To Emily’s delight, when she emerged from the pub she found it had started to snow. Clouds had drifted in to fill the sky and as the sun dipped behind the hedgerows to the west the first flakes began to settle on the ground. Quickly returning to the holiday let—and making doubly sure that the doors and windows were locked this time—she set out again, a bag under one arm and a torch held in her free hand.
The road to Rowe Farm wasn’t nearly as imposing with a light to guide her, although to be fair she took the shorter route heading left around the church, rather than the right-hand fork which had taken her through forest. Twenty minutes after setting out, she turned into Alan’s driveway, finding a single outside light illuminating the farmyard.
Emily’s knock was answered by Lily, whose face lit up at the sight of her standing out in the dark with a box under her arm. She grabbed Emily’s torch hand and pulled her inside, barely giving Emily time to slip off her shoes.
John was in the living room, watching TV. He looked up, a sullen expression immediately clearing as he gave her a little wave, before vanishing as though he considered expressions of happiness an insult to his oncoming teenage years.
Alan, it seemed, was still out in the yard. Lily introduced Emily to an elderly lady called Mrs. Williams (‘please call me Barbara’), an old family friend who minded the children while Alan was still at work.
Barbara made Emily a cup of tea, but before Emily could explain why she had come, Lily had dragged her upstairs to play. For the next hour they dressed, fed, bathed, hospitalised and recuperated Lily’s farm animals, before a light knock on the bedroom door announced Alan’s return.
‘Barbara told me you were here,’ Alan said with a smile. ‘Lily, is it okay if I borrow Emily for a few minutes?’
‘Only if I can have her back later.’
Alan shrugged at Emily. ‘You’ll have to ask her nicely, won’t you?’ he told his daughter.
‘It would be my pleasure,’ Emily said. ‘I just need to talk to your dad first.’
‘Well, okay then.’ Lily let out an exaggerated sigh.
Downstairs, the tea Barbara had made had long gone cold, so Alan set the kettle boiling again then offered Emily a seat at the table. He had already showered and changed, she noticed, his hair and beard shining like a shampoo advert, a few spots of perspiration on his brow, and while she couldn’t be certain, it appeared he had even trimmed his beard back a little.
He pointed to the box. ‘Thank you so much for the treacle tart,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t help but take a little peek. It looks delicious.’
‘Just a little thank-you for helping me the other day.’
‘It was nothing. How has your stay been?’
Even had Emily not heard from Kelly about Trower’s alleged sabotage missions against those villagers who dared celebrate Christmas, she would still have felt comfortable telling Alan what had been going on. His demeanour had a certain warmth about it, a projection of safety. Whatever she told him would stay between them.
‘Not the best, to be honest,’ she said, then explained about finding the door open, before going on to say what had happened at Trower’s house.
‘I mean, I know he did it. He’s the only one likely to have a key unless he’s given one to the cleaner, and it was probably an attempt to punish me for putting the decorations up in the garden. Instead of going round and ranting at him, I wanted to see if I could get him to confess. But … nope. It’s like he has a real hatred for Christmas. I mean, I’ve only been here a few days, but everything else that’s going on seems like just foundations for this. For stopping people from enjoying Christmas.’
Alan nodded along with what she was saying, his fingers occasionally drumming on the tabletop. He handed her a cup of tea as she finished, then gave a long sigh.
‘You’re an astute one,’ he said. ‘You picked up in a couple of days what it took us months to figure out. It’s the reason he bought up all those properties, not to mention the village green.’
‘Do you have any idea why?’
Alan shook his head. ‘We were in school together, but he was three or four years below me, so I hardly knew him. I’d nod and say hello if I saw him about the village, but we didn’t hang out. He was a bit odd. Some of us used to wander about, getting into mischief, the usual kid stuff, but he would always stay at home. He was quiet, a bit aloof. Girls loved him, but he never seemed interested.’
‘It’s so strange. His reaction to my cake was pure disgust. I’ve never known anyone to outright hate Christmas.’
Alan shook his head. ‘I can’t give you an answer, I’m afraid. We used to be on the same school bus, but he always sat down the front on his own. I think there were Christmas parties at school, but I don’t recall if he was there, or what he did. He was never at the Christmas carnivals held on the green, but then he wasn’t part of my circle of friends, so I wouldn’t have hung out with him even if he was. He can’t have liked it though, or he wouldn’t have bought up the village green and shut down the event.’
