Chapter 11
ELEVEN
The one thing about London is that it is very green.
Unlike most cities, it is punctuated by beautiful parks, large spectacular trees and a winding river that’s like its spine.
I love walking through it at Christmas, taking in all the lights wrapped around every building, the inkiness of the sky, the puddles on the ground reflecting all that light and making everything glow amber, watching people wrapped up, scurrying across streets to get inside to the warmth of the buildings.
And then getting to the outskirts of the city on the Tube, to see more green spaces, more trees, the quiet night of the streets.
It is lovely but I am starting to get a little worried that Lucy gave me the wrong location here.
I’ve grabbed an Uber from the station and we’re driving into darkness.
This is when I find out she’s leading me to a warehouse rave on an industrial estate.
We drive down this winding road where the trees are a little taller, the shadows a little darker.
‘Are we sure it’s down here?’ I ask Egon, my Uber driver.
‘It’s what the map is saying, my love. I can turn around to the main town if you want,’ he says, a worried look in his eyes that I’m assuming the worst of him and where he may be taking me. Don’t worry, Egon. I’ve got my keys out ready to attack you if this is the case.
‘Well, maybe a bit further.’
However, the location then seems to jump out at us from the darkness. A carved wooden sign is lit by fairy lights to mark the entrance, and long lines of wooden fenceposts show rows and rows of Christmas trees, all illuminated, standing there proudly. I read the sign: The North Christmas Tree Farm.
Egon rolls the car to a stop at the top of the driveway and looks up at the lights, his mouth agape. ‘This is like the movies. I thought they only had these sorts of places in America,’ he says, amazed. ‘I bought my Christmas tree from the back of a pub.’
I nod, equally amazed but also slightly worried why we’re here.
Lucy moonlights as a lumberjack? I can’t imagine her on a farm.
I don’t think we’re in the right place. Unless Lucy thought this was a joke.
I sit in the car and look out the slightly misted window, cars drive in and out of the entrance with trees squeezed into boots and strapped precariously to roof racks.
Then, out of nowhere, I see an elf running towards the car. Lucy? I open the car door and step out.
‘You found it!’ Poor Lucy. I made her dress up as a snowman and now she has gone full elf, from stripey tights to clog-style shoes with bells.
The bright-green dungaree dress is a little brief but she makes up for it with drawn-on freckles and a cute Robin Hood hat.
She wraps her arms around me. ‘Come and see my Christmas wood!’ she says, waving her arms in the air.
‘Lady, I don’t have the straps or the space to carry a Christmas tree,’ Egon shouts from the driver’s seat. He looks infinitely bemused by Lucy, as if he’s stumbled on an alternate Christmas reality.
‘It’s OK, Egon. It was a one-way trip,’ I say. ‘Thank you, five stars all day long!’ I must be tipsy.
He smiles. ‘Then I will leave you. Merry Christmas, ladies!’ His car pulls away as I stand there looking at the farm and at Lucy, who threads an arm through mine and leads me up to a series of log cabins in front of all the trees, their frames covered in baubles and ribbons.
It doesn’t seem real, it feels as if we’re in another country.
Around the cabins, a fake snow machine pumps out white foam everywhere to give the impression that it’s snowing.
‘Explain?’ I ask Lucy.
‘It’s a Christmas gig. People come here to buy their trees. I’m an elf to make it more sparkly and fun. I give out candy canes, pose for photos, entertain bored children. It pays well and I’ll get a free turkey from the farm shop. Mum is holding out for this turkey.’
I love how nothing phases her, how she juggles these numerous jobs that border on the ridiculous, but pay the bills.
She was in a bike accident a few years ago, one which could have very well ended her life, but she seems to have come out of it more determined, a bit more Lucy, which I never thought possible.
‘This place is…’ I start to say, looking around at the festive décor.
Lucy leans in. ‘You didn’t hear it from me but it’s overpriced.
People come for the experience, similar to picking pumpkins from a field rather than going to the supermarket.
It’s something to do, all that making memories shite,’ she says.
‘Oh my goodness, that’s the fanciest hot chocolate that I ever did see! ’
A family of four come out of the shop, all in matching Fair Isle. Mum carries a paper bag of cookies and decorations whilst the little ones cradle paper cups of hot chocolate with candy canes.
I look at Lucy who has gone from Christmas cynic to magical elf in a matter of seconds.
