Four months later.
“Why are there pumpkins everywhere?” Ruby sat at the farmhouse kitchen table. “We’re a Christmas tree farm, not a pumpkin patch.” Fat orange squashes lined the wide kitchen counter, while others sat in straw-lined baskets on the floor.
Her mum leaned against the butler sink and patted the closest one. “We’re selling pumpkins, like last year. Your brother ran out of room in the greenhouses, so he brought some up here to keep warm. It got frosty overnight. He takes them back to their friends in the morning.” She grinned like that was completely normal.
“Frosty in September?”
Her mum’s eyes widened. “This is Suffolk, remember? It’s not all hot and crammed in like London.”
“Scott’s done a great job with the pumpkin harvest.” Sat opposite, her dad rubbed his hands together. “He’s grown double what he did last year and I still think we’ll sell out at Halloween.”
Her mum pulled out a chair and sat next to her dad. “Plus, it brings people here and gets them thinking about buying a Christmas tree from us come December.”
The kitchen smelled amazing, with sausage rolls and scones baking in the AGA cooker, and a tray of home-made ginger-and-vanilla biscuits already cooling on the kitchen table. Ruby’s stomach rumbled as she looked at them. She needed a cuppa to go with them.
“Not just a tree, though.” Her dad gave her a wink, pointing a finger in Ruby’s direction. “Are you ready for our nailed-on money-making extra?”
Her parents had tried a multitude of ideas before, and even though none had made them their fortune, they were never fazed. Mistletoe advent calendars, gourmet marshmallows and home-made soaps, to name a few. She remembered the year they’d made multi-coloured fudge, and Ruby hadn’t been able to get the stain off her hands for weeks. She readied her face so she was prepared for this year’s golden ticket.
Her dad drummed his fingers on the table. “This year, we’re also offering home-made Christmas crackers!”
He tilted his bald head and fixed Ruby with the same green stare as her own. Ruby had inherited her height and her eyes from her dad. From her mum, she’d got a singing voice, a love of bananas, and her distinctive shade of red-brown hair.
“What do you think, Rubytubes? Home-made crackers? Or are we crackers?”
Ruby snorted. “You have to be crackers to run a Christmas tree farm.” However, this idea wasn’t too bad. “So long as you make the jokes bad and the presents unique, you might have a winner. Everyone needs trees and crackers, right? You just need to get people here and give them a festive experience they won’t forget.”
Ruby pushed her chair back, and the noise on the stone floor made them all wince. “Sorry!” She walked to the counter and filled the kettle, then flicked it on. “Have you got enough time to do the crackers, though?” She put a hand on her hip and turned to her parents, logistics turning in her brain. “It’s only six weeks until the farm goes into overdrive.”
Dad nodded. “We reckon so, don’t we, Mary?”
Her mum nodded, nabbing a biscuit from the wire rack. She finished crunching before she answered. “We do. We talked about it with Scott and Victoria, and they’re both up for helping. As is Eric, too.”
The whole family roped in. Ruby could just imagine how much they’d love that. Should she offer to help? She wrestled with her conscience, but she couldn’t spare the time. She had too much work on. Plus, she was still coming back to help out in December.
“And before you offer to pitch in, don’t even think about it.”
Ruby frowned as she got the mugs and made the tea. Had her dad developed mind-reading abilities? She put the tea on the table.
Her mum stood and put an arm around her. “In fact, we were going to tell you not to worry about coming back for the festive period this year. Your career’s important, and you’ve put your life on hold every December for long enough. Things are getting back on an even keel, especially now the pumpkins are pitching in with the trees. This year, we want you to put yourself first.”
Ruby bit her lip. She’d love to have December all to herself. To do some festive gigs. Fit in more private clients. But not quite yet. Her family still needed her, and she still wanted to be with them, too.
“Your mum’s right,” her dad added, glancing her way. “Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm is our responsibility, and when we need family help, we’ll ask Scott and Victoria. You have a life elsewhere and we want you to enjoy that.”
Ruby rested her head on her mum’s shoulder and sighed. “I know that. But I like coming back for the whole of December. It wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t. I love working at the farm.” She wasn’t lying. But it did put a strain on her every year.
“We’re not saying don’t come home. But we can hire extra help if you need to be elsewhere.” Her mum kissed the top of Ruby’s head and squeezed her waist. “Just think about it, okay? You could simply come home for Christmas like normal people.”
Ruby laughed, straightening up. “We’ve never been normal people. But I’ll think about it. I’m still coming back this December, but maybe next year might be different? Let’s see what happens.” It would mean she could really focus on her career and push things forward. Which was all kinds of scary.
Her dad nodded. “We just want you to have the best run at making it as a singer. The years slip by so quickly. We don’t want to stop you fulfilling your dreams.”
Ruby shook her head, her heart warmed through. Her parents’ support and belief in her singing talent had never wavered. Even when Ruby had often felt like throwing in the towel herself. She leaned down and kissed her dad’s bald head. “I know that, and I appreciate it.”
