Holly
Sunday, 23 December
My mobile bleeps, waking me up just after midnight. Half asleep, I squint at the illuminated screen: a text from Demi.
OMG! You’ll never guess what’s happened ☹
*
Nina
I want to cry, as I have never cried before.
The frantic hammering on the cabin door frightens the life out of me. I jump from the bed and cautiously grab a hoodie to cover my pyjamas.
‘Who is it?’ I call out, standing behind the wooden door.
The hammering continues, drowning out my voice.
I carefully slide the bolt on the upper section of door and peer out.
‘Thank God for that, Nina!’ bellows Zach, out of breath. ‘You need to get dressed. There’s a fire on the south fields… you need to come quickly.’
‘What?’
I stare at his stricken features. I haven’t seen him as panicked as this since we were children.
‘Nina, please don’t start – just go and get dressed. The fire brigade are on their way, but we need to account for everyone.’
‘One minute.’
I close and lock the upper stable door before getting dressed in last night’s jeans.
Within minutes, we are leaving the cabin area and hurrying along the path towards the sales yard. Each time the spruce clear I can see the entire sky above the farm is lit up in an amber glow.
‘Dad thinks the teenagers have had a party again and… it’s gone wrong.’
‘You don’t say.’
Zach eyeballs me before continuing.
‘He’s hoping no one’s caught or surrounded by the flames… but as Jackie said, how is he going to know that until the fire crew arrive and check?’
‘And the Christmas trees?’
‘They’ll be burnt to the ground. If it spreads we could lose the lot.’
‘Zach… they’re the oldest trees on the farm, planted by your grandparents.’
He nods.
‘And the wedding?’
‘Exactly, another headache to fix. Come on, hurry up.’
We finally arrive at the huddle of people beside the snug.
‘Nina!’ cries Jackie. ‘Can you believe it?’
I shake my head as we watch the approaching blue lights draw along the farm track. One, two and three bulky fire engines sweep into the sales yard and are swiftly directed towards the open gates leading to the south fields. Boss Fielding is frantically talking whilst pointing, in the direction of the tarmacked road leading into the Norway spruce growing area, as he speaks to a uniformed fire officer.
A cloudy hue drifts high above the scorching flames as they stretch upwards into the dark starry night.
‘What can we do?’ I ask, feeling helpless at the sight before me.
‘Absolutely nothing,’ mutters Bram, sitting on the wooden steps, his eyes to the sky.
‘And Arthur… what if he’s caught amongst it?’ adds Zach, pacing back and forth.
‘Don’t. I can’t begin to think about anyone or anything losing its life tonight,’ says Jackie, as a heaving sob escapes from her chest.
‘What about the Presents for Heaven?’ I ask.
‘They’re all safely stored in the equipment barn so there’s no fear there,’ soothes Bram, from the cabin steps.
I feel physically empty. All emotion and thought has drained from my body. I feel useless, helpless and unable to contemplate the enormity of flame upon wood. Our beloved Christmas trees alight. By morning, we’ll know to what extent: singed, burnt, dead.
*
I do the only thing I can: I make hot tea in the snug.
The fire crew report that the mature spruce couldn’t be saved given the intensity and spread of the fire. Despite a deep covering of snow, some areas of the south side were densely planted so the fire spread above ground level from spruce to spruce. So, they managed it in a tactical manner by preventing the fire spreading to the farm’s east and north growing fields. The tarmac roads that run along and between sections of the farm helped to provide a natural break barrier, but otherwise the officers had no choice but to organise a constant flow of water, dowse the flames and monitor the burning area.
No one has been found wandering amongst the spruce so Boss Fielding assumes the kids have bolted on seeing their handiwork. Perhaps they might have watched from afar, though they would never be able to appreciate all the damage they’ve caused.
There’s been no sight of Arthur, which doesn’t bear thinking about.
I lift each mug, complete with teabag, up to the water urn’s spout and fill. I’ve organised sugar and milk on the counter top so the fire crew can help themselves.
‘Any coffee?’
‘Yeah, two seconds,’ I say, over my shoulder, not caring to look at the speaker. As I turn back to the urn, his dark gaze sticks fast in my mind.
My stomach flips uncontrollably.
Luca?
I slowly turn, mug in hand, not daring to hope.
‘Hi… yep, it’s me again,’ he chirps, his face smudged with smoke marks and his tumble of curls wet and plastered to his skin with sweat. His uniformed frame seems wider and imposing on the other side of the counter top. ‘I see barista has been added to your roles too.’
