibrates underneath my pillow. I quickly retrieve it and read his text.

  Dad’s date is still here. She’s sharing his room :-O

  In the darkness of our bedroom, I blush. Fancy being caught by your son getting up to no good with a new date.

  I hope they don’t keep you awake.

  I press reply before realising that, given the late hour, that must be exactly what they’re doing.

  ‘What are you giggling at?’ askes a groggy Hannah, turning over to view my illuminated face.

  ‘Alfie’s dad’s having a sleepover,’ I mutter.

  ‘Seriously, at his age?’

  ‘Duh!’

  ‘Oh! Urgh! Poor Alfie.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘That’s just wrong.’

  ‘It’s what adults do, Hannah.’

  She turns over in bed to face me; her features are ghost-like in the escaping screen light.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re thinking of doing it,’ she says softly.

  ‘Hannah?’

  ‘Holly, seriously… wait.’

  ‘I don’t need you to tell me what to do, thanks.’

  Hannah lifts herself onto her elbow and stares.

  ‘I’m not sharing this room with another baby if you mess up, that’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘Who said anyone’s going to mess up?’

  Hannah snorts, turns over and mutters, ‘I bet Mum and Dad said that an hour before you were conceived.’

  I stare at the back of her head. There are times I hate my sisters even more than I hate the fact that I know my parents messed up. This is one such moment.

  *

  Nina

  ‘Cheers!’ shouts Shazza, above the din of the music, whilst holding aloft a Mudslide cocktail.

  Our
three cocktail glasses clink together before we stop talking and sip our drinks.

  I don’t recognise myself in the bar’s reflection; goodbye to winceyette-PJ-clad Nina and hello glam girl holding a Manhattan – possibly a new me, though without Kitty’s shoes that pinch a little when I walk.

  ‘I thought my Tuesday night had descended towards tragic but it’s surprising how gold-painted statues, billowing chalk dust and gold lamé fabric can lift your spirits,’ I reply after sipping my Manhattan.

  ‘Does wonders for my mood,’ says Shazza, dancing on the spot whilst sipping her drink.

  ‘Mine too, especially after the day we’ve had,’ says Kitty, cradling her Espresso Martini. ‘Whereas you had a jolly trip to Downing Street.’

  ‘That bad, eh?’ I ask.

  ‘We missed you and the twins in the sales yard… let’s put it like that,’ adds Shazza. ‘Though guess who came back?’

  I shrug, not sure what she’s on about.

  ‘Curls guy, the one from the other day. Well, guess what – he didn’t buy a tree again.’

  ‘Oh,’ is all I manage.

  ‘You said he was a time-waster, didn’t you, Shazza?’ says Kitty, playing with her straw.

  Instantly, I want to defend him, but can’t.

  ‘He mulled around looking at the spruces, asked Jackie a question about needles dropping and then zoomed off in his flash car – I reckon he’s got a weird fetish for spruce.’ Shazza laughs.

  ‘Or our Christmas songs,’ adds Kitty.

  Shazza stops laughing.

  ‘If I have to hear Kim Wilde and Mel Smith sing “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” one more time, I swear I’ll snap!’ says Shazza, breaking her tiny cocktail umbrella in two.

  ‘For me it’s Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas Is You” – and yours, Nina?’ asks Kitty as they both stare at me. I can’t join in. I’m still pondering why Luca visited yet again whilst my stomach twirls at the thought of him.

  ‘I don’t mind them,’ I lie, purely to save face.

  ‘Are you serious? You moan more than we do about the music!’ says Shazza, throwing her broken umbrella on the bar top.

  ‘Yeah, pull the other one, it plays “Jingle Bells”,’ adds Kitty, before erupting into laughter. I watch the pair double up in giggles, gasping for air, their hands waving at each other to ‘stop it’.

  This is how my life should be – more laughter and fewer tears. They’ve definitely cheered me up, and not just by mentioning Luca.

  *

  We admire a group of men strutting by – all shoulders and biceps amidst a cloud of cologne.

  ‘Be serious now – what’s the score with the twins?’ asks Shazza, her left arm slung about my neck, her right hand waving her third cocktail about.

  Kitty leans closer on hearing Shazza’s question.

  ‘I’m just not sure. Growing up I imagined I’d just know when ‘The One’ showed up and yet, I don’t. It’s as if I’m consciously choosing between two options, two men. One minute it feels right… the next I’m backing away.’ I busy myself with my drink as they both stare.

  ‘But from which twin?’ asks Shazza, peering at me.

  ‘That’s the problem… she doesn’t know,’ adds Kitty, shaking her head.

  ‘I’m certain that Bram and I aren’t a natural combination, especially after the other night,’ I say, adding, ‘I just don’t know as regards Zach.’ Shazza’s left arm quickly unhooks from my neck, and she instantly stands tall, as if I’ve burnt her. ‘What? I can’t help it!’

  ‘Nothing. You just don’t know how lucky you are, that’s all. Two good-looking lads chasing after you – decisions, decisions.’ She laughs, before glugging at her cocktail.

  ‘Slow down, Shaz – you’ll make yourself bad,’ warns Kitty, removing the near-empty glass from Shazza’s lips.

  ‘What’s the worst that can happen? I might be late for my shift… like that’s not the norm, given that my brother Spud hogs the bathroom most mornings.’

  Kitty and I exchange a glance.

