Being woken at 7am and told she had to get up to help the village wasn’t Fran’s idea of the perfect Saturday morning. Especially not after the journey she’d endured last night, including a broken-down car and a spluttering friendship. Apparently, a siren call had gone out across Mistletoe this morning by text. Like it or not, Fran was part of the village now. She checked in the mirror, wiped the sleep from her eyes and splashed her face. Did she need to apply make-up? Who for? She didn’t even know these people.
But she knew Ruby.
Fran pushed that thought to one side and trundled down the stairs, where her dads already had their coats, hats, scarves and boots on. They were Mistletoe-ready.
It was only now she did a thorough inspection of the hallway she took in just how all-in Dad and Pop had gone on the Christmas decorations.
Back in Surrey, they’d been far more reserved. The one thing her parents always made sure they had was mistletoe. Her dads had a thing for mistletoe. It was how they’d got together one snowy night in Soho some 40 years ago. They’d been inseparable ever since. Hence, when they’d seen a village in Suffolk named Mistletoe, it had seemed like destiny. Resistance was futile.
Now, Fran took in the Christmas cards on strings and the tinsel on door frames. The fake snow on the window panes. She’d even spied Christmas tea towels hanging from the AGA last night. They hadn’t even bought a tree or really got started yet. She blinked, gave them both a good-morning kiss on the cheek, then shrugged on her too-thin coat and inappropriate shoes. The clock had barely scraped past 7.30am when they opened the front door. There hadn’t even been time for a cuppa.
When Fran walked out, the crisp, dazzling stillness tickled her cheeks and stole her breath. There was something to be said for being out this early. The holly bush had a brilliant snow jacket. The fir tree was majestic. The rest of the plants sported a snow trim. When Fran stepped onto the garden path — which Pop had semi-cleared — the thin layer of snow crunched underfoot. The best part of any snowfall was being the first one to tread in it. It never happened in London. It hardly ever happened in Surrey. But in Mistletoe? She could roll around to her heart’s content and still have fields and fields of snow to go.
“Wow. I feel like I’m inside a Christmas card.”
Dad nodded. “Isn’t it magical? This is why we moved to Mistletoe.”
Fran couldn’t argue with that.
“We’ve done some fabulous bike rides around these roads and trails, too,” Pop added.
“No doing that in this weather.” When she heard the words, Fran rolled her eyes at herself. When had their roles of parent and child begun to shift?
“Yes, Mum.” Pop gave her a wink.
They walked to Mistletoe Stores, the air so fresh Fran wanted to bottle it. She could make a mint selling it in London. They were silent, and the only noise was occasional bird song. Fran made sure her steps were small and heavy as her shoes had no grip. She’d seen what happened with Ruby last night, so she was taking no chances.
Signs along Farm Lane directed people to Mistletoe Christmas Tree Farm and the Christmas Tree Contest and Treasure Hunt. There was also a massive sign at the junction with Mistletoe Stores. Tall, elaborately decorated trees lined the route. Fran hadn’t noticed them last night, in the snowstorm — she’d had other things on her mind. Now, she had no idea how she’d missed them.
When they arrived at Mistletoe Stores, they walked around a massive tree adorned with everything Elvis. It even had a sparkly jacket and a quiff. Fran wanted to stop and stare. Get her phone out and instantly Instagram it. However, everyone else took this tree in their stride, as if it happened all the time. Perhaps it did in Mistletoe.
She and her parents headed to The Bar. Outside the back door, a row of shovels were propped against the wall. Somebody had already been busy. When she walked in, Fran blinked again. The Bar was absolutely packed. She hadn’t expected that.
There was barely space for them to squeeze in, but the villagers made room, slapping Michael and Dale on the back. The low hum of the coffee machine working overtime mixed with the chatter of the locals filled the air, along with the smell of freshly roasted beans. What Fran would give for a coffee. However, to get there, she’d have to hurdle at least 30 people. She didn’t want to come across as a pushy Londoner.
Fran spotted Mary and Paul behind the bar, along with Victoria and Eric who were doling out the drinks. Scott and Ruby were at the other end of the bar, giving out mince pies and chatting with Sue and Penny. At the sight of Ruby, Fran inhaled a long breath. Ruby was deep in conversation, her face animated and alive. She looked happy. Fran hoped she’d get that version of Ruby today, rather than the spiky one. That they could get over last night and be civil to each other.
Mary checked her watch, then clapped her hands. Silence descended on the bar.
“Thanks everyone for coming at such short notice, and for being such phone addicts that you had them on in the first place!”
Chuckles from the audience.
“Also, thanks to OnePhone for providing service that can survive a snow storm. Remember that year we had to go door to door, knocking everybody up by hand?”
“Yes!” came the chorus from the front of the bar, followed by laughter around the room.
“Anyway,” Mary continued, rubbing her hands through her short hair. It stuck up at all angles. “The village is looking picture-perfect this morning after all the snowfall overnight. But as you also know, picture-perfect means headaches for us. Especially this weekend for the Christmas Tree Contest and Treasure Hunt.”
