Page 18 of A Year at Appleyard Farm
‘Shit,’ he said.
8
It was Sam’s idea to visit Worcester, but while Freya could see the logic in it, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to be here. There were too many reminders of Christmases past tugging at her brain.
It was three in the afternoon by the time they arrived, having dropped off her wreaths at the hotel first. That had taken rather longer than planned since Merry and Tom insisted they stay for lunch. Merry declared that it was the least she could do since her pregnant state meant she’d been unable to help Freya pack. Hospitality was what they did best, and as Freya looked around the hotel at the other guests enjoying a sumptuous pre-Christmas break, she could see the appeal.
The reception hall was a glittery double height room, dominated by the huge tree which was smothered in white and gilded sparkles. A marble fireplace roaring with flame enticed people onto the squishy deep red sofas, in front of which a table groaned with plates of mince pies, sugar-dusted shortbread and a tower of Ferrero Rocher. Sitting in the dining room, chatting with old friends, it was easy to forget everything else for a while and let Christmas wash over her, an oasis of seasonal charm.
When they finally reached it, the town was still thronging with people. The day was cold and clear, and as they emerged from beside the cathedral, the lights and sounds from the shops drifted over to them. Instead of following the road into town, Sam steered Freya away to the left and through the elegant Cathedral close to the quieter riverside beyond. As they walked through the arch that lead onto the path beside the river, Freya looked at the markers on the huge wall beside them showing the height the river had reached when in flood. It amazed her that some of them were ten feet or so above her head and they were already standing maybe twenty feet above the river itself. It was an important reminder that despite the torrents of life, things endured, maybe not unaltered, but they remained, nonetheless. Right now, when everything she held dear seemed to be slipping away from her, it was hard to see how things could ever get back to even a slight semblance of what they had been before.
Sam took hold of her hand, perhaps sensing how she was feeling, or just wanting to provide support as she walked. His hand was warm and solid, and the feeling of it was as familiar to her as breathing. It would be so easy to allow her feelings to drift back in time, but she knew that Sam was only being friendly, marking time until she left, and finally gave him the closure she had never allowed him before. She should have pulled away, but she was so tired it was somehow easier just to hang on.
She tried to enjoy the chilly air and let her mind drift away from the reality of her current problems, but everywhere she looked tiny sparkles of fairy lights caught her eye and brought her back to the one thing she was dreading. Christmas. She usually loved it all: the shops decked out way before time, the Christmas music playing over and over and the cheesy films on the TV. Most of all, though, she loved the lights; the darkened villages and houses transformed at dusk into winter wonderlands of colour. She loved this over-spilling of joy and exuberance, and although it had only ever been her and her dad at home, she had always strung rows and rows of lights through Appleyard. Until this year.
She walked a little closer to Sam, his thick puffy jacket warm to the touch. The sky was turning violet as the day gave way to dusk, and the lights were beginning to glow off the river. They had walked the whole way in virtual silence and Freya felt no need to talk, but soon they would be heading back into town, and the thought brought her back to the reason for their visit.
‘Where would you like to go?’ she asked Sam.
He too seemed lost in his own thoughts, and it took him a little while to respond.
‘I’ll follow you,’ he said. ‘Wherever you want to go. I can shop any time after all.’
That was undoubtedly true, but when Freya tried to think what she might need to buy, she realised she had no stomach for shopping; she had wanted to come and soak up the atmosphere because it was something she always did, and without it she would feel even more lost. In truth, there was only one shop she wanted to visit, but she was loathe to name it for fear of seeming even more of a sentimental fool.
‘Can we just wander and see what happens?’
‘No problem,’ said Sam, falling silent beside her once more.
They made their way up from the bridge into the town centre, weaving through the crowds into the market square, where the huge Christmas tree stood over the market stalls, ablaze with lights. A Salvation Army band was still playing, and the brass notes rang out rich and clear. She stopped to listen, noting that Sam too had slowed his pace.
‘Wouldn’t be Christmas without them, would it?’ He smiled, fishing in his pocket for some change. ‘I could listen to them for hours.’
‘Me too. I don’t know why, but they always bring a lump to my throat. I think it’s the thought that amid all the horrible things that happen in this world, there are still people like them who help, without question, without judgement. That’s what I like about Christmas, the reminder that there is still good in the world. Sometimes, it seems so far away.’
‘There are still good people in the world, Freya,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she said, moving her fingers in his, and blinking away her tears.
They stood listening for a few moments more, then Sam pulled her gently away, leading her to a stall selling nuts of every variety coated in delicious sounding ingredients, savoury and sweet. Sam bought some spiced honey cashews which they munched from the twisted cone of paper, each time Freya dropping Sam’s hand to take one, and each time reuniting it with his.
She almost didn’t go into the shop at all. She thought if she kept walking and didn’t think about it, then it would be fine, but suddenly the thought of not going in became too much to bear, and she pushed the door open almost with reverence. The first few moments as she stood inside were always the same; that first rush of excitement and endless possibility looming up at her as she stared at every manner of bauble and decoration, assailed by the shapes and colours, the sheer variety. She and her dad would wander around at first, in no particular direction, he going one way and she the other, and then they would meet up for an excited exchange of what the other had seen. Eventually, they would gravitate towards one of the displays as if drawn by an invisible thread, and the selection would begin in earnest. They had bought a new Christmas decoration together every year since her mum had left. It was their special bond, a celebration of another year, and although she wasn’t going to decorate the house this year, it was a tradition that she simply couldn’t bring to an end. Whatever she bought would remain on her bedside table until it too was packed away.
Almost as soon as they were through the door, Sam dropped her hand and headed off to take a closer look at something that had caught his eye. The shop wasn’t busy now, and she was happy to wander alone, pleased to find that the usual sense of wonderment she felt on coming inside was still with her.
She had paused by a display of neon decorations, which were gaudy but strangely attractive when she became aware that Sam was hovering by her side.
‘This place is amazing,’ he said. ‘How did you find it?’
‘I can’t remember, just stumbled across it one year. It’s only here at Christmas of course, the rest of the year it sells giftware.’
‘Are you going to buy something?’
‘I’d like to…it’s sort of a tradition.’
Sam gave an understanding nod. ‘How on earth do you choose, though?’
‘I don’t know really. The one I want seems to find me.’