I nod.
I’m speechless. How is this happening?
He continues to chat but I can’t answer; I’m on autopilot making his coffee.
I should feel ashamed, to be reacting like this to an attached guy. I’ve read about women like me; I abhor them. Chasing attached men, when there are plenty of fish in the sea. Aren’t there enough single guys in the world?
‘Cheers for the coffee,’ he says, his smile radiating from his dark eyes.
‘Pleasure.’
He joins his crew. I make more tea and chastise myself a little further.
*
Angie
I undo the large buckles on the wicker hamper that is meant for Christmas day and stare at the feast of calorific delights before me.
‘Well, that’s me sorted for Christmas,’ I mutter, picking amongst the goodies.
Would it be wrong to start opening items before breakfast, when really there are two more days to go?
I’ve no one to answer to. Is the 23rd not classed as the beginning of Christmas?
I grab the tin of caramelised cashew nuts and plod back to bed, collecting my iPad as I go.
If Nick and Alfie can do their own thing, then so can I. I settle back under the duvet, open the tin of cashews and flick through Netflix for a suitable movie.
As rude as it seems, I have no intention of apologising for my absence at tomorrow’s wedding. They can think on their feet and make up what trivial excuse they choose. I am done.
*
Nina
We traipse in a line through the spruce carrying wedding equipment towards the marquee, like the Magi bearing gifts. Underfoot the snow is compact and slippery, causing a succession of scary moments as staff gingerly tread the route towards the east side of the farm.
‘I don’t see why they can’t load the trailer sky-high and have the tractor slowly tow it through the trees,’ I say under my breath to Shazza as we linger at the back of the line.
‘Jackie doesn’t want tractor tyre marks or soot being left anywhere near the wedding scene after it was used last night,’ explains Shazza. ‘She reckons it’ll ruin the natural appearance of the snow for the wedding party as they approach.’
‘Couldn’t the tyres be hosed down first? One decent journey and this lot would be delivered in no time,’ I add, sulking as my arms ache after my third trek.
‘Would you want huge tyre tracks running towards your dream winter wedding?’
I don’t answer.
‘Exactly,’ shouts Shazza, over her shoulder. ‘So get a bloody move on.’
Most Christmas Eves we focused on the spruce sales, maximising the effort to clear every last one, but this year we stayed open longer during this final week to accommodate the public as a means of helping ourselves juggle with the wedding preparations and the last-minute rush. And now, with the fire.
My mind fills with images from last night and the frantic attempts to dowse and save the Christmas trees. I visited earlier with Kitty, so know exactly how large an area the fire has destroyed.
‘I thought the saddest sight was a bare-branched Christmas tree resting beside a dustbin,’ said Kitty, as we stood on the tarmac this morning starring at the fire damage, ‘but this… this is something else.’
I had to agree. In the cold light of day, the fire had been far greater than I’d imagined. The magical snow scene had gone, replaced by a thick layer of grey ash from which ugly blackened stumps rose at various heights for as far as the eye could see.
‘What are they looking for?’ I asked, pointing to the various people moving slowly through the debris.
‘Anything. Boss Fielding has told them about the teenagers with their small bonfires and aerosol cans – they seem to think they can find evidence scattered amongst the ash. Shazza said her younger brother had been grounded last night so he wouldn’t have been involved in last night’s shenanigans.’
‘Those responsible must be crapping themselves, right now. And Arthur?’ I asked, dreading to hear more bad news.
‘They managed to capture him at first light. The vets arrived earlier with a mild tranquilliser dart. Poor thing… he’s got multiple burns from the string of firecrackers they’d attached to his horns but the vet said he’s got a fair chance, but it’ll take time. He’s now settled alongside Gertrude, but have you seen the boss? He’s none too clever – he’s been at his desk all morning trying to sort things out.’
A sense of helplessness swells within my chest as we stand and stare in silence as the investigators drift amongst the burnt ruins.
‘It’ll be all hands on deck today to ensure the wedding isn’t affected, but, hey, that’s what we do here, isn’t it?’ said Kitty, leading the way back to the sales yard.
Shazza breaks my thoughts.
‘Are you taking your spruce home tonight?’ she asks, after my lengthy silence.
‘No.’
‘But, Nina, it’s tradition,’ mutters Shazza, shifting her hold on the large box of cloth napkins.