Give this girl an Oscar. I stand back for a moment as she stoops down.
‘It was so lovely to see you, come back soon!’ she says, and from nowhere she gets a handful of glitter and sprinkles it in the air.
I don’t know whether to laugh or be impressed as she poses for a photo and then waves them off as they go to their car, a Christmas tree tied to the roof rack.
‘Except don’t come back soon because why would you?
To buy another tree? Piss off home. It’s late and I want to get bladdered.
Wave with me, Kay!’ They all get in the car and drive away, and I’m not sure why but I wave too, much to the family’s confusion.
‘But seriously…’ I say, turning around and walking back towards the log cabin, ‘This place is pretty magical. Look at the snow! All of the lights!’ I’m mesmerised by the charm of it all. ‘It’s so earthy and green.’ I may spin at this point.
‘Crikey, how much have you had to drink?’ she giggles.
I reach down into a deep pocket in my coat and pull out the half-drunk bottle of Grey Goose.
It’s actually now more like two-thirds drunk as I had some sips on the Tube like a festive lush.
Lucy smiles at the bottle, leading me through one of the smaller cabins where another elf sits with a card machine, classical Christmas music being piped in behind him.
This elf seems to be a worker elf because he wears a North Face puffer coat and heavy-duty gloves.
‘Nate. Please tell me they were the last ones? Any others sneaking around?’
‘My sister told you that when we’re on the floor, you must call me by my elf name,’ he says dryly.
Lucy chuckles. ‘I am so sorry, Twinkle.’
He nods and I’m immediately taken with his humour. ‘Last ones, Sparkle. She was an influencer, she wanted to take a lot of videos and then bartered with my brother for a discount. He was not impressed.’
‘Is he ever? This is Kay. I’m giving her a tour and then I’m headed out.’
‘Is she buying?’ Nate asks.
‘No,’ I say hesitantly, but he looks immediately relieved, turning off the music and shutting up his cabin.
‘If my brother comes looking then I’m in the shop, defrosting my baubles,’ he says.
We both laugh, watching him march away as Lucy ushers me into the farm.
There is really something lovely about it, how we’re on the outskirts of the city so the sky is a bit clearer, and the stars shine that bit brighter.
By this cabin, some trees have already been cut down and wrapped with beautiful tags that say take me home now in calligraphy font.
‘They’re a bit forward, but OK then,’ I say, reading all the tags.
I turn to see Lucy laugh and take a sneaky sip of the vodka before she passes it back to me so I can have a swig.
I was warmly drunk in the museum before but now I’m verging on that sort of drunk where I think I could run home in heels but also devour a whole plate of chips with garlic mayonnaise, damn the consequences.
Beyond the cabin is a field, beautifully lit up with lanterns and light-filled trellises.
The Christmas trees stand in rows in an almost military fashion; their shadows look as if they’re wearing billowing skirts, waiting to dance.
I bite my lip as I take it all in, amazed at how lovely it is.
‘So if I wanted a tree, I have to saw my own down?’ I ask Lucy.
We walk to the edge of the field and take a seat on a large hay bale.
Lucy says, ‘No, it’s family run and there’s a brother or cousin who runs out and does that.
They let people hold the saw for photos but when they used to allow people to fell the trees themselves, they got hurt.
There’s a story that a granny got crushed and they had to pick pine needles out of her chin. ’
I shouldn’t laugh but I do because I’m drunk. I stretch my arms to the sky and get up from my hay bale, having a sway to the Christmas music in the background. Lucy looks on, smiling. ‘You look happy but I want to ask why your evening ended so early.’ She has another shot of vodka.
I puff out my cheeks. ‘I got my lip stuck to an ice sculpture.’
‘OK, so you had to leave?’
‘No, I probably would have got thrown out for snogging the ice sculpture and not using the shot glasses like a sensible human being. But it was a very high-end, snooty party. Lots of bellends. I felt out of place.’
‘Look at you keeping the insults seasonal,’ she says.
I curtsey at the compliment.
‘Where was it?’
‘Natural History Museum.’
‘Fancy. And Nick?’
I pause for a moment and look out into the night sky, watching the flashing lights of a plane overhead and a crescent of silver moon hanging there.
‘He kind of abandoned me. It was a work social and he disappeared for an hour. I don’t think he meant to, but it was a bit…
tedious, and for a work party you would have thought there’d be… ’