After Mrs. Taylor had excused herself to get back to make Cameron’s tea, Emily retrieved her newly charged phone and did a little research using a weak connection found only in the upstairs front bedroom. The grumpy but handsome man she was renting a property from was not simply Nathan, but more commonly known as Nathaniel Trower. While there were few details on his personal life, it appeared that Nathan had spent some time working in America as a record producer. Although he was now listed as inactive, in researching his discography, Emily discovered his name behind one of the biggest records of the decade, one which had catapulted its writers to stardom and sold in the region of ten million copies.
Following its release and rise to success, it seemed, Nathan had disappeared into obscurity. The last interviews posted online were dated from 2014, after which the only “new” information she could find was a “Where are there now?” article, which stated that the legendary producer was enjoying an early retirement and had so far refused requests to go back into the studio.
So, Nathan was the archetypal rags-to-riches story. Going off to America, making his fortune, and retiring to his home village.
Where it seemed he had then set himself the task of eradicating Christmas.
Emily rubbed her chin. Something wasn’t right.
She switched off her phone, stood up, and went outside, opening her living room curtains before she went.
She did a circuit of the square, sneakily glancing through people’s front windows where she could, but in her own was the only place she could see a tree. In fact, true to what Mrs. Taylor had said, less than half the properties appeared occupied, their windows dark, their front lawns grown up. She hadn’t brought a torch, but after advancing as far as she dared into the dark, keeping the square’s street lights in view behind her, she found most of the larger properties were dark and silent. Only one, the biggest of all on the very outskirts of the village, had a single light on outside, and a glow coming from one of its front windows.
Emily returned to the square. Passing her window with its glittering Christmas tree, she felt suddenly self-conscious, guilty even. She fought the urge to go inside and at the very least draw the curtains, even to pull the plug on the tree lights completely. This was how it had to have happened, she thought. A core group made the decision to effectively cancel Christmas, leaving the rest to slowly talk themselves into compliance. After a couple of years, no one wanted to stand out.
She walked up the other way, toward Veronica’s café. In this upper section of the village she found the same as in the lower: of the small percentage of houses which appeared occupied, none had any visible signs of Christmas. It was as though Emily had fallen asleep and woken up at the end of January. Only when she paused at a gateway to look at the lights of a neighbouring village across the valley, the Christmas garden displays of a couple of houses on the outskirts clearly visible even over the distance, did she realise that Cottonwood had become an almost Dickensian Christmas black spot.
‘Pretty, aren’t they?’ came a nearby voice, startling her. Emily gave a little gasp of surprise as she turned to find a middle-aged woman in a jacket and beanie hat standing just a few steps away, her face mostly in shadows cast by the streetlight behind her. In her hands she held a lead, with a little Dachshund snuffling in the grass at the other end.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘It’s all right. I was miles away.’
The woman laughed. ‘Wouldn’t most of us be, if we could? Sorry, I’m Kelly. Kelly Chambers. I don’t believe we’ve met?’
‘Emily Wilson.’
‘Ah, I thought so. You’re renting one of the lets on the square? You’ll probably recognise me better as Peter’s mum.’
‘Oh, right. You have a lovely lad. He helped me carry some boxes earlier.’
Kelly laughed. ‘Oh, he’s a love. Always helps me out in the shop. Good as gold. I wish he’d smile a bit more often. He’s into all this heavy metal and all that. Seems like being sullen is a pre-requisite.’
‘He told me a little about Cottonwood.’
‘Yes, he told me he mentioned a few things to you. News travels fast, if you know what I mean. I hear you’re almost local anyway?’
‘I’m from Birchtide. My grandmother ran Elaine’s Teahouse. She passed away in October, and I suppose I’m going through a period of not knowing what to do with everything.’
‘It must be tough.’
Emily nodded. ‘Tougher than I’d expected. I keep thinking I’ll just wake up one morning and everything will have sorted itself out, but it doesn’t work like that, does it?’
Kelly shook her head. ‘You just have to give it time. Is that why you came here? To get away from things a bit?’
