Ned insisted on sorting the kitchen after our meal so I took myself off for an early night. Thankfully, my former bedroom didn’t strike the same emotional response as my first glimpse of the lodge had, but I did experience a lump in the throat moment when I opened my wardrobe and found my old box of art supplies stacked inside.
Mum had been an accomplished painter and seeing the talent in me too, Dad had encouraged me to embrace my artistic gift and apply to art college after my A levels, but I didn’t. I opted instead for teaching and a more structured and stable career path. I might have dreamt of being an artist, but Dad had followed his dreams, and his actions and choices had rather put me off following the whisperings in my heart. That was about to change now, however, with the creation of my own business which utilised my skills, but it had taken me years to work my way up to doing it.
It was barely light when I woke the next morning and I felt weighed down in the bed, pinned to the mattress and unable to move. I hadn’t felt like that since the weeks after I’d answered my flat door and found two police officers waiting to impart the horrific news about Dad and which had blown my world apart for the second time.
‘Have I made a mistake in coming back here?’ I cautiously whispered into the near darkness but then the weight shifted and I felt Bandit’s warm breath close to my face. ‘Oh, Bandit,’ I said, feeling relieved. ‘It’s just you.’
I tried to shift him but he wouldn’t budge and I buried my face and fingers into his soft, warm coat. It felt surprisingly soothing and I wondered if he was one of those dogs who could sense vulnerability in humans. If so, he was probably more keyed in to my true emotions than I was. I had arrived at Wynter’s Trees with the intention of being all business, but I was already wondering if my mission was going to be as cut and dry as I originally hoped.
‘Morning,’ beamed Ned, who was in the kitchen, dressed and looking far too chipper given the early hour when Bandit and I padded downstairs. ‘Coffee?’
‘Coffee would be great, thanks,’ I said, flopping down on the sofa in front of the already lit log burner.
‘I see you’ve got company,’ Ned nodded at Bandit, who was now sitting next to me with his head resting on my lap.
‘He was on my bed when I woke up,’ I said, stroking his head. ‘Did you let him in?’
‘Nope,’ said Ned, handing me one of the lodge’s Portmeirion holly patterned mugs. ‘Huskies are the Houdinis of the dog world and this one can get in and out of anywhere. I daresay he thought you’d appreciate the company. He’s an intuitive soul and my guess is he’s picked up on how hard it must be for you, coming back here for the first time since…’
His words trailed off and I took a sip of the coffee, even though it was still a little too hot.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean… that is, I’d told myself I wouldn’t mention…’
‘It’s fine,’ I briskly said, changing the subject. ‘So, what’s on the agenda for today?’
‘Well,’ he said, keenly grasping the alternative topic, ‘Bandit and I are now going for a run. Would you care to join us?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, smiling at the thought of my legs, trying to keep pace with his gigantic strides. ‘But thanks for the offer. I’ll stay here and shower instead.’
‘Fair enough,’ Ned grinned, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. ‘We’ll see you in a bit.’
The sun was up by the time I’d showered, dressed and breakfasted and with no sign of either Ned or Bandit I decided to have a look around outside. Admittedly, one Christmas tree looked much like another to me, but after being shut in classrooms for the last few weeks, I was craving fresh air and if I ventured far enough, I’d be able to see the patch of land Dad and a few other locals had invested in and turned into a sort of nature reserve. Earmarked for development, battling to save the site had turned Dad into even more of a local hero and I couldn’t deny, I had been proud to see the plot saved and transformed.
The air was crisp and fresh and I was pleased I’d pulled on Dad’s battered old wax coat, which still hung on its familiar hook next to the front door, because there was a definite coastal nip in the air. Sometimes I forgot just how close Wynter’s Trees was to the sea and the impact that could have on the weather. The place seemed to have its own microclimate and that morning the barometer was set to bracing thanks to the breeze.
As I strode out among the rows of trees, I hoped I wasn’t about to turn a corner and be bowled over by Bandit and Ned, but there was no sign or sound of either of them. As I looked around, it struck me that everything felt both familiar and different. David was right, the trees had grown well.
Many of the rows I had previously been able to look over the top of, now practically towered above me. Not a particularly difficult feat given I’m only five foot three, but the change made me very aware of how much had moved on in my absence. Those larger trees, I guessed, were the ones destined to be eventually cut for display for outdoor venues. It was just the ones in pots which were annually rented out and returned, but where were they?
