Nina
Sunday, 16 December
When I arrive at work, I stare in horror at the staff notice board. I thought today would be a busy Sunday, not only for spruce sales but as day two of our Santas’ grottos, so why am I relieved of my usual duties on the sales yard? Instead, I am honoured with the task of helping Shazza decorate the nativity scene. Not my idea of fun. I’d complain less at being dressed as a grotto elf for the day.
Worse still, I’m to help groom Gertrude, the donkey, who will be rehomed during opening hours within the festive nativity scene. I instantly feel sorry for Arthur; he’ll miss her dearly, and no doubt he’ll protest with more aggressive head-butting and charging. Unable to think up an excuse from my allocated task – I’m not allergic to donkeys, can scrub and clean despite recent suggestions and fully appreciate the festive traditions here at Christmas Tree Farm – I collect the keys and head to the tiny barn in the corner of the yard to transform a hovel into a believable scene with Shazza’s help.
*
‘I hate this job,’ moans Shazza, sweeping the empty barn clean of spiders’ webs and last year’s dust. Her discarded debris blackens the surrounding snow at the entrance to the tiny barn. Thankfully the continual snow has ceased for the time being, one plus point of the morning.
‘It isn’t my favourite either,’ I mutter, crouching with a dustpan and brush in hand. ‘I’d much prefer to be selling.’
Within twenty minutes we are surrounded by buckets of hot soapy water, standing amongst a crowd of life-size plaster cast figurines.
‘What the hell?’ I mutter, staring from the faces of three wise men into that of the Virgin Mary and the infant Jesus. A thick layer of grime covers each one, denying their finely decorated glaze chance to shine.
‘So, grab a wet sponge, squirt on some cleaner and away we go!’ instructs Shazza, demonstrating as she talks. I watch as the cream cleaner oozes onto the giant yellow sponge. Shazza swiftly applies it to a Balthazar’s face and begins a circular motion. ‘See?’
‘That smells like lemons.’ I laugh, feeling ridiculous at my suggestion.
‘It is – lemon bathroom cleaner.’
‘No way!’
‘Yes way – I used it last year and it worked a treat… look.’
She’s right. Balthazar has a clear complexion and a gleam to his cheek and temple.
‘Shazza, you’re not expecting me to smear the Virgin Mary with bathroom cleaner, are you?’
‘Mhuh.’
‘I can’t.’
‘You can… they’re only statues,’ moans Shazza, topping and tailing the baby Jesus.
‘Forgive me,’ I mutter, acknowledging my guilt for what I’m about to do to an angelic face. I wet my sponge and squirt the cream cleaner as demoed by Shazza. I feel all the painted eyes staring at me.
I step back in horror.
‘No. I can’t.’
‘Nina, don’t be so daft.’
‘Shazza, I’m not devoutly religious but even so… cream cleaner!’
‘All right, use washing up liquid, then, if it makes you feel better.’
‘No – I’m out of this!’ I look around the busy sales yard in panic, not sure where an answer would lie. This isn’t right. Surely, the boss will object; Jackie definitely will.
A throng of excited families swarm around the yard happily inspecting, measuring and, some, arguing about their perfect Christmas tree. The staff are running back and forth across the snowy yard answering questions, filling in sales dockets and distributing mulled wine and warm mince pies.
I’m in a trance, watching the activity in the busy yard. That’s usually my domain, running between customers helping where I can. Why couldn’t I have been selected to wear green tights and a pointy felt hat, with attached ears, directing excited children towards Santa? More fun than this job!
‘If you’re that uncomfortable, you can start decorating the inside of the stable. I’ll finish the figurines.’
I come to, relieved by her suggestion.
‘Are you sure? My dad raised me to show respect to…’ I point at the figurines. ‘So, I literally can’t do that.’ I switch my index finger to the cream cleaner.
‘I’m sure,’ she mutters as I make a hasty exit to collect bales of hay and a wooden crate for the manger.
Our barn to nativity scene transformation takes three hours, and once it’s complete we position the statues in a pleasing arrangement around the wooden manger. It looks good, despite the whiff of lemons.
‘I just need to groom Gertrude and then walk her across,’ I say.
‘Make sure you tether her away from the statues, otherwise she’ll demolish the lot.’
Shazza drapes her arm over my shoulder and we stand back to admire our handiwork.
‘Beautiful,’ whispers Shazza, staring at the twinkling fairy lights, the thick bed of straw and a super-large star pinned to the apex.
‘Even so, we’re still going to hell for using bathroom cleaner on the holy family.’
Shazza laughs.
‘You might be but not me. I’ve done a few good turns that guarantee me a place up top.’
‘Shazza, I doubt it, love,’ I say, before calling Boss Fielding over to view our efforts.
