The Christmas Tree

The cottage had no festive cheer, but could Jennie create the impression of Yuletide joy before it was too late?

- Katie Fforde

This is so kind of you,’ said Jennie to the man who was holding open the gate to the Christmas-tree farm. ‘I thought you’d be closed!’

‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘As long as you’re really quick. I should have shut an hour ago.’

‘I have to be really quick for my own reasons,’ said Jennie, mentally cursing the holiday let that wouldn’t let her in before four o’clock. Now, at half past five, she had very little time left to get ready.

She inspected the small pile of trees. ‘Which is the littlest?’ she asked the man. He had a beanie hat pulled down over his head against the cold and wore a boiler suit and wellies.

He indicated one. ‘Not sure you’ll get it in though. It’s not a very big car.’

‘I’ve got to have a tree decorated and looking lovely before my daughter Skypes me at eight o’clock, my time. Just over two hours. Should be fine!’

‘How old is your daughter?’

‘Eight. Is that relevant?’

‘Not really, except I’ve got a niece that age.’

Jennie smiled. ‘She’s gone to Walt Disney World in Orlando, with her dad. She worries about me. Otherwise I wouldn’t bother with a tree.’ She bit her lip. ‘Is there anything smaller?’

He shook his head. ‘It would be easier for me to deliver this one. Where do you live?’

‘Little Churton. I’m in a holiday let there.’

‘That’s not far. I could easily drop it off for you.’

‘That would be really kind. Now?’