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

  She had just taken another oozing bite when someone cannoned into the back of her, followed by an immediate gushing apology.

  ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry … Oh my God … Freya?’

  ‘Merry!’ shrieked Freya in return, throwing her arms around the woman as best she could, hampered both by the roll in her hand and the size of the woman’s stomach. ‘I didn’t think you were coming this year, but look at you!’

  The woman pulled a rueful face. ‘I know, I’m huge, and bloody due on Christmas Day can you believe it, of all the luck.’

  Freya laughed. ‘I think that’s the best kind of luck. You have the perfect excuse to let everyone else organise Christmas and sit around with your feet up.’

  ‘Yeah right. Like that’s really going to happen. Can you see me sitting still? Not really my style is it. Anyway to be fair, Tom has been brilliant. I’m only here today because I’ve hardly lifted a finger all weekend and am feeling guilty. We do desperately need some stock though.’

  ‘Well I don’t think you’re going to have any trouble finding some today, it’s looking like it’ll be a great sale. Plenty of buyers around by the look of things, although that might not necessarily be a good thing in your case.’ She paused for a moment, before adding shyly, ‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’

  ‘Well holly and mistletoe, obviously,’ she laughed, winking at Amos, ‘But Tom would like some decorative pieces for the hotel as well, so I’ll drag him over in a minute. Although, I have to say, if you get any better you’ll price yourself out of our market. These are looking beautiful.’

  ‘I was wondering if they were a bit too contemporary?’ said Freya, biting her lip. ‘Not everyone wants something different.’

  Merry studied Amos for a moment before turning back to answer. ‘It’s true, they don’t, but I don’t think you’ll have any trouble selling these. Anyway, enough shop talk for now. This poor man has been standing here patiently while we gossip away.’ She thrust out her hand. ‘I’m Merrilees Parker, but not surprisingly everyone calls me Merry.’

  Amos grasped her hand and nodded. ‘I approve, and very appropriate for the time of year.’

  ‘Sorry,’ butted in Freya, ‘I’m hopeless at introductions. Merry and I have known each other for a gazillion years. She’s a florist by trade, although she and her husband also run a hotel in Worcester. And Merry this is Amos and he … well, he’s been helping me out a bit on the farm.’

  ‘Still can’t get Gareth interested then Freya? Never mind, maybe he’ll come round. It’ll hit him one day just how boring accountancy is and then he’ll be brewing cider with the best of them.’

  ‘Hmm, maybe,’ replied Freya sounding doubtful. ‘Anyway, there might not be a one day Merry, I’ve finally had to put the place on the market. This will probably be my last year.’

  Her friend’s face fell. ‘Oh Freya, no, you can’t do that. Is there really no other way? I thought when we last spoke that things were picking up a bit.’

  ‘Not enough it would seem. Believe me, if there was another way I’d have taken it. Gareth did all the sums and we’re just going to get deeper into debt. I only just managed to get the harvest in this year, but I want to be making cider and juices myself Merry, not selling my apples to other people so that they can do it. The trouble is I can’t afford to pay for help or new machinery, both of which I need.

  There’s just me flogging myself to death, and however hard I pretend, it’s not enough. Gareth is never going to be a farmer Merry and it’s wrong to make him try. He’s been good to me, you know … since Dad died. I have to respect that.’ She blew out her cheeks. ‘So … this is it, one last push; out with a bang with any luck and then I’ll be heading for the suburbs and a two-up, two-down.’

  Merry pulled Freya into another hug. ‘You know we’ll help if we can don’t you? I’m not sure what we can do, but we’ll think of something.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but really, it’s okay. I’ll just have to get used to it. Nothing stays the same forever Merry.’

  There was real sadness in her friend’s eyes as Merry pulled away. ‘I must go and find Tom. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Amos watched Freya for a moment, unsure what to say. He’d had no idea that things were quite so bad. ‘Is Merry a good friend?’

  Freya’s grin was wide. ‘The best; we grew up together. Our mums had beds next to each other in the maternity ward and because they were always together, so were we. We don’t see each other as often as we’d like to now she’s married and moved away, but we’ve always kept in touch. When Mum left I practically lived at their house.’

