Merry Mistletoe: Kindle Single (Tales From Appleyard Book 1) Read online

  Merry Mistletoe

  Emma Davies

  Merry Mistletoe © Emma Davies 2015

  All rights reserved in all media. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical (including but not limited to: the internet, photocopying, recoding or by any information storage and retrieval system), without prior permission in writing from the author and/or publisher.

  The moral right of Emma Davies as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Table of Contents

  Merry Mistletoe

  About the Author

  Merry Mistletoe

  29 Days to go…

  Freya slammed the van door closed and leaned up against it, breathing hard, her breath appearing as sharp little puffs in the cold. How difficult could it be? After all she’d done this countless times before. Except she hadn’t, because this year she was alone.

  She shivered in the harsh early morning air, whether from nerves or the cold she couldn’t tell, and in any case it hardly mattered, the effect was the same. She glanced back at the house, solid and warm and comforting, and tried to damp down the rising sense of panic that threatened to swamp her. She sucked in a breath and, resolutely ignoring the ‘For Sale’ sign, gave a little nod in farewell. Whatever happened today she was going to give it her best shot; she owed her dad that much after all.

  The weather forecast was clear, the very best kind of day. Cold, but with a defiant blue sky that not only cheered the gathered crowds but brought a strong contrast to the holly berries and a gleam to the glossy leaves. She’d dressed for the part too, in her forest green coat and bright red woolly hat and scarf that always made her feel much warmer than she was. The colour brought a rosy hue to her cheeks and made her chestnut hair glow. The punters seemed to like it too. Christmas was just over a month away, and if it helped to look like Mrs Claus then who was she to argue.

  She edged the van out of the gate and onto the lane, reminding herself to breathe normally. It was important to get there early but she had plenty of time to secure a good spot and the roads would be relatively quiet at this time of the morning. In an hour’s time she’d make it to Tenbury Wells and could stop fretting.

  The familiar landmarks came and went. Freya knew the route like the back of her hand, and three miles in she began to feel the first bubbles of excitement welling up inside her. She had first travelled this route over twenty-five years ago when she was just a girl, and every year since, she and her dad had made the journey to the annual mistletoe sales. Her granddad had been there before them too for many a year and even as a small child she remembered his tales. Sherbourne mistletoe had been sold at the fair for nearly a hundred years all told and the thought that this might be her last ever year sat like a stone in her stomach. There would be enough time to think about that though, in the weeks to come; today she had to hold her head high.

  It was the boots that Freya noticed first: bright red Doc Martins. She’d never seen him wearing anything else, so maybe he didn’t own any other shoes, but today, trudging along the muddy verge, they stood out in stark contrast to everything else. She hadn’t seen him for a couple of days, but by the look of him he was moving on somewhere. She slowed the van on the empty road and pulled up alongside him.

  ‘Amos?’ she called.

  He turned at the sound of her voice, breaking into a broad grin. ‘Well hello again Miss Sherbourne, what brings you this way?’

  She smiled. It was just the sort of thing he would say, as if it was she who was in the wrong place. ‘Well I live around here, but I don’t know about you. And more to the point, you didn’t even say goodbye.’

  The black eyes twinkled. ‘Ah well, you know that’s not my style. Besides, I thought I’d finished everything you needed me to do.’

  ‘You did, but it’s nearly Christmas Amos, I could have found a few other things for you. It’s not a great time to be without a place to go.’

  He dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement of her concern. ‘But when I get where I’m going, I’ll be someplace won’t I?’ He squinted up at her through the sun. ‘Anyhow, I think it was time for me to move on.’

  Freya blushed slightly. ‘Gareth was okay with you being around, really he was. He just … well, he likes things to be … ordinary.’

  ‘And I offended his sensibilities, I understand that.’

  ‘I don’t think he understood you that’s all, the choices you’ve made.’ She was trying to be tactful, knowing full well that Amos had heard at least one sarcastic comment that Gareth had made at his expense. Judging by the look on his face however, he understood Gareth’s motives very clearly, and really Freya was in no position to argue. She had wanted to help that was all, but she could also see it from her boyfriend’s point of view. Maybe Amos’ leaving was for the best.

  ‘So where are you headed to now then?’

  Amos surveyed the road ahead, his tight black curls gleaming in the sunshine. ‘This way will do.’

  ‘And when you get to the end of this way, where next?’

  ‘Well now, see, that’s the best bit. I’ll just go the way the wind blows me.’

  Freya drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. ‘There’s a fair wind howling down the A49 today, I reckon. Have you ever been to the mistletoe fair?’

  ‘Not that I can recall.’

  ‘Well seeing as you helped me to harvest it all, do you want to see what happens next?’

  Amos looked at his watch, as though he had some pressing engagement. ‘You might need some help then?’

  ‘I might. And I’ll buy you lunch and a pint when it’s over.’

  She leant over to open the passenger door as Amos shrugged his rucksack off his shoulders. He climbed in, wedging his belongings on the floor of the cab, before taking a deep breath and inhaling the smell of the greenery from within.