*
After lunch, having spent an hour brushing her dusty coat and clipping her mane, I attempt to lead Gertrude across the snow-covered yard to introduce her to the new festive stable. We weave in between the busy crowds, some purchasing spruces whilst enjoying their complimentary mince pie and mulled wine. Other families are buzzing with excitement at the prospect of seeing Father Christmas, as two queues stream through separate gates, each leading to a winterland grotto.
Gertrude happily leaves her pen as I lead her across the snowy sales yard. But then she grinds to a halt. Her hooves are planted to the ground and I’m tugging at her reins as if my life depends upon her moving, but nothing. She isn’t impressed by the snow, evidently.
How embarrassing! Customers turn and watch my struggle as I wave a carrot before her muzzle.
‘I’ll fetch you a larger carrot. I’ll rub your belly. I’ll even tickle your ears, if you wish,’ I promise the donkey, with no effect.
I push at her rear end, pull her reins from the front. Nothing. Gertrude is stuck fast, refusing to budge.
A Range Rover pulls into the yard, scattering a layer of snow in its wake, amidst my dilemma.
I do a double take on recognition. Luca, the guy from the other day. I avert my eyes as he reverses, parks and exits the vehicle. Alone.
My innards melt at the sight of him.
‘Come on, Gertrude, this is not the time to show me up,’ I hiss.
From between Gertrude’s twitching ears, I see him glance around the yard and its bustling crowds before proceeding. He doesn’t head to the cashier’s cabin like the blonde lady had, but directly towards my immoveable object and me. The only difference in his appearance is the coloured jumper; otherwise he’s groomed like a model in an advert.
‘Hi.’ His voice is as deep as they come.
‘Hi.’ I give a weak smile, adding, ‘The donkey won’t move.’
His dark eyebrows lift as he views the animal.
‘I was wondering if someone could give me some information about the types of trees you have for sale.’ I watch his bottom lip, rounded and edible, form each word.
My stomach leaps into my chest.
Great, my area of expertise and yet I’m busy fighting with Gertrude. It grieves me to call Shazza, but needs must as she finished the nativity scene, minus a donkey, a while ago.
I watch as Shazza bounds over, all expectant smiles for our guy; he in turn gives me a sideways glance and hesitates before accepting Shazza’s warm invitation to, ‘Follow me.’
‘Thanks,’ is his parting word to me. ‘Thanks’ for not helping? ‘Thanks’ for brushing me off onto your colleague? ‘Thanks’ for acting the prat by pushing a donkey across a sales yard? Or simply, ‘Thanks’?
I watch Shazza be all bubbly and vivacious with him, flicking her hair back and giggling as she directs him to the pallets of cut spruce. I want to shout after her, ‘He’s taken,’ or even ‘He’s the groom for the Christmas Eve wedding,’ but I don’t. Instead I silently cringe as my brain taunts me by replaying my classy ‘the donkey won’t move’ line.
As I watch him, Gertrude gently nuzzles my hand and slowly begins to plod forward.
‘Thanks, Gertrude, why couldn’t you have done that five minutes ago, freeing me up to serve him, Mr Stomach-flip?’
Amidst the bustling crowds, I lead the donkey to her new home and tether her, ignoring Shazza’s advice, where she immediately begins nibbling at the hay in the manger – despite the swaddled infant already nestled in there.
‘Please don’t eat it all, Gertrude,’ I say, tying her leash to the nearest anchor point. I quickly scan the yard, with the fanciful idea that I’m now available to take over the information pitch from Shazza, if I dare. I watch as Shazza eagerly explains and points at various spruces, explaining the differences, Luca nods, listening intently, his hands dug deep into his jacket pockets.
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 goodbye.
*
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.’
‘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.’
‘Phuh! She’s not. How were we supposed to cope with MS as a two when she couldn’t cope as a three?’
‘Nina.’
‘No, don’t Nina me… me and Dad did MS together for seventeen years. Jilly made her decision a long time ago. She’s made a new life – she can live with it.’
‘But…’
‘But nothing. End of.’
We sit in silence, sipping our drinks and crunching peanuts.
‘Is this any better than last night’s date?’ asks Zach, after a ten-minute truce.
I stare from beneath my fringe.
‘No, but at least I feel more like myself with you. Last night didn’t feel comfortable… which is why it can’t happen again.’ I look across to Selena, laughing with her girlfriends by the open fire. ‘He’s probably more suited to the likes of her than me.’
‘Maybe, but he thinks differently.’
‘And you?’
Zach shakes his head.
‘See, you never answer a straight question, do you?’
He sighs heavily.
‘Nina, it’s not what I think that counts, is it?’