Chapter 20
Big, little, bushy? Cath was stood sizing up the fir trees before her.
She’d spotted a sign at one of the farms on the road to Kirkton last week.
She’d always loved a real tree at Christmas.
Though they dropped needles and were a devil to hoover around, they always looked so beautiful, with such a magical scent.
She even liked the spiky feel of them. For the last couple of years together, Trev had insisted on a fake one, to save all the mess and bother.
He wasn’t worried about the bother and mess he was making of his own bloody marriage back then, Cath mused drily, but then let that thought go.
This Christmas was about the new, and Cath found herself excited at the prospect of having a real tree once more.
With all this talk of festivities, and the calendar about to turn to December, it was time.
It was her first Christmas in Cheviot Cottage, and she wanted to make it feel homely and festive.
But did she get one from the floor up to the ceiling?
Or a smaller one to sit on a table? She had driven here in a Mini, after all, and she’d be solo putting it up.
There were practicalities to consider. In her mind’s eye, however, she’d envisaged a tallish tree stood in the space (she’d make by shifting her armchair) next to the hearth, where she could look at the tree every evening as she relaxed on the sofa.
It would make the sitting room look oh-so-cosy and pretty with its twinkly lights and decorations.
In fact, she’d need a reasonable size to be able to make the most of Reggie’s vintage baubles, plus the gorgeous glass ones that she hadn’t been able to resist at the village stores.
A big one it was, then. She headed towards the seven-footers. And she’d ask if they’d deliver.
The fresh woodland pine scents all around her took her back to the years of choosing a tree in the outskirts of Sheffield, with Susie and their parents, the girls mulling over quite how big or bushy to go.
Dad ready – with the boot of his estate car open – to hoist in whichever massive tree they went for.
Memories of Christmas pasts, of times as a family with Adam and Trev, were close to the surface on days like these.
There were so many traditions and poignant moments associated with these special celebration times.
This one looked good. She paused in the six-foot section.
Tall, nicely even branches, and plenty of them for the all-important festive dangly bits.
Hmm, nothing like a strapping six-footer.
The farm lad turned up beside her. She must have been gazing longingly, giving out all the signs that this was the one.
‘Umm, hi,’ said Cath, with a hopeful smile. ‘Do you deliver at all?’
‘Whereabouts to?’ He looked to be about eighteen, most likely the farmer’s son.
‘Tilldale.’
‘Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll go up to ten miles or so. It’d be tomorrow, if that’s okay. We tend to do a few at once.’
‘Perfect.’
‘I’ll get it wrapped and labelled for you. Just leave me your address.’ He took the tree easily under one arm, and walked to a machine with a metal chute that looked somewhat like a huge megaphone, where he pushed it through, turning the tree into a mesh-wrapped bushy pole.
Cath settled up, feeling pleased with herself. It wasn’t too scary a price. And tomorrow was fine. It’d give her chance to get Reggie’s decorations ready, as well as her own, and shift the armchair out of the way.
And thinking of Reggie, that was exactly where she was heading next.
*
After having spent a half hour with a resident called Phillip – a talkative chap who used to be a civil engineer, and had interestingly been involved with the design and construction of the Metro Shopping Centre at Gateshead back in the Eighties – Cath headed over to catch up with Reggie.
She couldn’t, of course, be seen to have any favourites at the home, though secretly she was keen to chat with the dear old chap again.
As she walked over, she could see he was holding one of the letters from Elsie. She later found out that since their return he kept one tucked in his top pocket at all times, ready to have a read whenever he felt the need.
‘It’s like I’ve got her back,’ he said, his eyes a little rheumy. ‘Thank you for finding those letters, Cath.’
‘Like I said last time, you’re more than welcome. So how are you doing this week, Reggie?’
The conversation rolled on, and she told him all about choosing her Christmas tree, on her way over, and that she had plans to put it next to the fireplace in the living room.
Which, back in the day, was exactly where Elsie and Reggie had used to place theirs, he told her.
It seemed very fitting that Cath had chosen to follow tradition.
‘I missed the old cottage last Christmas. They did a lovely job here, but it wasn’t quite the same. I suppose I’d only just got here then, moved in early December. It was all so very different. Might be a bit easier this year, hey, pet.’
‘We’ll be getting our tree and decorations up in the next day or so here too, Reggie,’ Linda piped up, overhearing their chat.
‘Oh, that’ll be lovely,’ said Cath.
‘Love a bit of tinsel and baubles, and those pretty paper-chain garlands.’ Reggie was enthusiastic.
‘Yes, we have a big tree up in the day room,’ Linda elaborated for Cath’s benefit, ‘and a smaller one in reception. We have a super event lined up one afternoon where a group from the local church come along and sing carols for us. There’s tea and mince pies.
It’s lovely. A bit of a sing-song with everyone joining in by the end of it, too. ’
‘Oh, it was such fun last year,’ called out Vera from her armchair, who’d been listening in.
‘Yes, I remember that now. We had a good old sing-along,’ agreed Reggie.
‘Sounds wonderful.’
And that reminded Cath that she’d need to speak with Julie, the manager, before she left, to make their formal invite for the Christmas lunch event.
She had one of Lily’s fabulous fliers for Turkey and Tinsel in Tilldale in her handbag, ready to hand over with all the details.
She just hoped the residents of the home would be keen to attend.