Chapter 2
TWO
‘What the hell, Nana? This is bloody huge. What are we going to do with it!’ I’m outside my Nana’s small maisonette in a mews in the corner of west London staring at the Christmas tree in front of me.
I’m about five foot six and this thing is twice my height, so basically, my nana has bought herself a tree over ten feet tall.
It’s illuminated by the glow of the streetlights as a winter mist descends on the day.
‘Please don’t tell me you dragged this back from the market on your own? ’ I ask as she stands there giggling.
‘Of course not, you daft cow,’ she says.
‘Did you steal it?’ I ask her. This is the sort of tree they erect outside shopping centres and drape in lights to please the shoppers and create a vibe.
She doubles over laughing, in her brightly checked wool coat and fluffy lilac hat. On her feet are the New Balance I bought her, because I told her she’s getting old and I can’t have her shuffling around in glorified slippers, not on these cobbles. ‘Do you have a saw?’ she asks.
‘Yeah, I carry a saw around in my backpack most days.’ I live in a house share in Brixton. We barely have enough forks to get us through the day, let alone working tools. I look up at the tree again, amazed at the sheer ridiculousness of it. ‘Have you asked your neighbours?’
‘Not yet. I called you first to have a look because, you’ve got to admit, it is funny. Plus, your phone is better than mine, so you can take pictures and we can put them on the Facebook.’
She stands next to it, working out how to pose. To get the right perspective and both of us in frame, I’d have to either lie on the floor or stand at the end of the road.
‘Pull it down and we’ll get a picture of me sat on the top as the fairy,’ she jokes.
‘You’d get pine needles up your minnie,’ I say, and she almost keels over laughing. ‘Pose next to it like a normal person.’
I’m unsure what pose Nana’s going for but she’s got a leg cocked up, embracing the tree like a koala, but with a face as if she’s presenting a gameshow prize. This picture is one hundred per cent going on our Christmas cards next year.
‘It’s your fault,’ she says, walking around the thing and admiring it.
‘My fault you’ve got a giant tree outside your tiny house?’ I joke.
‘You introduced me to that Facebook Marketplace.’ I did do that last year.
Nana got into Facebook as a way of keeping up with me and my travels after I left university.
She would like pictures and leave comments, usually reminding me to keep spare money in my bra.
Her world changed completely when I taught her about emojis.
‘Yeah, so you could get useful bits and bobs – jars and side tables,’ I say.
‘There was this fella giving away trees. With only a week to go until Christmas, he said they’d all go to waste otherwise,’ she says.
I take a moment to consider her reasoning.
People normally pick up furniture on there, old clothes, baby items. I scrunch my face up, throwing my head back to look at the size of this thing.
‘And you didn’t think to check the measurements?’ I say. ‘You always check the measurements.’
‘You know me, I don’t care for inches,’ she cackles.
I smile in return to see her so happy. ‘Some chancer giving away Christmas trees? You didn’t give him any money, did you? Your bank details?’ I say, wondering if my lovely trusting nana has been scammed.
‘Nah, he said it was his business. Lovely looking boy. Strapping’s the word. Good old-fashioned hunk. I asked him if he was single and said I had a lovely granddaughter. You’d look good together.’
I shake my head in silent resignation. Nana got a free giant Christmas tree, perved over the delivery boy, and then tried to set him up with me.
Lovely. ‘But the strapping hunk dumped the tree here and didn’t think that maybe your little maisonette wouldn’t have the ceiling height for this?
You don’t know how wide it is. How are you going to see your telly through the branches? ’
‘He did say something but I told him I’d sort it out. I’ve got help,’ she says, unperturbed. ‘That would be you, by the way.’
‘Did the hunk have a name?’ I ask her.
‘You’re not going to call him up and tell him to take it back, are you?’ she asks, her eyes round and sad.
‘I want to check he’s kosher.’
‘He is. He had a van and everything. He let me hug him.’
‘Bet you enjoyed that,’ I say, cheekily.
She wriggles her shoulders at me, sticking out her tongue.
‘It’s big but isn’t it lovely?’ she says, trying to change the subject and peering up at her tree proudly.
I look up. There is something to be said for a tree of this stature and magnificence; it turns this cobbled walkway into Trafalgar Square.
How would you put lights on it though? I’d have to climb out the bathroom window and hang off the gables.
It smells nice too. Earthy and fresh, like Christmas.
I run my hand along a branch of waxy pine needles as Nana puts a number in front of me. ‘He said he worked on a farm.’
‘In London? That’s a great big scam if ever I saw it, the only time you see Christmas trees around here are in front of supermarkets and petrol forecourts.’ I dial the numbers on my phone and put it to my ear as it rings once before being answered.
‘Hello?’ The man’s tone is deep and gruff.
‘Hi, yeah… are you the man who just sold my grandmother a tree from Facebook Marketplace?’ There’s a silence on the end of the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘I sell a lot of Christmas trees. You’ll have to be more specific.’ I don’t care if this man is strapping or not, his surly tone makes me immediately dislike him.
‘Little old lady near Shepherd’s Bush. She said she hugged you?’
‘Oh yeah… Doris. I didn’t sell that one. It was donated.’
‘I know that, but you saw the size of her, the house… You didn’t think that maybe she’d need assistance? That maybe that tree wasn’t for her?’ I ask him.
‘She said she’d be OK. Said she had someone who would help. Are you having a go at me? It was free. That was an ￡200 tree.’
