CHAPTER SEVEN – THOMAS
If I heard Mariah Carey’s song one more time, I was going to throw myself into the nearest pond.
Considering four inches of snow had fallen overnight and all the ponds nearby had frozen, I was relatively confident it would finish the job off.
It was on every Christmas playlist known to man, and those were insufferable at the best of times.
No, I didn’t want to be fucking happy.
I didn’t want it to be Christmas every day.
I didn’t want to see ‘mommy’ kissing Santa Claus.
And I certainly didn’t care about the aforementioned gentleman coming to town.
If I had it my way, I’d make like a bear and hibernate for the entire winter. Gorge myself on food, hide in a cave, and emerge when the weather was warmer.
They had it all figured out.
I unwound my scarf from my neck and kicked off my boots. If Mum wanted to spend hours in the snow with Danny, she was more than welcome to. I’d just make sure Heath had his fresh tomato soup still warm in the slow cooker for them to eat when they came in.
I walked into the kitchen and looked around. Heath was nowhere to be found, but as he’d promised, the slow cooker was ticking over on the counter, and the rich scent of tomato soup filled the air.
So did fresh bread.
There was a big basket next to the pot, and I lifted the cloth that was covering it.
Ah. Thick, fresh, crusty bread.
I got a bowl and scooped out some soup, then grabbed some bread on a side plate and sat down at the kitchen island to eat, only to be glared at by a seven-foot-tall green tree.
Why the fuck was there a Christmas tree in my kitchen?
I had one rule for my mother.
She could put trees everywhere she wanted, but the kitchen and my bedroom were off-limits.
That did, of course, mean we had approximately sixteen Christmas trees dotted throughout the interior of Castleton Manor, the seat of the Dukedom of Castleton, but it was fine.
My mother loved Christmas.
My father had loved Christmas.
They’d always selected the tree locations together, and I suspected this year’s overload was her way of both making up for not decorating to her usual level last year and feeling close to him this year.
Heck, putting up sixteen Christmas trees was a relatively healthy way of coping with grief, as far as I was concerned.
Or, rather, seventeen, given the undecorated one that was staring at me from the corner of the room.
I shook my head as I dipped some bread in the soup. Fine. Whatever she wanted. If seventeen Christmas trees made her happy and brought her peace for our first real Christmas without my dad, then she could have them. She could have two in every room, as long as they didn’t creep into my bedroom.
I knew this year was hard for her. I didn’t really count last year as being our first Christmas without my dad as it’d barely been a month since he’d died.
I can barely remember it. The only things I remembered with any kind of clarity at all was Danny’s face when he’d realised Santa had been there, then my mum crying because she’d forgotten to dust footsteps in front of the fire with flour like Dad always used to.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and set a reminder for Christmas Eve at eleven p.m.
Dust footsteps in front of the fireplace.
Hell, I didn’t like Christmas. The past three had been nothing but pure pain for me, but I wasn’t going to ruin it for my nephew.
Even I could fake a little Christmas spirit for him.
He was the only person I could fake it for. I wasn’t even sure I could for Mum this year. Christmas was not only the reminder that my dad was no longer here, but the reminder that I was alone.
I should have been married.
I should have been facing my first Christmas as a married man with my new wife.
But I wasn’t.
I’d never let Sylvie know that her comment about me being single had hurt a little. Of course, she had no reason to know that my then-fiancée had accepted my proposal, set a wedding date, and then four days after my father’s terminal diagnosis, six months after I’d proposed to her, she’d left me.
On Christmas Eve.
Just upped and walked out with no reason whatsoever. To this day, Millie had never explained to me why she’d left that morning.
I’d also never seen the ring again, and I now wished I’d demanded it back before she left. I’d been too fucking shocked to do it at the time. I’d tried calling her only once after she’d left, and she’d already blocked my number.
Of course, now I knew what a bullet I’d dodged.
That didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.
It was a very big knock on a time of the year that was already bad. Within four days I’d lost the woman I’d planned to spend the rest of my life with and found out that it was probably going to be the last Christmas with my dad.
Christmas…
It was too much loss for me.
Maybe that was why I was so angry at my sister. Not for grieving—she was entitled to do that in whichever way was best for her, but she wasn’t entitled to hurt others in the process. She most certainly wasn’t entitled to encourage her wife to get pregnant and not be there for the process.
It wasn’t as if my sister had impregnated her wife accidentally, after all.