I walked further into the plantation and then stopped, pulled up short by the sight ahead of me. Whereas before there had been a few dozen container grown trees, there were now what looked like hundreds, all neatly arranged in size order and regimented rows.
I wondered what Dad would have made of the spectacle. I knew he would have been proud, but would he have been surprised by just how impressively his vision had taken off? David always sent me lists numbering the rented-out trees, but that didn’t have anything like the same impact as seeing them lined up for myself.
Container-grown trees had been the original inspiration behind Dad’s environmental ethos. He always hated seeing the streets filled with dried out and dead trees throughout the first two weeks of January and had made it his mission to encourage families to rent trees on a yearly basis. I could remember him telling me that Norway spruce were the favourites because of their strong pine scent and that you could happily keep a tree growing in a pot for about twelve years before it needed planting out.
I was surprised I could remember. Even though I had never been interested in the business, I seemed to be able to recall a bit about it. I guessed if you heard something often enough it stuck, and Dad was always repeating the same spiel when waxing lyrical about the virtues of a rented tree to visitors, while our family friend, Sue, smilingly handed around freshly baked reindeer cookies and mugs of marshmallow-topped hot chocolate.
Dad made picking a Wynter’s tree a memorable occasion and it was his in-depth knowledge and special extra seasonal touches which kept folk coming back, right from the first year of trading. I could see for myself now that David and Ned had more than competently carried those traditions on. The number of trees awaiting collection were all the visual proof anyone would need to see that the venture was thriving.
I read a couple of the laminated labels attached to the trees which ensured the right family got the right one every year, but there were no surnames I recognised. I was amused however to read that lots of the trees had names of their own. Belle was a popular choice, as were Elsa and Kristoff. There was even a Clark ‘Sparky’ Griswold. I smiled as I wondered if that particularly impressive specimen was destined to survive the season.
In spite of the bright blue sky and accompanying sunshine it was still chilly as the wind whistled through the plantation. I began to shiver and, abandoning my plan to make it as far as the nature reserve boundary, walked briskly back to the yard, arriving in it as Ned and Bandit came out of the office. They must have finished their run just after I’d set out.
‘Have you been for a walk?’ asked Ned. ‘I wondered where you’d got to.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’ve been craving fresh air. Although I hadn’t taken into account the brisk sea breeze. I could have done with some gloves. It’s cold today, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘It is a bit sharp. But at least you found that old coat.’
‘It was Dad’s,’ I said, pulling it tighter around me. ‘I was pleased to find it still hanging in its usual place.’
‘I haven’t moved anything,’ Ned told me. ‘I wouldn’t dream of changing or rearranging any of it.’
‘I appreciate that,’ I said, feeling choked by his thoughtfulness. ‘I am going to get around to sorting everything out soon.’
‘There’s no rush,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s yours to do what you want with as and when you feel like it. I’m just the lodge’s caretaker.’
Knowing I was going to ask him to buy me out the moment I could get him and David together, there actually was now a need for me to feel like it quite soon.
‘So,’ Ned carried on, ‘how did you find the trees?’
‘Green,’ I told him. ‘And tall.’
Ned rocked back on his heels and laughed. My knowledge, in spite of Dad’s efforts, didn’t run much deeper than that.
‘I was surprised to see so many in pots,’ I added. ‘That side of the business has really taken off, hasn’t it?’
‘Absolutely,’ Ned agreed. ‘Your dad was really on to something when he came up with that idea. He was well ahead of the game and even though there are other businesses offering a similar service now, none of them are a patch on Wynter’s. Not that I’m biased or anything,’ he chuckled.
I felt further reassured that his love for the place practically guaranteed that he was going to want to take it on, lock, stock and barrel.
‘Well, the success it is today can’t all be down to Dad’s ideas.’ I pointed out. ‘You and your dad have cleverly capitalised on what he started. It’s definitely a growth industry.’
Ned rolled his eyes at my pitiful pun.
‘We have,’ he smiled, ‘and it is. And with that in mind, I want to tell you more about the huts.’
‘The huts?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The beach huts, but first I think you’d better have a look at your tree.’
I followed him back over to the barn at the side of the yard which was where the office, stores and Santa’s grotto were located.