‘And she’s grateful for the gesture but—’
‘Look, it’s my busiest time of year. No offence, but that tree was given in goodwill,’ he returns defensively.
‘I know but she’s old. I wanted to make sure that you’re… kosher,’ I say.
There’s a pause. ‘In case I was a scamming thief looking to case your gran’s house and mug her?’
‘No but…’ I realise this man on the other end of the phone is not taking kindly to this phone call. ‘If it was your grandmother, you’d check.’
There’s a silence again. ‘Bloody wazzock…’
‘Excuse me?’ I say angrily though slightly amused by the insult.
‘Not you. I’m driving.’
‘You shouldn’t be talking to me then if you’re on a phone,’ I reply, sounding more prim than usual.
‘So now I’m a reckless driver as well as a scammer. Anything else?’
‘Well, I was just—’
‘Yeah, Merry Christmas to you too.’ And then the line goes dead.
I don’t care what the man looks like, that was just plain rudeness, free tree or not.
My brow furrowed, I look up to see Nana still looking up at her tree in wonderment, as if it’s the best thing she’s ever owned.
It’s the sort of look you want to bottle because it’s pure happiness.
‘Your Christmas-tree hunk was a little rude,’ I say.
‘He was lovely in person,’ she reminds me. I’m not sure why I’m having to tell my nana that looks don’t maketh the man.
‘You didn’t ask him if he had a saw when he was here?’ I ask her.
‘Yeah, I should have asked him, eh? Hello young man, show us your tool…’ she says in lusty tones.
I shake my head at her. ‘Won’t your neighbours get aggy?’
‘They won’t care! Him next door left a fridge outside his front door for a month,’ she says.
I look at her, grinning away. Only you, Nana.
She’s the sort who’d get a free Christmas tree on Facebook, who’d buy fifty packs of loo roll if it was on offer.
When my first book came out this year, she bought ten copies and asked me to sign them all.
She always carries one around in her handbag and tells everyone she meets about me.
‘And what happens when this thing moults? Your hoover won’t be able to cope,’ I say.
‘But it’ll be like waking up in a forest every day,’ she says, her eyes pleading, still hopeful there’s a chance we can get this thing through the front door. ‘I can be like Snow White.’
‘You got enough baubles?’ I ask.
‘I’ll go down the park and look for pinecones and berries. And Poundland will sort me out.’
I smile as I think of Nana down the park with a plastic bag, collecting pinecones. She’ll be a little woodland creature with a project. She’ll take pictures of that tree for me and send them all on WhatsApp because I’ve shown her how that works too.
‘Your ceiling is eight feet max. This is never going to work. Could we chop it into firewood?’ I ask.
She opens her mouth at me as though I’ve said something sacrilegious. ‘We can’t do that! It’s a Christmas tree.’
‘Why not? I don’t think there’s a superstition related to burning Christmas trees. We could take it down the allotments, compost it?’
She looks at me in horror that I would even be considering this. ‘Kay, every time a Christmas tree doesn’t reach its full potential, an elf dies,’ she says, making that myth up completely on the spot.
‘Do they now? Define full potential,’ I ask her.
‘They’ve got to wear all their decorations, be lit up and see people through the season. It’s their destiny.’
‘Or an elf dies?’ I say, eyebrow raised.
‘Yeah. They disappear into thin air in a cloud of glitter; it’s a terrible thing.’
I try not to laugh. ‘Has the cold got to you, Nana? Have you been at the Bailey’s again?
’ I say, biting my lip. I love the joy she’s getting from this, how it’s minus two out here – her breath is fogging the air and she’s jogging from side to side to keep warm – but she still wants to stay out here, with her tree.
I take off my gloves and slide them onto her hands.
I sigh and give Nana a hug, and she wraps both arms around me tightly.
‘You sent a pic to Mum and Dad yet?’ I ask.
‘I have. They told me I was mad and then they sent me a pic back of them lording it up in Australia. Sunshine and bare feet at Christmas, that don’t make any sense to me,’ she says, looking disgusted.
It’s one thing we agree on at least. Christmas should be cold, wintry, with snow, scarves and mulled drinks. Despite my mum’s insistence we go and visit them now they’ve emigrated, we both said it wouldn’t feel right at this time of year.
‘Don’t you have a tree already?’ I ask her.
‘It’s that fake one; it’s rubbish compared to this.’
‘Ah, but if you dump that one, won’t an elf die? What about all that destiny gubbins?’
‘Only counts for real trees,’ she says, winking.
The wink always gets me. It’s something she’s done since I was little to get me to join in with her secret plans.
Let’s have sweets when no one’s looking; let’s have secret chips on the way back from school; let’s sing along to Barry Manilow whilst we do the dishes.
It’s been a long day and I was hoping to snuggle in bed with a Christmas film when I get home, but I guess I’m now a lumberjack.
‘There’s that fella at the end of your street, the plumber?
I can knock on his door and check if he has a saw,’ I say.
She beams at me. ‘You’re so smart. That happens when you go to university, you know,’ she says proudly.
I laugh again. ‘Then maybe we can try and get some of this tree inside. Keep those elves alive.’
‘You’ve got a good heart, Kay Redman,’ she says, beaming. She does a little jig on the spot, excited to see my cynicism and practicality fade away. I’ve now been suckered in to helping her big Christmas tree dreams come true.
‘You, Doris Redman, are as mad as a Christmas hatter.’
‘It’s why you love me.’
She may be right.