‘Stop with the emotional blackmail. I can do as I please, thanks.’
Shazza turns around to stare at me over her shoulder. I feel uneasy; I didn’t mean to be snappy.
I am about to launch into another internal monologue when our trek finally ends and the dense wall of spruce gently widens into a sweeping flatland, the new site for tomorrow’s wedding ceremony. Beyond that, lies the lake surrounded by Blue spruce and the sloping embankment of Fraser firs.
Farm staff are as busy as bees piling equipment into specific areas – the ceremony pergola, the marquee or catering suite – ensuring that everything is available before creating a winter-wonderland wedding.
I don’t want to help raise the marquee. You’d think it was an easy task, like pitching a child’s Wendy house. Wrong… just bossy people need apply. So I deliver my box of condiments to the hired catering team, and quickly dart to the decoration team for a morning of floristry wire and oasis foam. I don’t mind how long the garland has to be or the specific colour decoration of tied bows as long as I can be absorbed in one task to busy my mind.
‘Are you joining us, Nina?’ asks Jackie, piling fresh holly leaves into the centre of the circle of five chairs, beside which the pliers, red ribbon and ornamental robins lie ready and waiting.
‘I am.’
Young Holly offers me a length of gauze meshing as I settle.
I have no intention of being all bright and cheery simply to fit in. I can’t muster their happy tones given the sombre mood of the farm. I begin the laborious task of threading and securing pieces of prickly holly onto the garland’s mesh. Realistically the entire meshing needs covering to provide a luscious and full garland; there’ll be no skimping on the decoration under the watchful eye of Jackie, who is fastidious with her wedding planning.
Within ten minutes, the marquee guys are cursing and huffing at each other, all shouting for the same piece to be inserted into the right corner frame but no one is following the instructions.
Shazza and Kitty join us at the garland hub as the hired-catering posse count tables, chair ties and candelabras ready for a speedy transformation once the billowing canvas is a functioning marquee.
The garland group babble on about plans for the wedding, the colour scheme, Holly’s connection to the bride’s family and her excitement at being one of six bridesmaids, her youngest sister being excluded due to her age.
I continue to work in silence, listening out for any talk of Luca.
‘How’s it going with lover boy?’ asks Shazza, a devilish glint in her eye. ‘Planning any more dates?’
I ignore her.
‘Nina,’ whispers Kitty, nudging me.
I look up to view four expectant faces staring, their hands busily working.
‘Oh, don’t mind me. The twins might be my stepsons but I’m staying out of their love lives,’ jokes Jackie, with a giggle.
Shazza raises her eyebrows.
‘Spill the beans… and?’
‘And nothing,’ I say, my eyes firmly on my garland making.
‘Hey, Jackie, can you see Nina as you in twenty years’ time? Organising wedding parties, carol services and—’
Jackie gives a little cough. Holly simply watches from the sidelines.
I look up to catch Kitty glaring at Shazza.
Shazza changes tack.
‘Sorry but the other night at the club… I assumed you were playing it cool regarding the twins but with the holidays you can spend more time—’
‘Just stop! I believe you stated you wouldn’t mind being Jackie around here in years to come, not me!’ I snap, throwing down my section of garland. I stand and stride from the circle.
I need space. I need to breathe. I need to be away from these people and their constant chatter about men, love, life and being sodding happy all the time when deep down I feel like utter crap. Plus, I can’t have what I want.
The cry of ‘Nina!’ fills the air as I quickly stride in the direction of the lake.
I want to be alone.
I know the catering and marquee teams will have all seen my hasty departure. One or two co-workers, such as Kitty, may well be wondering if they should follow me for moral support and a good cry.
It feels good to crunch virgin snow beneath my boots, as if making my own track is such a primitive action and so satisfying. I inhale the fresh air as I stride towards my lake. As I reach the water’s edge, I calm. That’s when I get it. I’m rattled, not just because of the anniversary, but because this bloody winter-wonderland wedding is secretly taking away someone I want. How am I expected to sit and make garlands for his wedding?
Why is life so complicated? So much daily energy is spent on correcting errors, getting around obstacles and being resilient. Surely, all this effort is better spent on the good things in life?
I know all these things and yet I don’t know how to stop running away from life.
*
Holly
‘Her dad passed away last Christmas Eve so she’s not in the best place at the minute,’ explains Shazza. ‘Which is why I tried to jolly her up.’ Her latter comment directed at the other two.