Her dad grinned up at her. “Don’t go getting all sappy, I have enough of that from your mother.”
Ruby and her mum guffawed. They both knew her dad was the sappiest of them all.
They all sat and sipped their tea. Ruby grabbed a biscuit, too. When she tasted it, she closed her eyes. Her mum’s baking was always divine.
Chipper, their golden Labrador, stuck his head up from under the table. His sixth sense that food was on offer was notorious. He put his soft head between Ruby’s legs and she ruffled him under his ears, just the way he liked it.
“I love you Chipper, but you’re not getting a crumb of this biscuit,” Ruby told him.
“Besides making home-made crackers—”
“Call them artisan,” Ruby interrupted.
Mum frowned. “Arty-what-now?”
Chipper barked as Ruby stopped petting him. She began again.
He dribbled on her thigh as a thank you.
“Artisan. It’s the new way of saying home-made. Sounds posher. You can charge more.”
Ruby had Mum’s attention now. Mum grabbed her phone and made a note. “Good job you live in London and know these things, isn’t it, Paul?”
Dad nodded. “We’d have no idea, that’s for sure. Although maybe Michael and Dale might.”
“Anyway,” Mum interrupted. She gave Dad a stern look. “Besides artisan crackers, the other big news in the village is that the new owners of Hollybush Cottage have finally moved in. They’re called Michael and Dale.”
Hollybush Cottage was next door to her parents’ farm. Sort of on it if you were going to be picky. When Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm had been going through a lean patch around ten years ago, Mum had the bright idea of portioning off a section of the land and renovating one of the outbuildings into a three-bedroom home.
“Are they nice?”
Mum nodded. “Very.” She leaned in closer. “And gay.” She whispered those two words as if Michael and Dale might hear if she spoke any louder.
Ruby smiled. Cool as her parents were, sometimes she forgot they still lived in sleepy Suffolk. Although having a lesbian daughter put them ahead of most. “It’s about time our little hamlet of Mistletoe had a bit of male gay in the mix, isn’t it? Sue and Penny will be pleased the spotlight’s off them.”
Chipper huffed at her.
Ruby ruffled his fur. “I know, you’re a gay male, I’m not leaving you out.”
Dad snorted. “I dunno. Sue and Penny revel in the spotlight. Their noses might be put out of joint now they’ve got competition.”
“Anyway, Michael and Dale are lovely; I met them the other day.” Mum brushed the front of her pale pink jumper. “Their daughter’s visiting from London, so I told them to come over for a glass of wine. I thought it’d be nice, as you’re here from London, too. Make her feel more at home.”
Ruby’s stomach dropped. She’d been looking forward to the opening night of Strictly Come Dancing and a glass of wine in front of the fire, not making small talk with strangers. Then she frowned. Did her mum have an ulterior motive? “Are you trying to set me up again? Apart from anything else, just because Michael and Dale are gay, it doesn’t mean their daughter is, too.”
“I know that!”
Mum sounded hurt. But Ruby would bet money that had been her logic.
“I just thought you’re both from London. They lived in Surrey before, so coming to Mistletoe is a bit of a change.”
“I’ll say.” Mistletoe wasn’t so much a Suffolk village, it was more a hamlet. It had a church, a Christmas tree farm, a shop, and a part-time bar. If you wanted a proper pub, you had to walk 20 minutes to the next village, Snowy Bottom.
Ruby checked her watch. “What time are they due? I have a couple of calls to make.” Even though she was home for the weekend, she still had work to do.
“After seven. Drinks and nibbles. Just to welcome them.”
Ruby glanced around the kitchen, with its peeling units and trusty AGA. ‘Lived-in’ was what some would call it. ‘Weathered’ was another term that could be applied. If this festive season was a success, maybe they could get a new kitchen. That was her mum’s dream.
“Why don’t we take the newbies to The Bar?” Ruby said. “That way, they can meet the whole village.”
Mum wiggled her nose. “They’re coming here first, but maybe afterwards if they want to. So long as it’s not too late.”
“Is Scott showing his face?” Ruby hadn’t seen her little brother since she arrived this morning.
“He might. We finished planting the younger trees this week, but he still had some photoshoot trees to ship today.” Dad pushed his metal-rimmed glasses up his face.
Ruby’s face dropped. “Has Nettie gone?”
Her mum shook her head. “Tuesday. You should go and say goodbye before she leaves.” Nettie was a statuesque 12-year-old Nordmann fir who was destined to be a photoshoot model this year.
“I’ll go give her a pat tomorrow.” What was it her parents had said about being unhinged? However, when you tended to a tree for a decade, you got attached. Nettie was a firm family favourite.
“I say let’s take the newbies to The Bar,” her dad agreed. “Then they can meet Victoria, Eric, and Scott, too. The entire O’Connell family.”
They had no idea what they were in for.