“Headaches for us all!” shouted Audrey. “How am I meant to get over to the supermarket to get my shop when I can’t get the car out?”
Audrey was wearing what Fran could only describe as an artist’s smock. It seemed wildly inappropriate for the weather. But then, Audrey was wildly inappropriate, so perhaps it suited her.
“You could always just buy from us at Mistletoe Stores,” Eric said.
“When you start stocking my chorizo, passata and all the other goodies I get from Aldi, we’ll talk.”
Mary clapped her hands. “We don’t have a lot of time, so if I could bring your attention back to the matter at hand. I’ve spoken to the council, and the gritters are already on the case making all the roads passable up to Mistletoe perimeter. I’ve got a cast-iron guarantee on that. I told them we can take the rest.”
She paused. “As most of you know, our job today — as it has been every year when this has happened — is to make sure the pavements are passable, the farm is safe, and the Christmas trees scattered all over the village that are taking part in the competition are de-snowed, their themes visible. People will still come if they can drive their cars here, park it somewhere free of ice, walk on pavements that aren’t skating rinks and most importantly, so long as they can see the trees to judge them.
“The forecast is good, there’s no more snow, so let’s give this a positive slant. The snow couldn’t have come at a better time to make Mistletoe as Instagrammable as possible. Well, perhaps a day or two earlier, but let’s not split hairs.” Mary grinned. “The village is going to look gorgeous with your help. If we can all pitch in this morning, visitors will rave about our little hamlet, then come back next year. Pavements and trees are the priority. Everybody ready to ensure Mistletoe is open for business?”
The whole bar erupted into applause and whistles. Fran joined in the clapping, somewhat bemused.
“Order! Order!” shouted Paul, as if he was the Speaker in the House of Commons. “See Eric and Victoria over here for the duties we’ve assigned you. If you have a problem, speak to them, but hopefully everyone will be happy. Over 70s, you won’t be shovelling snow, that much we can promise. Not after Norman’s back went three years ago.”
“I can shovel! I’m fit as a fiddle!” Norman shouted. He stood to demonstrate the point, waving his walking stick in the air.
Everyone ignored him.
“Tea, coffee and mince pies are on tap here to everyone helping. Take one before you go or come back afterwards.”
Fran stood at the back as the crowd chatter filled the room once more. There was a swell to the front to get coffee and duties, then a slow dispersal as the villagers marched out, mission in hand.
Ruby’s brother Scott bustled up, slapping Dad and Pop on the back. “Michael, Dale. You’re both fit and able. I’ve put you two on snow-shovelling duty on the main road into town. You and six others. You should get it done in an hour or so, with luck. Shovels are stacked up outside. That okay?”
Both her dads nodded, puffing out their chests.
Fran suppressed a laugh. Her dads were fit, even though they were both in their mid-60s.
“As for you, Fran. I thought the best thing would be to team up with Ruby to get the farm gritted and the Christmas trees around it set for the treasure hunt and judging.” He turned around, just as Ruby approached. “Here she is! I’ve given you Fran to help out. That okay?”
Ruby sucked on her top lip, then nodded. “Of course, that’s great.” Her tone was flat.
So far, this morning was going about as bad as Fran could have wished. She’d been hoping for a lie-in, followed by one of Pop’s famous fry-ups. Then perhaps a spot of Saturday Morning Kitchen on the telly, where she could watch people cook food she would never recreate because she didn’t have the time or the inclination.
Instead, here she was.
With Ruby.
Again.
It seemed like their lives were being thrown together whether they liked it or not.
Outside Mistletoe Stores, the snow was already grey and sludge-like from the early morning foot-traffic. Fran and Ruby set off down the road back towards the farm. A home they shared. Sort of.
“Seems like everyone’s quite excited about this. They like being woken up early and giving up their Saturday.” Fran was still a mix of perplexed and impressed.
Ruby shrugged. “Community is important around here. The village is important. It’s one of the reasons I like to come home at this time of year, to feel that. It’s why I value community in my music. It’s not all about money for me.”
Another dig at Fran. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”
Ruby shook her head, then stopped walking. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her thick coat, glancing Fran’s way. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. I was tired and hungry, but that’s no excuse for tarring everyone with the same brush. It was unfair. Not all music execs are born the same, I know that. I wouldn’t have liked it if you’d done it the other way around, but you didn’t. I apologise.” She stared at Fran.
Fran took a deep breath. “I apologise if I overstepped the mark, too.”
Ruby shook her head. “I deserved it. Can we start again?”
Hadn’t they started again a few times already, yet they always seemed to end up back where they started?
However, when Ruby’s green gaze snagged Fran’s, her doubts disappeared. Maybe they could. They should at least try. For the village’s sake, if nothing else.
She nodded. “Let’s put it all behind us. Clean slate. You’ve got yourself a deal.”