‘Yeah and put your foot firmly in it,’ says Kitty.
‘So, Zach’s back in with a chance, then?’ says Shazza, a smirk dressing her lips.
‘Seriously, Shazza… do you think she’s in the right place to start seeing anyone right now? She needs to get her head straight before she even contemplates dating.’
‘Our household can do without the twins being at war, given last night’s troubles,’ says Jackie.
‘Hasn’t she any siblings?’ I ask.
Three heads simultaneously shake.
Wow, no one! As much as I complain about the abundance of bodies in our house, at least I can guarantee I will always have someone, be it a sister or parent.
‘It was just her and him… and she took the brunt of his illness, mood swings, the lot, so it wasn’t an easy living arrangement but, still, he was her dad,’ explains Kitty.
‘MS is tough due to the physical deterioration and pain being suffered, and yet the family try their best. Nina coped the best she could and for a long time too.’
‘And her mother?’ I ask.
‘Long gone – she left years ago,’ says Kitty.
I collect another handful of holly leaves and continue to work them into the floristry meshing as the silence lengthens. I’m waiting for someone to begin a cheerier conversation but they don’t; everyone seems to be inside their own head space counting their own blessings.
*
‘Have you said anything?’ asks Alfie in the snug at break-time.
I shake my head.
‘I daren’t. That text message incriminates Demi and the police will demand names from her. She must be bricking it.’
‘But I feel so guilty… Have you seen what they’ve done?’
I shake my head. Jackie has kept me busy from first thing carrying wedding stuff down to the marquee area.
‘Totally gutted for as far as the eye can see. Seriously, not a single spruce left, just black stumps sticking up from the ground.’
‘So, what are you suggesting – that we tell?’
Alfie looks at me, his blue eyes drilling mine. I know his answer and yet he can’t bring himself to say it.
‘I hate to be a grass, but I feel guilty for saying nothing. The family have been good to me over the last few shifts – I’d quite like to be kept on after Christmas for weekend work.’
‘OK. When?’
‘Now.’
‘What about the wedding prep?’
‘Boss Fielding hasn’t been doing prep. He’s been in his office for the entire morning. Jackie’s in charge of the wedding.’
‘What about Demi?’
Alfie shrugs.
‘She’ll have to answer their questions.’
*
‘Whose mobile is this?’ asks Boss Fielding, taking the item from his desk. His grey eyes flicker across the screen reading the brief message.
‘Mine. Demi’s my best friend.’
Alfie shifts in the seat beside me. He’s as uncomfortable as me but it’s the right thing to do.
‘And she sent this at what time?’
‘Twelve o’clock… the time appears at the side if you slide the message across,’ I explain, my breath snagging in my throat.
His large fingers ease across the screen, before he slowly nods and looks up.
‘And you pair?’
‘We had nothing to do with this,’ says Alfie, quickly. ‘We feel guilty by association that we work here and teenagers we know have caused this.’
‘But you’ve never joined them?’
We shake our heads.
‘Never?’
‘No. I was invited but I refused to join in. They aren’t my type of friends,’ I mutter, nerves flaring within my stomach as he stares at me. ‘Seriously, we know nothing about last night, apart from the text.’
Boss Fielding sits back in his chair and eyes us both cautiously.
How can telling the truth about an incident actually feel so gut-wrenchingly difficult? You’d have thought he’d be pleased by our assistance; instead he sits staring for eons before he picks up the telephone receiver.
*
Angie
Nick hasn’t called. I’ve watched three romcom movies back to back, consumed the entire tin of cashews, a jar of honeyed apricots and an entire box of marzipan fruits – I feel no better.
My mind is reeling. My gobby young pup thinks he knows everything after a two-minute crush on a classmate. And as for Nick, siding with him over me… surely that isn’t right? I was only trying to help eliminate any last-minute issues as regards Alfie’s suit not fitting and boom!
I snatch up my mobile, checking if Nick’s texted me. Nothing.
Right, have it your way. Go to the wedding without me, parade yourself as the heroic single dad with the teenage son battling together to survive the family break – what do I care?
I press pause on Netflix, and stomp through to the kitchen. Eventually I find the corkscrew, grab a wine glass from the draining board and venture back to browse the wicker hamper for a delicious rosé.
‘Merry Christmas!’ I mutter as I uncork the bottle in the hallway before returning to bed. ‘Even if I’m two days early!’