The Magic of Christmas Tree Farm

by Erin Green

  I want to cry. Nick couldn’t have said it in a more genuine manner. He’s a closed book where his emotions are concerned, unlike me.

  ‘I agree. I’m glad we’ve taken the time out to attend.’

  I stand in a growing crowd, linking arms with the only man I’ve ever truly loved, and I literally want to burst with pride. If he suggests that we go home now, I’ll happily leave. In those few lines, he’s given me what I need to hear. We’re on the same page, heading in the same direction. What more do I need in life?

  A gentle fluttering of snow begins to magically fall; the crowd look skywards and utter ohs and ahs of amazement.

  ‘Ladies and gentles, children young and old,’ booms a male voice over the speaker system, ‘welcome to Christmas Tree Farm and our annual carol service. Should you feel unwell or need assistance please make your needs known to a member of staff. So, without further ado, can I wish you all a merry Christmas and the happiest of new years?’

  A round of applause erupts as the marching brass band bursts to life with ‘The Holly and the Ivy’, which leads us along the snow-cleared track amongst the snow-covered spruce, led by reindeer, a donkey and a parade of tiny children.

  As I begin to sing, in my own beautiful way, Nick gives me a sideways glance and smiles. If that’s all it takes to make my man smile, let it be. I’ll spend the rest of my days singing loud, proud and totally out of tune.

  The crowd swell around us, families young and old, their lanterns gently swing and our voices unite as the group saunter behind the brass band. A sense of calm envelops me. Does life get any better or any simpler than this? I could name a hundred occasions where I’ve made complicated arrangements, tried my hardest to impress and bust a gut organising the most amazing birthday treats – almost killing myself with the effort to get everything perfect – and yet, right here, right now is totally perfect. Costing me two five-pound tickets and a free evening to forget the rest of my life and focus on linking arms with Nick. My Nick. I correct myself quickly, are my defences coming down quicker than they ought? I shouldn’t assume anything. I need to make sure he’s right by my side as we retrace this journey back towards being us. The new improved us; the us that’s happy, healthy and honest.

  *

  Holly

  Their house is empty; Alfie’s dad’s out on a date night.

  His forehead falls forward upon my shoulder, and lies heavy. I can feel his warm breath upon my collarbone. A soothing warmth, a steady presence and yet the tingle along my spine suggests more. His hands drape around my waist and connect at the base of my spine.

  We stand, suspended in time, like a statue awaiting the arrival of lichen. Neither of us says a word. And yet, I know.

  I can sense the shift in emotion, warmth and physical contact. I’m aware of every breath he takes and I can almost see each move, each line, each sentence, each moment laid before us like a script, a map that we will follow. Our map. Our route.

  Within ten minutes, we are kissing as passionately as we ever have. There is no going back; there is no holding back. I want him as much as he wants me. Our mouths ravish the other’s as though our lives depend upon it.

  He gently strokes the base of my spine, trailing his index finger over my skin. The heat prickles under his touch. This can’t be what it’s all about? They never mentioned this at school.

  I continue to kiss, but my mind focuses upon his hands, which gently drift underneath the rear of my tee shirt and caress my back.

  My thoughts cease. Movement seems to be the only thing I am capable of right now.

  Somehow, conjoined we move from the breakfast bar, through the lounge and up the staircase. We briefly separate to climb the stairs. We ignore Rolo on passing; his dark eyes lift and then drop. I sense a fraction of hesitation in Alfie’s moves. Would I be offended if he chose not to keep going?

  At the top of the staircase, he leads the way to his room, where there is a combination of football mania and golf magazines. It’s not the first time I’ve entered his room, but it’s definitely the first time I’ve been in his room. As soon as we are inside we close the door firmly and lean against it, as if barricading ourselves from absent adults. They’re not welcome at present. Right now, nothing exists apart from Alfie.

  We hit the mattress with a thud – a combination of conjoined limbs and lips.

  He raises my tee shirt. I reach for his belt.

  This. Is. It.