  ‘Magical stuff mistletoe, but I expect you know that. I’ve always thought it a rather wonderful coincidence that it appears at Christmas; it seems exactly the right time of year for a miracle or two, don’t you think?’

  Talk about cutting it fine, thought Amos. A few moments later and she might have missed him altogether and then where would he be? Sometimes he knew the minute he ended up in a place why he was there, and sometimes it took a while longer. This time had been the hardest of them all to call. He’d been in Much Marlowes since the beginning of August, and the jobs that took him there had both been straightforward. Two beautiful cottages rethatched but no hint of any reason for him to stay. Ordinary families, settled lives, and not the slightest prickling feeling that usually alerted him to his purpose.

  It wasn’t until he pitched up at the Sherbourne orchard that he began to feel he might be onto something, although at the time he had wondered whether it was the after-effects of too much cider the night before. A drunken bet in a game of cards had cost him his van, and the only reason he had turned up Freya’s drive was the hope of quenching a raging thirst. As he walked its length, however, it occurred to him that the apple harvest might be his salvation, and when Freya opened the door, a wave of dizziness had passed over him so strong it had nearly taken him off his feet. He knew then without a shadow of a doubt that he would stay.

  Several glasses of water later and two hours’ sleep had allowed him to recover, and by then Freya had already decided to offer him some work. She couldn’t afford to pay him much, but he had food, a place to stay and the weeks had slipped by. By the middle of October however he was none the wiser. Freya’s boyfriend Gareth
was a prize pillock but harmless enough, and although their relationship had clearly lost its sparkle (if it had ever had any) they rubbed along peaceably enough. There seemed no real reason for him to be there after all, and so helping her harvest the holly and mistletoe had been his final job. He must simply have been mistaken and it was time for him to move on once more.

  He knew it was her though the minute he heard the van slow down, and now as he sat in the warmth beside her he found he was rubbing the back of his neck repeatedly to calm the prickling sensation he felt there. She had crossed his path again, and he wasn’t sure what the mistletoe fair had to do with things, but there was no doubt in his mind that he had to find out.

  With the radio playing all the way and the two of them singing songs at the top of their voices the miles slipped by, so it was only when they turned down a road to join a convoy of other vans that Amos realised they must be close. He glanced at Freya but she seemed relaxed enough, despite how he knew she must be feeling. She chatted easily to him when it was just the two of them; it was only of an evening when Gareth was around that she clammed up. But it meant a lot to her this fair, he knew that much.

  The auction yard was busy as they turned in, already milling with people and vehicles as the traders sought to find their spaces and unload their wares. Freya gave an explosive tut beside him.

  ‘Bloody Hendersons,’ she said. ‘I might have known they’d get here before me.’

  Amos followed the angle of her head to a smart lorry, its familiar red livery bright and distinctive in the morning sun. He’d seen them about the lanes quite often over recent weeks and on the odd occasion when Freya mentioned their name it was never in flattering tones.

  ‘Look at him, pig-headed arrogant sod; thinks he owns the place.’

  It was true that the lorry was now holding everyone else up as it manoeuvred into position, but there was still plenty of room for Freya’s smaller van to pass. He glanced at the jut of her chin, deciding not to argue, and pointed out a place further along which she could easily fit into.

  Freya was out of the cab in a flash, running over to the pens in a barn which ran along one side of the yard. He watched her walk up and down, her red scarf flying behind her, a coiled little bundle of energy. She paused every now and then before stopping completely, and with a visible little hop, spun on her heels and threaded her way hurriedly back towards him.

  ‘Right, I’m good with that,’ she said breathlessly. ‘My pitch is right smack bang in the middle, just about perfect.’ She grinned at his perplexed look. ‘I’ll explain later. Come on, we need to get over to where the rest of the sale takes place.’

  She threw a look over to the Henderson’s lorry before flinging open the back doors of the van and climbing inside. Amos lost her among the foliage for a second. A riot of green and red and silver greeted him. If you could capture Christmas in a single scene this would surely come close. He’d really had no sense of it while he was helping to her to cut it down, but now, bundled as it was and filling the space, it was a joyful homage to the season.

  Freya threw him a pair of gloves as the holly came out first, dark and gleaming. The plant he knew well, but he was certainly no expert on selling the stuff. It was full of berries though and he thought that could only be a good thing. She stopped for a moment, her head on one side like a robin, her eyes on his, suddenly anxious.

  ‘Jesus, Amos, what am I doing?’

  He really didn’t have an answer but smiled in encouragement.

  ‘How can I possibly compete with this lot? I mean look at them. They’ve easily three times as much as I have. No one’s going to want my paltry few bundles. I shouldn’t have come.’

  Amos picked up a bundle of the holly, holding it close to his body. He touched a round red berry gently and ran a finger down the spine of a rich dark leaf. ‘But this is beautiful Freya. I would buy it, if I could.’ He was horrified to see her eyes begin to glisten. ‘Have you been here lots of times before?’

  She gave a small nod. ‘Yes, but that was … was with my dad.’

  ‘And would you feel like this if your dad were here today? Would you be wanting to give up and go home?’

  ‘No, of course not, but that was different,’ she frowned. ‘Things were different then.’

