When they arrived at the farm, Ruby led Fran past the main house and down to the large courtyard behind. There was a wooden stage in the middle that Ruby had avoided singing on ever since Scott and her dad built it seven years ago. Firepits and picnic tables were dotted around the space, and a decorated Christmas tree studded each corner.
Flanking the courtyard stood three stone outbuildings that had been painstakingly renovated by her parents over the years. They now housed a cafe, a gallery that exhibited local art, and the all-important Christmas shop.
Apart from everything being covered in snow, the farm was ready for today. The four Christmas trees were the first they had to de-snow, so the contest could go ahead.
Three villagers — Roger, Betty and Joyce — were waiting at the nearest barn door. Ruby greeted them, gave them a bunch of keys, and they left.
“They’re gritting the car park, then getting the café and food ready for later on.” Ruby waved a hand around the courtyard. “These four trees are in the contest. There are 38 trees scattered about the village, decorated and ready for judging. It’s the most we’ve ever had in one year.”
Fran was standing next to one of the courtyard trees, sniffing one of its branches. “It smells like Christmas.” She spread her arms wide. “It’s making me feel all warm inside, even though I’m bloody freezing.” Fran shook the tree. Snow cascaded onto her. She scrunched her face and blew it off.
Ruby could do nothing but laugh. “You need a thicker coat before you do that again.”
Fran wrapped her arms around her torso. “Tell me something I don’t know.” She stared up at the tree. “The theme for this one is Scotland?” The tree was wearing a kilt with a tartan hat on top, and had an inflatable bottle of Glenfiddich in its branches. Heather peaked out of its pines, too, and a laminated life-size bust of Rod Stewart hung from its right side, a scaled-down Nicola Sturgeon stared from its left.
Ruby nodded. “Well done.”
“I saw the tree at Mistletoe Stores. That’s my favourite so far.”
Ruby grinned. “Victoria is responsible for the Elvis tree. But it can’t win, seeing as we’re running the contest. Victoria’s still pissed.”
“I would be, too. But I can already see there’s stiff competition. Who knew a Christmas tree could be Elvis?”
They crossed the courtyard side by side.
“How does the contest work?”
“Local businesses, charities, and families pay to enter their trees into the contest. They get a pot and a location. They buy a tree from our farm, plant it, decorate it with a theme, then write the theme on a card under their tree.”
Ruby pushed open the tall Christmas Shop door and invited Fran in. “Then people pay to buy a Treasure Hunt map from the store and the challenge is to hunt down all the trees in the village and surrounding roads, write down each tree’s theme, then pick your top three.”
Ruby was so used to the wealth of festive paraphernalia on offer inside, she didn’t even pause as she entered.
But Fran did. “Blimey. It’s like someone vomited Christmas in here.” She stamped her feet.
Ruby glanced down: she bet Fran’s toes were numb. “That won’t be our new slogan in case you were wondering.”
However, Fran was right: this shop was a love letter to Christmas. The farm was competing with local garden centres, so it had to be. Festive-themed soft toys, tree ornaments and baubles in all shapes and colours stood to Ruby’s right, along with tinsel, tree beads, and tree-toppers. To her left were the greener options, including wreaths, poinsettias and a vast range of festive plants. The back wall was full of chocolates and confectionery, along with stocking fillers as far as the eye could see. If you wanted a Christmas tea towel, mug, wine glass or tin opener, you were in the right place.
Ruby walked over to the till area, leaned down and grabbed a wedge of paper. “These are the Treasure Hunt guides, listing the locations of every tree in the village. A committee makes up 50 per cent of the judging — basically, our family, as we run it — and then everyone who pays for a treasure hunt gets to judge the entries, too. The judging takes place over today and tomorrow, then we announce the winner on Sunday at 4pm. All the money collected from the entries and the treasure hunt goes to charity, and the top three winners get prizes donated by local businesses.”
Fran shook her head. “I absolutely love that, it’s so creative.”
“It is. I love coming back for it every year. Scott’s trying to get digital ads up and running for the farm as well, and it’s working. But the contest and treasure hunt drive people to the village, get them to the farm and hopefully they then spend money and buy trees.”
“Who came up with the idea of the contest in the first place?”
“Mum and Dad did when the business needed a boost after big shops started selling Christmas trees. We’re not all country bumpkins selling eggs from the side of the road.” Ruby banged her hands together. “Ready to do the treasure hunt before anyone else and de-snow some trees?”
“Can we get coffee first? It’s still early and fucking cold, and I didn’t get one in the stampede at The Bar.” Fran walked up to the large rack of Christmas crackers by the door. She picked up a box. “Also, I like these.”
Ruby walked up beside her.
Fran turned and their gazes met.
Ruby shivered, even though she wasn’t cold. The blue of Fran’s eyes seemed richer than before. Her skin glowed. Ruby couldn’t quite make sense of the way her heart began to thud in her chest. She focused on the crackers, not the fact that she was going crackers.
“Mum and Dad have been making them for the past month. It’s their big hope for this year. They’re pretty cool, and the presents inside are actually things you might want. You should see the spare room, it’s stacked with them.”
“They should stock them in Harrods, they’d make a killing. Double the price, too.”
Ruby laughed. “If you know a buyer for Harrods, do let me know. Mum and Dad would be well up for it.” She gave Fran a Treasure Hunt map. “Here you go — pirate treasure in tree form. We’ll call in at the cafe, grab a coffee, grit the yard and surrounding paths, then tackle the trees. Ready?”
Fran stamped her feet and shivered. “Ready.”
But Ruby shook her head, then frowned. “You know what we have to do before we do anything else? Get you a proper coat and boots so you don’t freeze to death today. Fashion shoes and your thin jacket won’t do. It’s a criminal offence not to have the correct footwear and jacket in Mistletoe. Even when the rest of the country has no snow, Mistletoe is often the blind spot.”
“Next you’ll be telling me Santa makes a special stop on his sleigh here, too.”
Ruby gave her an exaggerated shrug. “This is where he refuels, of course.” She leaned in. “He even gets his tree from Mistletoe Farm. We give him a discount, naturally. We’re not mercenaries.” She tilted her head towards the house, her eyes stuck on Fran. “Enough chat. Let me give you some proper boots, at least. What size are you?”
“Six,” Fran replied.
“Perfect. Mum has boots for every occasion, and she’s a six. She also probably has a spare coat, too. You’ll thank me later.”