  *

  Angie

  The carol service is delightful. All my favourite hymns are sung: ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’, ‘Away in a Manger’ and ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’.

  ‘Is Alfie staying in tonight?’ I ask, cupping my mulled wine to warm my hands.

  ‘No, he’s off out to the cinema with Holly… some new film that all the kids are raving about.’

  ‘Did he say anything about last Friday night’s sleep over at mine?’

  ‘Nope. Should he?’

  I shrug.

  ‘I’d never felt so uncomfortable. He made it clear that he’s supporting the idea of you dating other women.’

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Exactly, what was I to say? He’s content that we are over and eager for you to move on…’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll have a chat, Angie.’

  ‘But when?’ I watch as he swigs his mulled wine. ‘The wedding is only a few days away – he might need time to get his head around the fact.’

  ‘He might be delighted.’

  ‘I doubt it, Nick. He was hardly appreciative regards me attending parents’ evening.’

  Nick wraps his free arm around my shoulders.

  ‘You worry too much, Angie. The lad needs to see us together to understand that if we’re happy to try again, then so should he.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ I look away as my eyes begin to glisten. He makes it sound so easy. A simple chat with our son over the dining table and everything will be rosy. I’m not so sure.

  A loud crackle like gunfire brings me back to tonight. The right side of the crowd surge forward and separate like the Red Sea as a huge goat with killer horns charges through the middle, with an eruption of bright white lights and exploding bangs streaming in ribbons from its behind, leaving the crowd coughing amidst a cloud of drifting white smoke.

  ‘What the hell?’ I say, clutching Nick’s jacket.

  ‘Firecrackers,’ says Nick, his head craning to view the exploding area. ‘Some bloody idiots have attached them to the poor creature.’

  We watch as a swarm of fluorescent coats charge towards the area, chasing the frantic goat, as parents attempt to silent crying children and assure elderly relatives.

  ‘Someone’s going to get burnt,’ I whisper, looking away for fear of witnessing an unsavoury image. ‘Nick, how long do they last?’

  ‘It depends how many are attached.’

  Logical, as always.

  The crowd moves towards our side and now strangers bustle and crush against strangers to avoid the flying sparks and white smoke. A sudden panic lifts to my throat. I feel threatened by the wall of coats filling my view. I feel trapped. I feel hot. I feel frightened.

  ‘Nick, I don’t like this,’ I mutter as I am squashed towards his frame.

  ‘Give it a second or two, it’ll end in no time. No one is hurt,’ he says, his blue eyes peering into my stricken face. ‘It’ll be fine, believe me.’

  I take a deep breath and wait. I want to believe him, on so many levels.

  *

  Holly

  His body touches the length of mine from ribcage to foot. He’s muscular where I’m soft, defined where I’m hollow.

  He gently strokes my cheek, his hot breath on my temple, as I stare at the ceiling. Mortified. The unwrapped but unused condom lies discarded on the carpet at the side of the bed.

  ‘Alfie…’ I begin but stop. I feel such a fool. How can you want someone so badly and yet, when the moment arrives, know in your heart of hearts that it really isn’t the right moment?


  ‘Shhhh, don’t worry,’ he whispers, brushing his lips against my cheek.

  ‘But it’s not that—’

  ‘I know.’

  I turn to look at him for the first time in ten silent minutes.

  His clear gaze stares back. He’s so honest, trusting and loveable, and yet, I couldn’t. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t.

  ‘You’re not ready. I get it.’

  ‘But I wanted to.’

  He nods.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He grimaces.

  ‘Seriously, some lads would have reacted badly.’

  ‘Well, I’m not most lads, am I?’

  ‘No. Thank God.’ I smile.

  ‘Hols, it’ll happen when it happens… It’s nice to simply lie here with you and—’ He stops talking, his attention instantly focused elsewhere.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Shit. I think that’s my dad back early. What’s he doing home at this time?’

  We launch from the mattress as quickly as we hit the springs. I grab my underwear, as Alfie pulls on his clothes minus any underwear. Thirty seconds ago, life was chilled. Now, it’s a frenzy. My heart rate is going nineteen to the dozen. We really shouldn’t be found together up here in his room; Mr Woodward will know. Adults always know.

