Sebastian
A piercing scream wrenched me from sleep and I sat bolt upright in bed. Had I imagined that? Or had the Manor gone and got itself haunted since I was last here?
When the sounds of slammed doors and rumbled voices carried up the stairs, I knew something serious had happened. I pulled on some clothes and sped downstairs, hoping against hope that Granny hadn’t tried to put weight on that ankle and fallen.
I approached the huddle of people gathered at the reception desk. “What’s happened? Is Granny okay?”
“It’s the tree,” Peter said, turning and revealing Celia in the sea of worried faces. “It’s been pulled down. Probably by some Snowsville residents. I bet they’re fuming since we got the website back.”
“I can’t believe someone would do something so mean. On purpose,” Barbara said, shaking her head. “I’ve got people I considered friends in that village. Well, no more. And if they think I’m going to still visit the wool show in March, they’ve got another thing coming.”
Tempers were clearly frayed. Maybe it was the time of morning that had heightened everyone’s emotions, or maybe the villagers of Snowsville really had scuttled across the hill in the dead of night and dismantled the tree. It could be payback for me getting the website back, but I still found it hard to believe that Snowsville would want to succeed at Snowsly’s expense.
“We don’t know it was sabotage. It could have been the wind,” Celia said, her voice a little shaky. I had to fight an urge to reach for her—steady her, like she had me last night.
“Wind, my arse,” Peter continued, his hair sticking out on end. “Someone’s lifted the trunk of that tree out of the fixings—how is anyone’s guess. Who’s got access to the Manor CCTV? They might have caught the culprit.”
“I’ve already checked. The CCTV doesn’t cover it,” Barbara said.
“Shall we focus on trying to get the tree back up?” I suggested. Now I was up, I might as well get busy. Besides, it might help Celia’s mood if we tried to right things.
Celia had lost the positivity and determination I’d seen since I’d met her. She looked fragile. Almost broken. “We needed a crane to get it up and in place the first time,” she explained. “There’s no way we can get one at this short notice this time of the year. We’re going to have to do without the tree.”
“Where will we hang the annual Snowsly bauble?” Peter asked, as if the idea of going without a Christmas tree in the village was as ludicrous as wearing a dead fish on his head.
Celia’s mouth drew into a tight line. “I have no idea anymore.”
Discomfort lodged in my throat and I tried to swallow it down. I hadn’t known Celia long, but it was long enough to know the despair in her voice was out of character. There was bound to be a solution.
“Celia,” I said, pulling her round so she was facing me. I dipped down so she had to meet my eyes. “Now listen to me.” I checked my watch. It was just approaching six o’clock. Sweet baby Jesus, I’d forgotten how early this village liked to be up in the mornings. “We have an army of Snowsly residents to help and we are going to figure this out. You need to be sure of it. Then the rest of us can be sure of it. Everyone’s looking to you. You need to know that Snowsly is going to have the most successful, most joyous, most Christmassy Christmas of all time.”
She lifted her head and looked at me as if I might be able to help. This Christmas stuff was more important to her than just making sure the shopkeepers had an opportunity to meet their revenue targets. It was clearly deeply personal. I just didn’t know why. “You really think it’s possible?”
“I know it is. And so do you.”
She nodded her head. “I suppose. Worst-case scenario, we could always put the bauble on one of the beech trees around the green this year.”
“I like that idea,” Barbara said. “After all, they all have lights on as well.”
“It would be a good second option,” Celia said, her eyes brightening. She seemed to uncurl herself, brushing off the signs of despair. “Let’s see if Sebastian is right and we can, by some Christmas miracle, get the tree back into position.”
“That, I fear, is hopeless,” Peter replied. “We’d need a crane, and the trunk has split at the bottom.”
“Let’s survey the damage,” I said, not wanting Celia’s mood to sink back into the ground.
The four of us filed out, strode across to the center of the green, and arranged ourselves around the fallen tree. It was difficult to see how the tree had come out of the sunken metal holder that, by all accounts, had been specially made and buried deep in the ground.
“See,” Peter said. “The base is all misshapen. We can never fit it back in there, even if we could find a crane.”
Celia was studying the trunk. “We can saw the end off of it. Get rid of the split bit of the trunk.”
“But how will we get it back up?” Barbara asked, looking to Celia.
“I don’t know anyone with a crane,” Celia said. “But what if we attached a rope to Fred’s tractor and tried to pull it up and slide it into place? If we had enough people helping—guiding it and steadying it while it was being lifted—it might work.”
“Could work,” I said. I liked her creativity. She’d gone from hopeless to determined in just a few minutes, and now had a plan A and a plan B. I could use her back in the office. If half my staff were as creative and determined as Celia, we’d be smashing our targets and I’d be spending longer than Christmas in Barbados.
“It will work,” Celia nodded, her usual smile unfurling on her face. “Yes.” She pulled out her phone and started talking to someone—presumably Fred—about a tractor. “Right,” she said, stuffing the phone back into her pocket. “We need as many people on the green as possible by eight thirty. Fred is going to help.”
“What about ropes?” I asked.
“I’ve got some rope back in the garage,” Peter said. “I’ll need a hand with it though. It weighs a ton.”
“I’ll bring my wheelbarrow,” Celia said.
“I can do that,” I replied. If anyone back in London could see me here in Snowsly, they wouldn’t believe it. I’d gotten used to life in a penthouse, where I never felt the cold or saw the stars, and certainly never came across a wheelbarrow from one year’s end to the next. And now I was getting ready to resurrect a Christmas tree. I’d deny it if asked, but I might actually be enjoying myself a little more than I’d expected. That was the benefit of having exceedingly low expectations. I’d looked forward to being back in Snowsly over Christmas the same way I’d look forward to a root canal. It was a low bar.
Two hours, a tractor, thirty-five meters of rope and thirty residents of Snowsly later, the Snowsly Christmas tree slid back into place.
The frozen ground vibrated with jubilation. Celia turned to me and wrapped her arms around my waist. “We did it.”
I patted her on the back, partly taken aback by her show of affection and partly because her arms felt a little too good. “You did it.”
“Thank you for believing in me.”
“You’re more than capable of removing any obstacle in your way. I’m sure you’ll get your wish and make this the most perfect Christmas ever.”
She grinned. “Anything’s got to be better than last year.” She spun and pulled Peter into a hug before I could ask her to elaborate.
Anything’s got to be better than last year? I wanted to pull her back and get her to tell me what had happened. But she was already off, smiling and hugging and cheering with her neighbors and friends.
As victorious as Celia was in this moment, I couldn’t ignore the glimmer of sadness—or was it resignation?—I’d noticed in her eyes every time she talked about last Christmas. What exactly had happened? And how could I get someone so determined to put the past behind her to drag it all back into the present?