Emily grimaced. ‘The thing is … he didn’t. Buy the green, I mean.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I wondered how he had managed to buy up public land so easily, so I made a few phone calls. It turns out that he hasn’t bought it at all. He’s spinning everyone in the village a complete line.’
Alan frowned. ‘But there was an official contract posted in the village hall. I’ve seen it.’
‘It’s not real. Neither are these so-called parish councillors. I looked them up online, or tried to. At least five of them don’t exist. A couple of others are just names of people who own properties in Cottonwood. I called two of them. They had no idea they were even on the parish council. Trower is playing the entire village for a fool.’
Alan tugged on his beard. ‘I feel so foolish … I remember we had a private meeting about the green in the pub a couple of weeks after that message was posted. Someone contacted the council about it and we were told there was nothing we could do.’
‘You were probably fed a lie in return for some backhander. Trower probably has a mate on the county council. Luckily, so do I, and I know without doubt that my contact is trustworthy because I’ve been dealing with him for years.’
Alan cocked his head. ‘Who exactly are you, Emily? You just appear out of nowhere with a mission to save Christmas for the residents of Cottonwood. Are you sure you’re not one of Trower’s other mates here to get our hopes up?’
Emily smiled. ‘I’m the granddaughter of a woman who knew business inside out,’ she said. ‘Unfortunately, as she got older, she was less able to handle everything, so much of it got passed on to me.’
Only as she said it did she realise how much it was true. She had always thought of herself as the elf to Elaine’s Father Christmas, busy and industrious but still little more than a shadow. Now, as she thought back over the last few years, she realised that Elaine had been grooming her, passing off her decades of knowledge piece by piece, preparing Emily for the time when her grandmother would no longer be around.
‘I think I’ll go and sharpen my pitchfork,’ Alan said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘For when we march on Trower’s castle to overthrow the local feudal lord.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting—’
Alan grinned. ‘I’m joking. However, while I agree with you that something has to be done, he’s got himself into this position in the first place because he has far more power here in Cottonwood than anyone else does. He’s a rich man, you know. And people with money tend to get what they want. Last time I stood up to him, a bunch of my gates got left open. He was in the clear because he was out of the village at the time, who knows where. Not to say he didn’t slip someone a few quid to do it, but stuff like that causes problems. A cow is worth several hundred pounds to me, and if one wanders out in front of a car, it’s my insurance that’s paying out. Inviting more misfortune on myself isn’t a risk I want to take.’
‘Alan—’
‘No.’ Alan shook his head. For the first time Emily sensed a simmering of anger beneath the calm surface of his face. ‘If you want to go riling up the village’s most powerful man, that’s fine, but don’t forget you don’t live round here. You get to walk away whenever you choose. You don’t have to deal with it.’
‘Can I show you something?’
Alan sighed. ‘Sure. What?’
Emily’s jacket was hanging from a hook in the hall. While Alan waited in the kitchen, she went to retrieve it, pulling the letter out of the inside pocket. She handed it to Alan, who frowned as he turned it over in his hands.
‘Where did you get this?’ he asked.
‘Would you believe me if I said Germany? Out of a hollow in an old oak tree?’
Alan looked up. ‘This writing … may I open it?’
‘Of course. This is why I came to Cottonwood. Sure, things haven’t gone as I’d expected, but that letter is the real reason why I’m here.’
Alan slipped the sheet of paper out of the envelope and read it. Still frowning, he reached up and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
‘You recognise the handwriting, don’t you?’
Alan nodded. He looked down at a notebook lying open on the table. Emily had seen it as soon as she had come in, reading enough of it to be sure. The composition half-finished on the left-hand page was titled “My Weekend Diary by John Rowe”.
‘The lad was calling for help,’ Alan said. ‘How he found out about this tree, I have no idea.’
‘A school project, perhaps? He probably read about it on the internet. It’s a unique way to ask, that’s for sure.’
Alan sighed and shook his head. Emily felt an overwhelming urge to give him a hug, but resisted. After a moment, Alan looked up at her and smiled. ‘Imagine sending a letter to a tree? He didn’t even ask his own father about it. What kind of person have I been to ignore the needs of my own son?’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Emily said. ‘But it’s about time things changed. The feudal lord in his castle isn’t just ruining Christmas for you and me. He’s ruining it for the kids. Sure, I don’t live around here, and it’s not really any of my business, but are you really going to let him get away with it?’