  ‘Quick, here’s your hair bobble,’ says Alfie, collecting it from the floor. We smirk. Maybe it’s a good thing that I asked him to stop once we were naked. Not only was I really not ready, as I thought, but Mr Woodward would have interrupted, that’s for sure, which wasn’t how I saw my first time with Alfie.

  ‘Alfie!’ hollers Mr Woodward up the staircase.

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘I’ve got chips here if you and Holly fancy some supper.’

  Alfie looks at me. Yeah, I fancy chips despite everything that has happened.

  We straighten the bed for fear of interrogation.

  ‘Holly, come here.’ Alfie pulls me towards him just before we reach his doorway.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to do anything that you were uncomfortable with. OK?’

  I nod. I can’t speak. I love the way he’s so mature. The way he has my interests at heart. If the truth be known I love Alfie Woodward a little more this evening than I did this morning, because he’s proved himself worthy of being my boyfriend.

  Fifteen

  Nina

  Saturday, 22 December

  The queue of traffic snakes along the farm’s track and onto the neighbouring roads as the snow continues to fall. Boss Fielding is in the best mood we’ve ever seen and the excitement at Christmas Tree Farm exceeds anything witnessed in previous years. In a corner of the sales yard, the local TV news reporter Kim Botterill, dressed in a pink mac, hastily delivers to camera her roving reporter piece as regards the new project, which will air across the region tonight. Who’d have thought local news would be interested in our latest project?

  ‘Can you believe it?’ asks Zach as we watch from the cashier’s cabin steps. ‘All this is because of your idea.’

  ‘I know, daft, isn’t it? The boss joked I’d gain a pay rise if Presents for Heaven hits the national news.’

  ‘No, Nina, it’s far from daft. It shows that families are making an additional trip on behalf of a loved one. You should be proud.’

  ‘I wonder how many drivers are complaining because they’re having to wait to reach the car park?’ I joke.

  ‘Phuh! They need to get a bit of Christmas spirit in that case.’

  We watch as most cars pull past the car park area, sweeping into the temporary drop-off point hastily created yesterday, and a farm colleague takes delivery of their offered gifts. The large banner announcing ‘Presents for Heaven’ flaps in the wind making a snapping noise. Boss Fielding says he’ll get a plastic banner printed professionally for next year but we’ve done our best for this year. Families, young and old, are delivering brightly wrapped presents topped with bows and curled ribbons. I expected to see many tears but very few seem upset; like me, they seem relieved at having fulfilled a need to include and remember their deceased relative in such a simple manner at Christmas time.

  I watch the relay of farm workers ferry the gifts to an old wooden cart that hasn’t seen the light of day from the equipment barn for years. With a garland of holly decorating the side and thick plastic sheeting lying on the bottom, it makes for an aesthetically pleasing collection point. Two teenage helpers stand upon it piling the presents sky-high; my offering was their first delivery.

  Zach’s arm snakes about my shoulder.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  I nod, enjoying the comfort of his embrace.

  ‘Jackie tells me you’re moving into a cabin later tonight.’

  ‘Yep, your dad agreed I could have it free of charge over the Christmas period as only two cabins are booked for rental. It’s what I want to do.’

  ‘If you need company, you only have to come up to the house… You can join in with our festive goings-on.’

  ‘I know. But I’ll be fine.’ I am determined to be fine. I’ve packed a huge suitcase with a host of food and a selection of reading books to occupy my quiet time. I can’t cancel Christmas but I can choose to spend it how I wish.

  ‘I saw your suitcase in the snug. Did you trundle it along in the snow this morning?’

  ‘Yep. I felt such a fool walking through the village at such an unearthly hour.’ The only witness was my robin, who flew from bough to bough a few metres ahead of me, watching me in his inquisitive manner. Despite the plastic wheels, the suitcase is heavier than it looks given that I’ve carefully wrapped and packaged the precious contents from beneath the stairs. I feel disrespectful, but I wasn’t ready until now – now I am ready to do what needs to be done.

