Page 5 of Christmas in Mistletoe
“He might. We finished planting the younger trees this week, but he still had some photoshoot trees to ship today.” Dad pushed his metal-rimmed glasses up his face.
Ruby’s face dropped. “Has Nettie gone?”
Her mum shook her head. “Tuesday. You should go and say goodbye before she leaves.” Nettie was a statuesque 12-year-old Nordmann fir who was destined to be a photoshoot model this year.
“I’ll go give her a pat tomorrow.” What was it her parents had said about being unhinged? However, when you tended to a tree for a decade, you got attached. Nettie was a firm family favourite.
“I say let’s take the newbies to The Bar,” her dad agreed. “Then they can meet Victoria, Eric, and Scott, too. The entire O’Connell family.”
They had no idea what they were in for.
Chapter 3
Fran still couldn’t quite believeher parents had bought this cottage.
Although, in another way, she totally got it. It wasthemto a tee. Quaint. Full of charm. Shiny. It should be. Her parents had spent a huge chunk of money having it done up, after the previous owner had lived there for eight years with an array of dogs and an allergy to opening a window.
“Dog and chips, that’s what it smelled like,” Dad had told her over the phone. She’d never have known. Now, it smelled like fresh paint and promise. Plus, with Pop’s favourite lemongrass and basil candles already burning, it smelled like home.
That Hollybush Cottage was lovely wasn’t in doubt. It even had a holly bush in the garden.
Of course it did.
Fran’s issue was that it was in the middle of nowhere, in a village called Mistletoe. Better yet, the cottage was situated on the edge of Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm. It was like her parents had moved into a Hallmark Christmas movie. One that smelled divine, and was super gay.
In the real-life version, which Fran was reluctantly starring in, she and her parents were going around to their neighbours’ house for welcome drinks tonight. Fran had endured a tough week. Delilah was number one, and Fran was still bruised from their split. Recovered, but bruised. She’d come to Mistletoe to check out her parents’ new house, but also to hide away for a bit where nobody knew her. To take a moment to breathe. Drinks with the neighbours wasn’t on her agenda.
However, she couldn’t say no to her parents. This was their new life, and Fran wanted to support it. They’d supported her in everything she did, after all. Even when she’d ditched her art degree for a career in the music business.
“What are the neighbours like?” Fran was pretty sure she had an idea, but she wanted to hear it from Pop’s mouth.
“They seem lovely.” But Fran could hear the amusement in Pop’s voice as she followed him up the stairs.
“Uh-oh,” she said.
“No, they really are!” A gasp of laughter escaped Pop’s lips as they arrived on the landing. “You know, they’re just a bit… country with it.”
“Which is absolutely fine,” Dad added from behind, a scold in his voice. He pointed through the rustic pine door off the landing to her left. “This is your room.”
“You’re a bit country now, can I add?” Fran gave them both an amused look. She walked into her new bedroom, and took a breath. The views over the fields of Christmas trees and beyond were spectacular. The late afternoon sun cast an orange haze over the sea of green. In the back garden, she spied her parents’ newly installed art studio. “Wow, I can see what you mean when you said it was a room with a view.”
Dad put his arm around her. “We are a bit country now, too. I guess that’s why we moved here. To embrace this life, with these views. Plus, Paul and Mary who own the farm have been very welcoming. Mary even brought us a casserole. Like we’re in a real community.”
“You had that in Surrey.”
But even as she said it, Fran knew it wasn’t true. They hadn’t had that. The people in their Surrey village had kept themselves to themselves. Perhaps Mistletoe was going to be what her parents had hankered after for years. A thriving community who looked out for each other.
Dad took Pop’s hand in his. “We didn’t. But we might get it here.”
* * *
Two hours later,Fran, Michael and Dale trudged out their front door, down the garden path, and then along the perimeter of the farm until they reached the main entrance. A massive wooden sign welcomed them to Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm, although one of the three small bulbs illuminating it had blown. The painted Christmas trees on the sign could do with some touching up, too.
“Do people actually make a living growing Christmas trees in the UK?” Fran blew on her hands as she asked. Out of London, the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees, even though the forecast told her otherwise. “Also, why have we never come to a Christmas tree farm before?”
“Because we always had a fake one?” Pop replied.
“Let’s not share that fact right away, okay everyone?” Dad added.