‘It’s really starting to struggle,’ Ned said, as he came to a stop in front of a tree which was in a huge pot outside the barn door. ‘It’s had far longer in a container than it should. I wanted Dad to ask you about planting it out last year, but he said to wait. He was certain you’d want to do it yourself. With some help of course. It is pretty big, after all.’
I swallowed hard as I looked at the tree I no longer recognised.
‘You can see it’s beginning to flag,’ Ned carried on, unaware of the impact his words were having, ‘in spite of the extra tender loving care I’ve been giving it and if it doesn’t get moved on soon, I think we’ll lose it.’
I couldn’t say anything.
‘Hey, are you all right?’ Ned asked, frowning down at me when he finally realised, I hadn’t responded to anything he’d said.
I pulled in a ragged breath, and slowly let it out again.
‘Is this,’ I swallowed, ‘is this…’
‘Your family tree,’ Ned finished for me, his tone softer. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘this is yours, Liza.’
I couldn’t believe it was the same tree that Dad had chosen to have in the lodge soon after we moved. It had been the focal point of our festive celebrations for years.
‘I think I’ve found the perfect spot for it.’ Ned said kindly.
I quickly reminded myself that I didn’t care about the tree or anything else still here for that matter. I didn’t care about a single thing that was connected to Wynter’s Trees, and yet, the sight of that damn tree ailing in its too tight pot, had somehow succeeded in tearing my heart in two, just like my first glimpse of the lodge had.
‘I’ll have a think about it,’ was all I could huskily say.
‘All right,’ Ned nodded.
The expression on his face told me that the look on mine gave away exactly how I was feeling. I turned away and, with an effort, recalibrated and shifted focus back to the real business in hand. I had to get a grip, and not get caught up in the sentiment I was floored to find I had attached to a few random things. I took a deep breath and lifted my chin as Bandit nudged his damp nose into my clenched fist and it was then that I spotted Dad’s truck.
It hadn’t registered when I’d set off for my walk, but there was no missing it now. The 1950 red Chevy pick-up had been a huge investment and it had been the perfect vehicle for ferrying trees about and getting the business noticed. I’d always hated being taken to school in it because it got me noticed too and earned me the hated nickname, ‘Elf’.
‘What’s going on with the truck?’ I frowned, walking over to where it was parked.
I hated it for another reason too. It had been off the road the night Dad had been hit by a drunk driver who was three times over the limit having gone completely over the top at his office Christmas party. Had he been cocooned in the tank-like Chevy, rather than the little courtesy car from the garage, he would have most likely walked away from the carnage.
‘Why is it up on this platform?’ I pointed, banishing further sickening thoughts of the night of the crash which I knew would send my mood plummeting.
There was so much more attached to the memory of that time than anyone else knew and I had no intention of revisiting it.
‘Because we don’t use it anymore,’ said Ned. ‘But as it’s so iconic, we had it decommissioned and parked here on permanent display.’
So much for not changing anything I began to seethe, feeling nettled.
‘But this truck encapsulates pretty much everything Wynter’s stands for.’ I snapped. ‘It was Dad’s pride and joy. He loved it.’
‘Well,’ said Ned, looking taken aback by my transformation from upset to annoyed, ‘Dad did explain our reasons for doing it in…’
‘An email,’ I bit back. ‘Of course, he did, but I can’t quite remember the details now, so perhaps you could enlighten me.’
‘Sure,’ Ned shrugged. ‘Basically, the decision to take it off the road came down to its environmental credentials. To tell you the truth,’ he said fixing me with a challenging stare which took me by surprise, ‘given your Dad’s motivation to set the business up with a view to helping the planet, I’m surprised he ran it at all.’
‘He ran it because it attracted more business than that thing could in a million years,’ I huffed, pointing at the red Mitsubishi pick-up which I now realised had been drafted in to replace the Chevy.
‘Perhaps,’ Ned patiently said, ‘but it’s MPG is outstanding and even though I agree that it doesn’t have the same appeal as this vintage treasure, we have to move forward with a view to what’s best for the business. And the environment.’
‘I thought you said you hadn’t changed anything.’ I sarcastically said.
‘I haven’t in the lodge,’ he shot back. ‘It’s not my home, but out here is different. It’s my job to keep things current, practical and cost-effective and besides, you’ve never objected to any of the other changes we’ve made.’
Given my track record for neglecting my inbox, I could hardly refute that.