  ‘I could die with embarrassment every time our Spud arrives home late – I just know he’s been prowling the farm with his gang. I’ve told him, they’ll come unstuck… but he’s not having it. I feel so guilty when the boss looks after us workers so well.’

  ‘Spud needs to start listening because Boss Fielding isn’t a happy man,’ says Kitty.

  ‘Exactly. But hang on, where was I? Oh, yeah, asking Nina about the twins. So, anyway, which one?’

  ‘I don’t know. I always thought a serious relationship would start as friends, develop a closeness and finally, an invisible bond would draw us together, but this seems so cold, so conscious, so calculated. I just know I want what Kitty and Connor have…’

  ‘Bloody hell, we all want true love but Cupid’s arrow doesn’t happen for everyone,’ says Shazza. ‘Twittering blue birds, cherubs and stomach flips aren’t guaranteed unless you’re watching Disney.’

  ‘Maybe I should wait until such a moment comes along,’ I suggest, coyly.

  ‘Good God, woman, you could be fifty by then and life will have passed you by. Nah – make a decision and go with it,’ says Shazza, emptying her glass.

  ‘That’s it, I can’t.’

  ‘So, the question may be, then, do you definitely want your life spent amongst Christmas trees…? Because that’s what their future holds,’ says Kitty.

  ‘Do I want to be Jackie in twenty years’ time?’ I ask aloud.

  ‘I’m willing to be Jackie in twenty years’ time – that wouldn’t be a bad prospect in life,’ slurs Shazza, more to herself than the open mouths of Kitty and me.

  *

  We stagger from The Edge nightclub at half two in the morning, arm in arm, as a new flurry of snow begins to fall. I can hardly walk in Kitty’s shoes but can’t bring myself to go barefoot in the snow.

  As we pass him, we each simultaneously stop; turn and peer back at the young guy swathed in a sleeping bag sitting on the nearest kerbstone.

  Not a word is said, but Kitty and I exchange a knowing glance, reach for our purses and return to his pitch. Shazza follows suit.

  It’s the season of goodwill but that notion alone doesn’t fill your belly with warm food, does it?

  ‘Merry Christmas to you!’ he calls, clutching three notes in his cold hands as we three traipse happily towards the taxi rank.

  Twelve

  Angie

  Wednesday, 19 December

  A rapping begins at the door and I wake up, startled. Where am I?

  I know I heard something.

  I instantly remember last night.

  ‘Nick,’ I whisper.

  ‘Err. What?’ comes his slow reply.

  The rapping occurs again.

  ‘Dad!’

  Nick launches from the bed in one move, standing behind the door in all his naked glory. I drop my head face first into the pillow.

  ‘Yes, lad.’

  ‘I… I… brought you both a cuppa.’

  I raise my head to view Nick’s look of horror.

  ‘Well, that’s… very kind of you, Alfie.’

  ‘I’ll leave the tray outside your door… OK?’

  What the hell is happening here? My own son has made his father and the unknown date a morning brew?

  ‘Cheers… are you heading out to school now?’

  ‘Not quite. I need a shower first.’

  ‘Nick.’ I beckon him from the bed. ‘Don’t open the door. Don’t!’

  I’m begging. I feel so guilty for our actions last night and this act of adolescent kindness is sending me into a spin.

  ‘I’ve left sugar and milk on the tray for your friend.’

  I face-plant on the pillow, again. Could this be any worse? My ex-husband naked at the door, talking through it to our son, and me wishing that the bed would swallow me whole. Could it get any worse?

  ‘I hope you used protection!’ choruses Alfie as he moves along the landing, heading for the bat
hroom.

  ‘Oy!’ calls Nick, his eyes wide.

  I hear the bathroom door bolt close.

  I’m up in search of my clothes before Nick has time to ease the door open to check that the coast is clear.

  Skirt. Knickers. Bra. I snatch at the items, ticking them off my mental list as I go. Blouse?

  What the hell?

  My mind goes into overdrive. Grab your stuff and go! Get out of here… I stop dead. Nick is collecting the tray delivery as if we’ve ordered room service.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I ask sharply, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

  ‘He’s made us tea.’ His expression oozes with pride. I’d love to be sharing his moment of parental achievement, I seriously would, but what the feck am I supposed to do? Return to the duvet and drink sweet tea alongside my ex-husband and enjoy our son’s generous nature, or cheek, depending on how you view it?

  ‘Angie… he’s in the bathroom taking a shower… he can’t see you.’

  ‘But he knows I’m still here.’

  ‘Yeah, but not actually you.’

  In my world it is slightly more worrying that my son can willingly accept that another woman can fill his father’s bed.

  Nick lays the tray on the duvet and climbs underneath.

  ‘Suit yourself, but I’m drinking it while it’s hot.’ I stand, my clothes balled and clutched in my arms, watching as he adds sugar and takes the white tea and leans back against the pillows.

  What was I doing before Nick spoke? Oh, yeah, blouse! I fuss about looking under the bed corner, beside the velvet ottoman and wardrobe. Nowhere.

  ‘Here.’ Nick pours milk into the black tea and adds a spoonful of sugar before offering me the mug.

  ‘Nick… where is my…?’ I suddenly remember. A flashback from the previous evening in the lounge hits me like a thunderbolt. Why, oh, why did we stay downstairs for so long before racing up the staircase? We both knew sex was on the cards. We should have been more careful.

  ‘What?’ Nick stares from his offering to my stricken face.