Nina
Friday, 21 December
It feels strange having everyone staring at me from behind a large studio window at the local radio station, but that’s exactly what the production team are doing. I was ushered in ten minutes ago for an interview and I’m not comfortable with being centre of attention.
‘Nina, you need to explain your thoughts so we can launch this project immediately,’ explained Jackie as she drove me towards the studio. ‘It’s just a simple interview, sweetie. Nothing to be worried about. Forget that people are listening.’
It’s difficult to forget when I’m wearing oversized headphones and a large microphone is right in front of my mouth. Not to mention that the wacky radio presenter Jimmy Diamond sits opposite me at 8:00 a.m. – I am more than slightly nervous.
‘Good morning, this is Jimmy Diamond on Radio Raveloe coming to you on this crisp December morning. With me is a young lady from Christmas Tree Farm who’s going to explain a very special project that she’s wishing to launch, called Presents for Heaven. So, Nina, can you explain how the idea came about?’ asks the male presenter in a bright and breezy tone.
Since Wednesday, everything happened so quickly. One minute Jackie was asking me a question, the next Zach and Bram’s mouths widened in shock as my words spilt out explaining the pain, the loneliness and harsh reality of grief.
‘My father never opened his final present from me as he died last year on Christmas Eve… and so, I’d quite like the opportunity to send his gift somewhere, anywhere, in fact… I simply want to send him my Christmas gift, and yet, I can’t.’
‘And you feel others who are in similar situations could gain comfort by doing the same?’ continues Jimmy Diamond.
‘Oh, yes. I know the final location isn’t heaven but that doesn’t matter – it’s the act of sending it that will provide comfort to the bereaved. When I was a child, Dad encouraged me to write letters to Santa – in my best handwriting, sticking stamps across the envelope to send to Lapland. It’s the same principle that I’m thinking of recreating with Presents for Heaven… except it’s for those who have lost a loved one. It may bring them comfort and hope, and possibly a sense of continuing love for those they’ve lost.’
‘That’s lovely, Nina… but why the farm?’
‘Christmas Tree Farm is where I work and it captures the magic of the season. We nurture our trees all year around until finally they are cut and sold so others can enjoy their beauty and create happy family memories. I believe that untold numbers of families in the local area enjoy their annual trip to our farm. Their visit is as traditional as baking the Christmas cake, hanging up stockings or leaving a carrot out on Christmas Eve for Rudolph.’
‘And what will happen to the gifts once they are delivered to the farm?’
‘We’d like each present to be clearly labelled detailing its contents and then after Christmas the farm’s owners are going to find homes for each present within our local community. The gift can be wrapped as elaborately as people wish, just as their family member would have liked, as long as a label is attached. It’ll make things easier for distribution.’
‘So, folks, if you’d like to participate in this new project please feel free to visit the Christmas Tree Farm website for further details about Presents for Heaven. Take your wrapped present along to the farm this coming weekend. I’d like to say a big thank you to Nina for joining us today and may I take this opportunity to wish you a very merry Christmas.’
‘Thank you.’ I don’t need to mention that I won’t be celebrating.
Done.
I didn’t stutter as much as I had imagined I would, but still, it has been less than forty-eight hours since the idea was born in the snug and now a new Christmas project is definitely happening.
I watch as the presenter starts a track playing before he turns to me.
‘You did well. I hope it wasn’t as scary as you’d imagined?’
‘Thank you, it wasn’t. I do believe I’m dashing off across town to speak to a reporter or two at the local paper… so, thanks again.’
‘Thank you for joining us and I wish you well. The present project sounds amazing!’
Within minutes, I’m bundled into Jackie’s car and, as predicted, driven across town to the offices of The Tamworth Herald, for a similar interview and photographs.
*
Holly
‘Can we please get a move on?’ screams Mum as we older girls pile into her car. This feels naughty, given that it’s a school day and we’re not heading for school.
I don’t think I’ll be missing much anyway, and it’s only a half-day today. Instead we are driving into town to meet Isabella and hopefully us older girls are trying on our bridesmaid dresses ready for Monday’s wedding. My younger sisters are staying at home with dad, as they don’t need additional fittings given their basic shapes without a waist, a bust or hips. ‘Seat belts?’ is Mum’s final cry before we frantically wave at Dad, stuck at home with the younger ones.
‘Holly, look, there’s Demi,’ shouts Hannah, from the rear seats, her arm thrusting past my nose in the passenger seat.
She’s right; Demi is walking in the snow amongst a crowd of uniformed pupils. As we pass, my head whips around to view who she’s with: Paris and the mean girls! Great, that didn’t take long for her to tag with their crowd as soon as I’m not available. Plus, she’s earlier than our normal agreed time.
‘She’s been hanging about Christmas Tree Farm with them,’ I say, to answer Hannah’s unspoken question. ‘She seems to think it’s fun downing cider and making fires with that crowd, nowadays.’
‘She’ll come unstuck, if that’s her game,’ warns Mum, driving slowly to nudge into the stream of traffic.
