Page 24 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
Ben stares at me for a moment, clearly trying to figure me out. Then he grins. ‘Nice one,’ he says, nodding. ‘Me too, actually – you can never have too many cups of coffee. So what were you looking at just now?’ he asks. ‘You looked totally absorbed in whatever was in those trees.’
‘Mistletoe.’ I look up again. ‘That’s what all those balls are high up there in the branches.’
‘So they are; I hadn’t really noticed before. I guess the square must have been named after something similar – possibly when these trees were first planted?’
‘Yes,’ I say, thinking of Celeste again as I look up at the branches above us. ‘You might be right.’
‘Did you know mistletoe is a parasite?’ Ben asks matter-of-factly, breaking me from my thoughts. ‘It attaches itself to trees and lives off them even though it doesn’t belong there. Sometimes it can actually kill the tree as a result.’
‘That’s not a very romantic view.’ My gaze turns back to Ben. ‘We all need support sometimes to thrive – even mistletoe.’
‘I can tell you’re a writer,’ Ben says, grinning.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I ask, not mirroring his amused expression.
‘It means you have a writer’s romantic view of the world – you see things through rose-tinted spectacles. Whereas I’m more practical.’
‘Practical … ’ I repeat slowly, eyeing him. ‘Is that right? Many might use the word “dull” or “boring”, even, when describing a solicitor … ’
‘Nice one!’ Ben replies, not looking in the least bit annoyed. ‘I prefer the term lawyer, when I can get away with it. As you rightly pointed out, when you tell people you’re a solicitor it can sound a little dull. At least you didn’t say “barrister” like Estelle insists on. My colleagues at the bar would be very irritated if they heard me referred to as that. However, you counter very well m’lady, touché!’ He suddenly takes up a dramatic pose and pretends to stab at me with an imaginary sword.
I jump at his use of the word ‘m’lady’, as yet again I’m transported back to last night.
‘What’s wrong?’ Ben asks, looking a little affronted that I don’t appear to find this as amusing as he does. ‘I haven’t actually stabbed you with my imaginary fencing foil, you know?’
‘I know. It’s nothing, really.’
Ben still looks confused.
‘I just don’t appreciate your choice of words to describe me,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I’m a journalist, not a romance writer.’
‘Golly,’ Ben says, still clearly joking around. ‘I didn’t realise a journalist’s worst enemy is Barbara Cartland.’
‘That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Anyone who writes at all successfully in their chosen field is equally talented. It’s a tough world to break into, whatever you choose to do with your words.’
Ben nods solemnly. ‘And currently, you are using your words to tell the story of Estelle’s family?’
‘That’s right.’
‘How’s that going?’
‘It’s … interesting,’ I reply diplomatically.
‘That good, eh?’ Ben grins. ‘Perhaps you would rather use the words “dull” or “boring” to describe it?’
‘Funny. Actually, no, I wouldn’t. I’m enjoying living with both Estelle and Angela; they’re teaching me a lot.’
‘Really?’ Ben grins. ‘Oh …really. You mean it?’ he asks when my face suggests otherwise. ‘Sorry, I thought you were joking.’
There’s a slightly awkward pause, but luckily a lady walking a Pekingese dog needs to pass us on the path, so we move aside to let her past.
‘Thank you,’ she says, smiling. ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Merry Christmas,’ Ben calls as she walks on with her dog. ‘And a Happy New Year! Talking of which,’ he says, turning back to me, ‘are you staying here on the square for the festive season, or are you going to family … or friends, perhaps?’
‘I’m staying here,’ I say, without adding any further detail.
‘Right … ’ Ben says, clearly considering something.