Emily thought about the letter inside her coat. She wasn’t yet ready to tell anyone about it, so she just shrugged. ‘That’s right. Change everything around for a while, but still be within a quick drive of home if I need to rush back.’
‘Makes sense. Cottonwood isn’t the most lively of places, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.’
Even though they were clearly alone, the stillness of the air made Emily want to lower her voice. She leaned a little closer as she said, ‘Is it true that you’re not allowed to have Christmas trees?’
Kelly sighed. ‘You’ve picked up on the rules then? You’re allowed a tree, you’re just not supposed to put lights on it. The parish council actually voted on it. Only later did we all find out that nine of the ten council members don’t even live here for more than a month a year, and the chairman is holed up in his gloomy mansion at the end of the village, miles away from everyone else.’
‘Can’t you all just ignore it?’
Kelly shrugged. ‘There aren’t enough strong personalities around to stand up to it. No one wants to risk any petty retribution. It came into effect two years ago. Three people said screw it, and put trees up with all the usual lights, just to annoy the lord in his manor over there. One of them ended up with a potato stuffed in his car exhaust. The second was Alan, over at Rowe Farm. For the next month his gates were mysteriously opening by themselves, and his livestock kept getting out. And the third had her suppliers all cancelled after they all received a mysterious letter informing them of the business’s closure.’
‘You?’
Kelly nodded. ‘Yep. I put up a tree inside the store. We were closed over the Christmas period, but when we reopened, none of my deliveries showed up. It took a couple of weeks of phone calls and explaining to sort it all out. By then I’d lost several regular customers who had specific orders. Round here, you have to keep the locals sweet. They’re your bread and butter.’
‘My grandmother would have agreed with that.’
‘And once they’re gone, it’s a nightmare trying to bring them back.’
‘So you think this Trower guy was behind it?’
‘Oh, so you’ve heard about him, have you? No one likes to say his name, because it feels like he’s always listening.’
‘I found out a couple of hours ago that I was renting from him. Having met him, I find it hard to believe. I mean, he’s so….’
‘Handsome?’ Kelly grinned. ‘Oh, gosh, has he been the fantasy at some point for every local girl over the age of fifteen. He looks like he’s stepped out of a fashion catalogue, doesn’t he?’
Emily felt like an idiot as she said, ‘I couldn’t look away. Even though he came across as kind of a git, it only made it worse.’
‘With his looks, he should be grinning from ear to ear all day long,’ Kelly said. ‘He’s loaded, too. His family was already pretty well off, but he went to America, worked in the music business, and came out on top. He had the world at his feet, but for some reason he decided to come back here, hide away in that big old house and buy up everything that came on the market.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Didn’t you know? He’s the biggest landowner round here. He owns seven houses in the village, and they’re all empty most of the year. He lets them in the summer months, but the rest of the year they’re vacant.’
‘He said something about forgetting to take mine off the market.’
‘That would make sense. It feels like he’s squeezing the life out of Cottonwood. Quite a few locals want to leave, but they’re not prepared to sell their houses to Nathaniel Trower.’
‘Couldn’t they make it an exclusion of some kind?’
‘Some tried. Once he offered forty percent over the asking price, and the chap couldn’t say no. Another place was bought by a company, which turned out to be Trower under an alias. He’s a sneaky one. Being chairman of the parish council, he has his fingers in the pocket of the County Council too. When public land gets sold off, he’s the first in there. He bought a couple of old bridleways without the sales even going public. Caused terrible trouble for poor Alan Rowe. Made him relocate a couple of field gates for his cows. Alan wanted to go to court to fight for access, but he doesn’t have the time or money to dispute it.’
Emily thought about the kind farmer and how welcome she had felt in his home. The thought of someone doing something so unkind to such a nice man, particularly one forced by unfortunate circumstances to bring up two children on his own, made her feel a knot of anger in her stomach.
‘That’s awful.’
Kelly nodded. ‘But the worst for the rest of us is what happened to the village green. It used to be public land. Then, two years ago, the County Council decided to sell it off. Trower bought it before anyone knew it was on the market. The very first thing he did was cancel our yearly Christmas carnival.’