  ‘Her name means one who has psychic powers, did you know that?’ he replied, swallowing hard. The more he got to know Freya the more he realised what a bum deal life had dealt her. She had every reason to be bitter, but was very far from it. He had a feeling that Freya’s holly would always have berries on it.

  ‘What, Merry, psychic?’ She laughed. ‘She didn’t even realise she was pregnant for about five months! It’s a nice idea though.’ She looked down at her roll, now cold and congealing in her hand. ‘I don’t suppose…?’

  Amos shook his head vehemently. ‘No thanks. But I’ll go and find a bin for you if you like. It looks like you have folk waiting to talk to you.’ He motioned with his head and, collecting her half-eaten breakfast, wandered off. He had spied Stephen Henderson in the distance and wondered if he might be lucky enough to find a bin in his vicinity.

  Things were really picking up now, the place was heaving with people amid good natured calling and laughing, together with some more serious discussions, and if the conversations Amos had overheard were anything to go by it looked like bidding was going to be lively. By the time he returned to Freya he could hardly see her amid the bustle that was crowding around. All eyes seemed to be on a tall man in a green coat, who carried some kind of a long stick. As Amos watched, Freya motioned him over.

  ‘That’s the auctioneer,’ she said, checking her phone again. ‘I think we’re just about to start.’

  Almost as soon as she had voiced the words a piercing whistle rang out across the yard, and the sound fell away, leaving near silence in its wake. The sale had begun.

  It was nearly seven by the time Freya walked in, the kitchen still in darkness. She dumped her bags on the table and followed the sound of the television to the living room. This too was in darkness save for the flickering glare cast by the football match that Gareth was watching. She stood there for a couple of minutes in the gloom wondering if he’d even realised she was standing there, before flicking on the light, making Gareth jump. He whirled around to face her.

  ‘Christ that’s bright.’

  ‘Sorry. Just checking you were still alive as the house is in total darkness.’

  Gareth peered back at the screen.

  ‘God, is it that late? I hadn’t realised. I only popped in here to catch the score. What a game though.’

  ‘Popped in with your tea and a beer.’

  ‘Ah, well … yes. I wasn’t sure what time you’d be back you see.’

  Freya picked up his mobile phone from the coffee table beside him and pressed a button to bring the screen to life. She looked at it for a moment and then handed it silently to him, her text messages all in a row. Then she left the room.

  Amos was coming in through the back door as she filled the kettle. She greeted him with a warm smile.

  ‘What do you fancy for tea Amos? Gareth’s already eaten.’

  ‘Um, I’m probably okay, don’t worry,’ he replied, flicking a glance out through the open door. ‘I’ve put the gear back in the barn, is that okay?’

  ‘Perfect, thank you. I could make us some beans on toast? I’m not sure I’m up for much more than that, my feet are killing me.’

  Amos grinned. ‘It was a brilliant day wasn’t it. You did well I think?’

  ‘I did fantastically! I can’t believe it,’ she squeal
ed, giving a little jump of excitement. ‘I just hope I can pull it off. It’s a lot of work you know.’

  ‘The best things often are, but I’m happy to help. It’s very kind of you to let me stay.’

  ‘It’s purely mercenary believe me – kindness has nothing to do with it!’ She laughed. ‘I need your manpower.’

  The kitchen doorway darkened for a second as Gareth’s bulky frame passed through it.

  ‘Let me do that love,’ he said with a pointed look at Amos. He took the kettle from Freya. ‘You must be exhausted. Go and sit down for a bit and I’ll rustle up something for your tea.’

  Amos looked from one to the other. ‘I’ll maybe go and check that the chooks have put themselves to bed shall I?’

  Freya nodded gratefully as Amos made himself scarce.

  ‘Oh, I had the most brilliant day Gareth,’ she launched in before he could start. She really wasn’t in the mood for an argument tonight. ‘We sold everything and I got an incredible price for the mistletoe, but not only that, Tom placed an order with me for wreaths and decorations for the hotel. He said he was really impressed with them. Of course Merry might have had a hand in that, but I don’t care, they want thirty-two of each for next Saturday; can you believe it?’

