Page 39 of Big Nick Energy
‘Well, I mean it, I can help,’ he says, his tone warm and authentic. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the flyer I gave him last time we met. ‘I also looked at my calendar and I can be free when you need me.’
I think about our last meeting and the way he had offered help. I guess the problem is when you do voluntary endeavours, people can be quick to offer their assistance but those promises are often reneged on quickly. The man has staying power. Don’t overthink that. ‘Well then, that is very kind of you.’
‘You’re welcome, Kay.’
And he looks at me intently and smiles. That is a good smile and those eyes are very, very green. I feel a breath catch in my chest, everything around him stopping for a while. It’s so intense, I have to remember to exhale.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea for your efforts? One of our customers baked us a Christmas cake? It’s a bit boozy but edible?’ I say, trying to find words and clarity.
‘Yeah. Then we can get those other trees up. I can help here as well?’ he says, pointing at the books and wrapping paper.
‘You don’t have anywhere to be?’
He shakes his head.
‘How’s your wrapping?’
‘Learnt everything I know from Dr Dre.’
‘You made a joke,’ I say, surprised.
He looks at me curiously, seeming slightly insulted that I’ve pointed that out. He takes off his hat and puts a hand through his hair. Don’t stare, Kay. ‘Better cut me a slice of cake then. We’ve got our work cut out, eh?’
Did the Xmas Tree Man arrive? Enjoy! Hope he gets his wood out! X
I look at the message on the phone and turn it over immediately so Nick can’t see. I am appalled, Helen. I really am. It’s coming up to eight o’clock now and Nick has been here in the library for nearly two hours, helping me position trees, envelop them with lights and laughing at how one little boy wrote on a bauble that he wantedFifty Shades of Greyto give his mum. And I think I’ve found something super attractive about this man that trumps everything else. He can wrap. The way he glides scissors around the paper, how he doesn’t wing it with paper size but measures out the books first, the way he folds his corners and doesn’t get frustrated by the tape dispenser. It’s a thing of beauty to watch. And he can tie ribbon like people on Instagram do, looping it around his fingers expertly. I can’t be lustful and stare at him. I went ice skating two days ago with Old Nick and it was romantic, he talked about our kids and we went for dinner afterwards and had sex. I think we’re going out and in terms of my own morals and to give that a chance, I can’t be perving on New Nick and imagining things about his hands.
‘So tell me about your farm again? What does your mum do?’ I ask, trying to focus on civility.
‘So my mum really helped my dad turn the farm into an all-year-round business. The café is our biggest earner and then we have a small nursery, holdings for fruit-picking in the summer,’ he says. Sitting down with him has also been a way to find out more about his history, his family, and as Lucy explained, it’s super wholesome and organic.
‘Lucy mentioned to me that you also build furniture?’ I ask, hoping he doesn’t mind that we’ve been chitchatting about him.
‘Yeah. I have a small carpentry business on the side.’
‘Like Jesus?’ I say, slightly embarrassed that I don’t know any other carpenters to compare him to. I know that’s a shit joke from the look he gives me.
‘What do you make?’
‘I’m into chairs at the moment.’
‘Edge of the seat stuff,’ I say. The look on his face tells me he didn’t get that joke at all. ‘Sorry.’
‘And you write?’ he asks, trying to change the subject from my awful sense of humour.
‘When I’m not here, yes.’
‘These bears you write about, are they based on anyone?’ he asks.
I give him a look. I think he’s being funny. ‘Well, yes, because I know a lot of bears who wear bow ties and hats,’ I say. ‘I don’t know… I had a stupid idea once that wouldn’t it be funny if you had a family of bears – brown, polar, panda – and they all lived together and had bear adventures.’
This he smiles at. ‘I loved the Christmas one I read the other day. How they had to pull Santa’s sleigh because the reindeer got food poisoning.’
‘All my writing is very much steeped in reality,’ I say, trying to sound like an earnest author. ‘But in all honesty, I love writingfiction, a story that creates joy and helps a kid believe in magic and storytelling. And it turns out talking bears are quite the thing.’
He doesn’t reply but pulls at a length of tape and nods to himself. Is he another non-believer? In me or my brand of Christmas spirit, I’m not sure, but it makes me go quiet too.
He picks up a book and holds it up:Poetry for Lovers,flicking through the pages and starts reading aloud.