‘We aren’t going to fall out over this, are we, Liza?’ Ned asked, looking concerned.
‘That depends,’ I churlishly said, even though the last thing I wanted to do was make an enemy of the man I had pinned to solve all my problems. ‘What’s going to happen to the Chevy now? Is it just going to sit here and rot?’
‘Of course not.’ Ned tutted, sounding offended. ‘It’s regularly inspected and it’s loved and polished too. Last Christmas it proved perfect for photo opportunities. We put a tree in the back, added some lights, and folk loved it. Bandit even featured in a few of the shots. And the customers tagged Wynter’s Trees every single time they shared a shot on social media. It might not be on the road anymore, but believe me, it’s still drawing customers in and from even further afield than before.’
I supposed it would make a beautiful backdrop for a seasonal snap.
‘Well, that’s something I suppose,’ I said, feeling appeased. I knew I should apologise, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. ‘I’m going to head back to the lodge,’ I said instead. ‘I need another coffee.’
Neither Ned nor Bandit followed me and I was grateful to be left alone. I spent the rest of the morning pottering about in the lodge. I could see that Ned had been true to his word and he hadn’t changed or moved a thing.
I was just pulling Dad’s old coat back on with a view to going out to apologise when I heard a vehicle revving on the drive and looked out to find the biggest lorry being slowly squeezed through the, by comparison, narrow gate. I rushed out the door to stop the driver before they got too far.
‘You’re in the wrong place!’ I shouted up to the cab. ‘The beach is that way,’ I added when I noticed what was strapped to the trailer. ‘You’ll have to reverse back down the drive because there’s no room for you to turn around here.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Ned, coming out of the barn. ‘He’s not lost.’
It was then I remembered, he’d mentioned beach huts earlier.
‘What’s going on?’ I frowned.
The driver jumped down and shook Ned’s hand.
‘Abbie’s so excited about this, Ned,’ he beamed, looking at me as he clapped my companion on the back. ‘And the whole village is talking about it.’
‘Talking about what?’ I asked.
‘Check your inbox,’ Ned grinned.
‘Where are they going then?’ the driver asked Ned.
‘Over there,’ he pointed. ‘The ground’s all prepared so it should be quick to lift them off and get them set in position.’
‘Ned,’ I said, tugging at his sleeve to get his attention. ‘Why exactly are you taking delivery of four beach huts?’
‘They’re for the new Wynter’s shopping experience,’ he said, pulling me out of the way and moving to guide the first hut into place. ‘I know Dad’s description was a bit vague, but the gist of it is, we’re renting these to local crafters so they can sell direct to the public. Every single one has been booked and we’re going to have extra food and drink in the barn to further compliment the venture too.’
‘But the farm is only open for a few weeks every year, surely it won’t be worth it.’
Ned shook his head. ‘Not anymore,’ he said. ‘We’re opening at certain times throughout the autumn too and properly from the middle of November now. People will be able to walk among the trees and do some Christmas shopping while they’re here. The huts were supposed to be set up in Wynmouth but after a couple of problems, I suggested we do it here, where the site is more secure and there’s already a festive vibe. Everyone jumped at the chance.’
‘But Wynter’s is about renting trees,’ I reminded him, ‘and visiting Santa, not selling Christmas tat.’
He looked shocked. ‘The people coming here to sell are all small bespoke designers with fledgling businesses,’ he said crossly. ‘They operate along the same lines as we run this place. Quality first. You’ll see soon enough. Had you read all the emails, you’d already know.’
I opened my mouth to object, but couldn’t because he was right. It wasn’t his fault that I hadn’t engaged in any of what had been going on. I might own the bigger share in the business, but if I could pull my plan off soon none of it would be anything to do with me. I needed to keep Ned onside, not provoke and piss him off.
‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘It’s fine,’ he said, running his hands through his hair, before he moved to the spot prepared for the second hut. ‘Well,’ he added, ‘not really fine, but understandable. Being back here can’t be easy for you.’
‘It isn’t,’ I admitted.
‘You’re bound to feel a bit mixed up.’
‘I do.’ I swallowed.
‘I get that.’ He nodded.
‘Are you always so nice?’ I demanded, but found myself beginning to smile.
‘Yes,’ he grinned. ‘Of course. I’m the ultimate good guy.’
Watching the way his eyes crinkled as he smiled and the tenderness behind his words, I could well believe that.