  ‘Only if you believe them to be,’ he said softly. He reached into the bundle and plucked a small white feather from its depths before taking her hand to help her down from the van. Gently placing the bundle on the floor he tucked the feather into the rim of her hat, pushing it into the woollen folds.

  ‘There are always times when your father is with you Freya, more often than you know.’ He looked up to see her eyes widen in surprise. ‘Now, since you’re the expert here, can I suggest that you tell me where these need to go; I’m guessing that wherever it is you’ll want them there before the Hendersons?’

  Her gaze wandered over his left shoulder just for a second before shooting back to him, her eyes still glistening but now with a new-found glint of determination. She picked up a bundle, seemingly oblivious to the sharpness of the prickles and with a grin and a nod of her head marched off, leaving Amos to trail in her wake.

  Once the holly was laid out they doubled back to the van to collect the mistletoe and began the same process all over again, laying out their bundles in tight little rows in the yard, while prospective buyers milled around, nodding and chatting in fine mood. Amos caught sight of one of them pointing to Freya’s bundles, although he made no move to examine it further. He heard the name Sherbourne muttered and smiled to himself. Despite her reservations, her name had obviously preceded her, and her bright blue labels with their distinctive name stamp were doing their job brilliantly.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be here this year, but you made it then.’

  Amos whipped around at the sound of the voice, its tone none too friendly.

  Freya dipped her head. ‘Hello Stephen.’

  The two of them stared at one another for a moment without saying anything further, but Stephen’s gaze was travelling up and down the rows of mistletoe, resting on Freya’s bundles for a moment too long to be comfortable.

  ‘Berries looking a little green I’d say Freya,’ he said, smiling a smug grin.

  His hair was slicked back into a quiff at the front, and a signet ring glistened on one of the fingers he was wiping across his smirking mouth. Amos took in his green Hunter wellies, waxed jacket and red-checked shirt and frowned. He looked down at the neat rows but as far as he could see Freya’s berries were glistening little orbs of pearlescent white.

  ‘Much like yourself Stephen,’ Freya replied. ‘A little too much sauce again last night was it? Or is your complexion always that colour?’

  Stephen glared at her, his mouth trying to form the clever comeback he so desperately sought, but Freya simply smiled and took Amos’ arm.

  ‘All this talk of sauce reminds me; time for a bacon butty I reckon. Think I’ll have an egg in mine as well. Can’t beat a fried egg in the morning can you, all oozing and dripping? Just the thing to set you up for the day. Come on Amos, my treat.’ She smiled sweetly at Stephen who had visibly paled. ‘You should have one too, put a bit of colour in your cheeks.’

  Freya glanced at her watch as they walked across the yard, heading incongruously for a ramshackle tin shed that looked like the last place you might get a bacon butty from. ‘We don’t really have time for this just yet, but anything to get away from that slime ball.’

  ‘Would his last name be Henderson by any chance?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she replied, a harsh tone in her normally soft voice. ‘I’ve never been able to figure out what his problem is except perhaps an extremely high opinion of himself. It’s not as if their farm is any different to anyone else’s, but Stephen likes to play Lord of The Manor. Everybody knows that the minute he can, he’ll sell up and cash in to fund his lavish lifestyle. He’s only interested in money.’

  ‘He has a brother doesn’t he? I’ve seen him i
n the village a few times.’

  Freya gave a small snort. ‘Yeah, Sam will be around here somewhere, hiding in Stephen’s shadow. You can bet your life that it was him that did all the hard work to get that lot ready for sale today though.’

  Amos squinted into the sun, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘You don’t take any prisoners do you?’

  She stopped then, turning around to face him. ‘I take as I find Amos. When my dad died I soon found out who my real friends were, and believe me the Hendersons were not on the list.’ She glared at him, daring to be contradicted.

  Amos decided that changing the subject might be the best move. ‘Look if you’re pushed for time, I could go and get breakfast?’

  The brown eyes softened again. ‘That’s a deal then,’ she replied, tucking a ten pound note into Amos’ hand.

  By the time Amos returned to her, Freya had already laid out half the wreaths into her earmarked pens, and was just fetching another load from the van, ingeniously threaded onto a broom pole so that she could carry them. She was pleased with them this year. She’d really found her style now and it was clear from looking at what the other traders had to offer that hers were a little different. It had been hard work though, painstakingly collecting all the greenery to make each wreath identical, and wiring up the fruits, acorns and walnuts that she’d added. She could only hope that she’d get a good price for them.

  It was something her dad had encouraged her to do, even when she was small, and he always made it her task to decorate the house for Christmas. Over the years she had refined her skills, and had now been bringing her home-made decorations to the fair for the last five years. Standing back she checked she had them all laid uniformly, all turned the same way and, once satisfied, finally turned to Amos to collect her breakfast.

  He waved his bap appreciatively. ‘Those are beautiful Freya,’ he remarked.

  ‘Thank you,’ she blushed, jumping back as a drop of runny egg just missed her coat. She licked her roll, biting off the end of bacon which the egg had dripped from. ‘I’ll go and get the last of them in a minute.’