  *

  Holly

  ‘And then?’ I ask, as Alfie settles beside me on my first ever tea break in the snug.

  ‘He said, and I quote, “Me and your mum are dating”!’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes! Dating!’

  I’m out of my depth. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to put my foot in it but probably will.

  ‘And how do you feel about that?’

  Alfie stares at me. Oh, there it is, a foot-in-mouth moment quite clear to spot.

  ‘Have you not been listening to anything I’ve said about my parents?’ asks Alfie, his brow furrowed, his blue eyes flashing in annoyance.

  ‘Err yeah… just checking… You might have changed your mind following the father and son chat.’

  ‘Holly, I haven’t changed my mind. I think he’s a fool to take her back.’

  I nod. Seriously, I get it: no mind-changing.

  ‘So, how’s that leave things with you?’

  ‘After we drove you back home, we sat up until gone one this morning… just going over and over the same stuff. He’s totally hooked, line and sinker.’

  ‘Anyway, now I wish I hadn’t asked. Can we change the subject?’ I ask.

  Alfie gulps down his coffee, and stares into his mug.

  ‘Had a good morning so far?’ Alfie asks.

  ‘It’s been fine. I helped net a load of Blue spruce, labelled the last cut of Nordman firs and helped Zach try to locate the missing goat. Though I’m glad we didn’t find him, given the weapons he’s armed with. You?’

  ‘Perfect, apart from getting a bit teary helping out with the Presents for Heaven collection point. I tried to hide it when an elderly man arrived and delivered a gift for “Elsie” only to find it contained an etching of a dozen red roses that he’d sat at home and drawn. How beautiful is that?’

  I agree.

  ‘I expected to be teary when I brought in my mum’s present for my grandad, but I felt honoured to deliver it,’ I add, recalling the gold ribbon and wrapping paper labelled: mantelpiece clock.

  ‘You’re filling up just hearing about the roses,’ he says, nudging my knee.

  ‘I know… but how lovely to care so deeply about someone that you’d spend time making
something they’d love after they’ve gone.’

  ‘Mmmm, fancy caring so little about someone that you walk out, divorce them and then ask to return when you can’t find anything better in life. Go figure.’

  ‘Alfie… don’t.’ I scowl. ‘You’re sounding bitter.’

  ‘So would you if you’d experienced the year my dad and me have gone through. Seriously, the worst year of my life, so far… until you came along.’

  ‘Go on, you’re just saying that!’

  He slowly shakes his head; his eyes grow wide.

  ‘Hols, I’m really not.’

  A silence lingers between us, we both look into the other’s face and nothing needs to be said. Last night’s moment of tenderness was far greater than if we’d actually gone all the way. I’ve heard my mum describe this as puppy love, at the most, a teenage crush… but there’s more, much more to us than words can explain.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asks, readying himself to return to work. ‘You looked…’

  ‘I’m great… just looking forward to spending Christmas time together without the interruption of school or homework.’

  ‘Me too, though if my mum keeps popping around I’ll probably be spending more time at yours.’

  I smile. He’ll be welcome any time, especially by my dad.

  *

  I spend the rest of the day helping the florist lady on her wreath stall, pitched over by the car park. She is literally selling mistletoe and making holly wreaths to order as customers wait. I take the cash, given that she’s an independent trader not linked to the farm so customers won’t pay at the cashier’s cabin. I write down the details as regards size and colour of ribbon required and, bingo, her hands are super whizzy at producing a new wreath every few minutes. If the customers want a standard wreath or a small cross, then I show them the selection of pre-made ones available, which look fabulous to me for decorating a front door or a gravestone.

  Either way, I’m kept busy and this beats working at the local chemist any day.

  My mind keeps flickering back to last night with Alfie. Were we right not to continue after I suddenly felt all weird about doing it? I felt awful doing that to him, but everyone has always said you have to be honest, and if I can’t be honest with Alfie, who can I be honest with?