I couldn’t imagine how hard it all was for Beth. Going through IVF virtually alone, both the failed implantations and the successful one, taking the test only for Zara to bail again…
I shook my head and rubbed my hand across my face. Beth was basically my sister after all these years, and I’d failed her, too.
Jesus. What a pit of self-pity I’d wallowed my way into.
My phone pinged from the counter in front of me and I picked it up. I had a text from an unknown number, and I frowned when I opened it.
UNKNOWN: I need Christmas trees.
I went from frowning to my eyebrows shooting upwards in the other direction.
There was only one person in Castleton who would need multiple Christmas trees who hadn’t already ordered or collected them.
ME: That’s the strangest ransom demand I’ve ever had.
UNKNOWN: Do you receive many?
ME: Not since I sent a dick pic to my university fling.
UNKNOWN: Interesting.
ME: Why do you need Christmas trees, Sylvie?
SYLVIE: Darn it. I was hoping you wouldn’t figure out it was me.
ME: The only person who could need multiple Christmas trees this close to Christmas is you.
SYLVIE: That’s true. Do you have Christmas trees spare?
ME: Do you think they’re all sold out?
SYLVIE: Never mind. I’ll find another tree farm.
ME: We’re the only one in a twenty-mile radius. Good luck with those delivery fees.
SYLVIE: Sigh. What a smack in the face having you give you money. It’s like the cricket ball all over again.
I groaned.
Not the cricket ball.
ME: Haven’t I apologised enough for that? I can’t believe you’re bringing that up. It’s been twenty years.
SYLVIE: A woman never forgets.
ME: Evidently. How many trees do you need? How tall? When and where do you need them delivered?
SYLVIE: Uh… Can I just meet you at the tree farm? No offense, but there’s no way I’m letting you choose them.
I laughed. I should have known she’d say that.
ME: Are you free now? I was heading there in about half an hour.
SYLVIE: Let me see if I can borrow Gramps’ car. Mine isn’t made for snow and the council didn’t grit our road.
I grimaced.
No.
Of course they didn’t.
ME: All right. Let me know.
***
Sylvie slammed the door on her grandpa’s old Land Rover and shivered. “Good grief, it’s cold.”
I watched as she walked over all bundled up like she was going on an arctic expedition. “You’ve gone soft living down south.”
“Watch your mouth, Thomas,” she shot back. “I just need a few days to get used to it again, that’s all.”
My lips tugged to one side.
The stupid woman was too gorgeous for her own good.
“Sure, you do. Shall we get the trees sorted out before you turn into a snowman, and I can’t get rid of you until the snow melts again?”
Sylvie sighed heavily and tugged her bobble hat further down over her ears. “Yes, we should. I can’t imagine anything worse than being stuck with you until spring comes.”
“Oh, I can. Being stuck with you wins that fight.”
She stuck her tongue out at me, and I grinned.
“Come on. You’ll be better off buying some that we haven’t cut down yet.” I nodded in the direction of the uncut tree area and motioned for her to follow me.
“Uncut? Why do you have some uncut?”
“Some people prefer it. It doesn’t make sense to cut them all down anyway—it’s handy for things like what you need them for, but if they don’t sell, it’s no big deal. They can keep growing for another year.”
“Oh.” Sylvie folded her arms across her chest, tucking her gloved hands into her sides. “That makes sense.”
“Do you know what you need?”
“Yes.” She smacked her lips together. “Four nine-foot trees, four six-foot trees, four five-foot trees, two seven-foot trees, and approximately eight four-foot trees.”
I stopped walking and blinked at her. “What the fuck do you need so many trees for? Your own tree farm?”
“Please don’t ask,” she muttered. “Hazel.”
“That’s… how many trees?”
“Twenty-two.”
“For one day?”
“Yes,” Sylvie said slowly. “To be fair, most are for the dinner and reception, and the ones that are being used for the ceremony are being transported to the children’s hospital immediately after so they can enjoy them.”
“I suppose that’s as good a use as any for them,” I replied. “Does Julian know he’s getting married in a festive forest?”
“He does. He told me he’s just there to pay the bills for it.”
I slid my gaze towards her as I opened the gate. “You know, if your sister wasn’t successful in her own right…”
“Oh, I’d be the first to call her a gold-digger.” Sylvie snorted. “But I really think he just wants to make her happy, and that’s it. I know Christmas Eve isn’t exactly everyone’s first choice for a wedding, and I doubt it was Julian’s.”
“Probably not,” I admitted. We’d been friends for years, and he’d always had a relatively normal outlook where Christmas was concerned. “He did ask me what to do about it when she proposed it.”