I agree, for once. It doesn’t make me eager to join them, but my insides feel heavy knowing that I can be replaced so easily after ten years of friendship. A warning signal goes off in my head: best not trust Demi with any new information about Alfie and me otherwise she’s bound to share it with her new posse.
‘Holly, can you find the website for Christmas Tree Farm and check out the details of the Presents for Heaven thing mentioned on the radio?’ asks Mum. I’m glad of the distraction so pull out my mobile and oblige her with the specific instructions.
The woman sounded great on Radio Raveloe. I’d have been too nervous to speak. Alfie says Nina’s much older than me so she’ll look after me come my first shift. I knew it would tweak Mum’s ear the minute Dad turned the radio on. She’s had a tough year having lost her dad. She’s a softy at heart despite her constant ranting at us.
‘Right then, eyes peeled for a nice present that we’d have bought Grandad,’ says Mum, her eyes fixed on the road but her mind elsewhere. I list the possible items: a warm jumper, a large quantity of pink and white fluffy marshmallows or a new flat cap. No wonder the farm is asking for specific details on gift labels otherwise handing an elderly lady a new flat cap might not be the highlight of her year!
‘If I don’t like my dress when I try it on, do I still have to wear it?’ asks Hayley, from the rear seat.
‘Of course, and you’ll be grateful for being asked to be a bridesmaid,’ spits Mum over her shoulder at my ill-mannered sister.
‘What if I’m cold wearing it?’ moans Hayley.
‘Tough luck, they’ve cost a fortune and it’s your cousin Isabella’s day,’ she scorns, adding, ‘She’s waited long enough for this wedding and there’s been no expense spared so you’ll be doing as you’re told.’
‘We’ve got white boleros, remember,’ I add, knowing mum calls her a cousin but actually she is a distant cousin.
‘The rest of the outfit is pure satin – and that’s so warm,’ continues Hayley, nudging Hannah alongside her on the back seat.
I don’t care if I’m freezing cold; being measured, fitted and bought a brand-new dress is going to be the highlight of my year. The bonus that Alfie will be present to enjoy the entire day is a dream come true, though I’m mindful that we’re distant family while his family are close friends of her parents. Though I’ll need to finish my duties as bridesmaid first. As Mum said, there’s been no expense spared.
*
Angie
‘Candlelight is such a simple decoration and yet, so beautiful,’ I say, as hundreds of flickering flames light our car journey along the farm’s track. ‘How can something as simple as a tiny flame be so inviting and alluring?’
Nick nods but doesn’t comment.
Butterflies flutter within my stomach. It feels like bonfire night, strangers dressed for all weathers in woolly hats, wellingtons and gloves – it brings out the child in us all. I’m determined that tonight’s date will be special; Christmas Tree Farm holds so many precious memories for us over the years. Tonight, I hope we’ll create one more, just the two of us.
In no time, we’ve parked as indicated by staff dressed in fluorescent jackets. As we walk in the snow towards the meeting point, I take Nick’s arm. My hand linking around his forearm feels right, where it belongs, like a hook and eye fastening.
‘I’m surprised you opted for a carol service… given your voice.’
‘Oi, cheeky, I can sing when I try.’
‘Not necessarily in tune, though, is it?’ Nick laughs. ‘But I’m sure everyone else will forgive you.’
‘I do it to make others feel better, OK?’ I jibe. This is a good start – a jovial night filled with laughter and larks will help us to bond just a little more.
‘Really? So, your uncontrollable sobbing during Alfie’s first school nativity was to support others?’
‘Yes! No mother wishes to be the first to cry in the audience, so I took the lead.’
Nick gives me a knowing look; he witnessed at first hand my public snot and tears display.
Alfie’s days at primary school seem so long ago. But tonight, as much as I’d love Alfie to be present, we are a couple and I need to make the most of my time with Nick.
Staff wearing fluorescent jackets beckon us towards the entrance gate and check our tickets. A new-fangled ticket purchased and printed from the Internet – something I rarely do.
‘Good evening, welcome to Christmas Tree Farm,’ greets the young blonde woman. ‘Would you like to carry a lantern?’
Nick agrees, so we pass through the gate armed with a sturdy pole from which swings a glass lantern complete with a large chapel candle. I grasp the service sheet offered by the same young woman; I never remember the words to carols.
A brass band strikes up the swirling tones of ‘Silent Night’ as the gathering crowd have their tickets checked and adults are strategically armed with lantern rods. Several reindeer bedecked in leather harnesses complete with tiny bells stand impatiently beside their handlers. The farm’s donkey is on a leash too. I assume they’ll lead the procession. A gaggle of tiny children dressed in tea towels and bedsheets appear to be assembled for a nativity scene – I silently apologise to the tiny angel, hoping she doesn’t cry should history repeat itself and I drown her out with my singing.
‘Angie?’ he whispers.
I turn on hearing my name.
‘Yes…’
‘This feels right.’ He pulls me closer with his free arm and gently touches my forehead with his. ‘Having spent so much time apart… this feels right.’
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.