  He came up behind her then, sliding his arms around her waist and nuzzling the side of her neck.

  ‘See I told you you were amazing. That’s fantastic news Freya,’ he said, dropping a soft kiss on the weak spot just behind her ear. ‘Is that why he’s here?’

  She tried not to stiffen. ‘I need help Gareth, that’s all. I met him on the road today, and offered him a lift. He wasn’t going in any particular direction so I suggested he give me a hand at the fair. He was incredibly helpful today, lugging stuff around for me and he really got the buyers going. He has no-where to go tonight; I couldn’t just leave him there.’

  ‘And that’s your problem because? You can’t keep picking up waifs and strays just because you feel sorry for them.’

  ‘He’s not a waif and stray; he’s a person Gareth. I know you don’t like him, but he’s done nothing wrong, and I didn’t pick him up because I feel sorry for him. He’s not looking for pity if that’s what you think; he’s willing to work hard for his bed and board. Considering what I’ve got coming up this next week, I’m going to need all the help I can get.’

  Gareth pulled back a little and moved his hands to cup her face. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt that’s all. You know nothing about this man, and yet you’ve invited him into our home, at a time when you’re feeling very vulnerable.’

  ‘Oh I get it,’ said Freya, pulling her head back. ‘You’ve nothing to be jealous about you know, I’ve told you a hundred times. Amos is old enough to be my … dad,’ she choked, the words sticking suddenly in her throat, and with that she burst into tears, all the day’s tension and anxiety catching up with her.

  She clung to Gareth, as he rubbed her back, pulling her woollen hat from her head and burying his face in her hair, which always smelled of apples.

  ‘I should have made you some tea, I’m sorry I just didn’t think. Look, why don’t I run you a bath and I’ll bring you a tray up to bed? You’re exhausted, and a good night’s sleep will do you the world of good.’

  She rubbed her cheek against the softness of his sweatshirt, wanting so much to accept his platitudes and allow herself to be pacified. But there was still a spark of hurt inside her that wouldn’t go away. She was tired, she was overwrought and emotional, but more than that she was excited and elated with her success today. She wanted someone to share that excitement with and help her to plan. She wanted interested questions and to share a common sense of purpose. She wanted to feel encouraged. Slowly she disentangled herself from Gareth’s arms.

  ‘Was your phone not working today? Only I sent you quite a few messages. I thought you might have wished me luck.’

  Gareth squeezed her arms and turned back to the kettle on the stove as it began its whistling alert. ‘Sorry love, it’s a bit awkward at work. You know how it is.’

  28 Days to go…

  Amos stood and watched as the car made its way down the track, Gareth’s exhaust billowing white clouds into the icy morning air. He’d spotted Freya going into the hen house a few minutes earlier and hoped that’s where he’d find her now. He felt somehow that he should apologise, although he was well aware that he hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

  She was talking to herself when he got there, or rather to the hens, a continual sing-song stream of chatter as one might talk to a child. He lifted the latch on the door of the coop and cleared his throat.

  ‘Scrambled eggs on toast or an omelette?’ said Freya, without turning around. Amos’ mouth began to water and his stomach gave an appreciative lurch. Staying for tea hadn’t seemed such a good idea last night. ‘Please tell me you didn’t sleep in the barn last night?’ she added.

  When he didn’t answer she whirled around to face him, three eggs in one hand and two in the other. ‘Right, come with me,’ she said.

  Amos followed her meekly back into the kitchen, which after the air outside felt rather like a sauna, but right now, the most comforting place on earth. Freya set the eggs down on the table, holding her hand over them just for a second to be sure they didn’t roll. ‘Sit down a minute.’ Amos did as he was told.

  A few minutes later she placed a huge mug of tea and a plate of toast swimming in butter in front of him. She motioned for Amos to start eating. ‘Right, while you’re tucking into that lot, let’s get a couple a things straight shall we?’ It had really rankled her what Gareth had said last night, about inviting Amos into their house, when actually the truth of the matter was that Appleyard was her home. She’d lived there all her life, and she had invited Gareth into it just the same. He seemed to be rather forgetting that, and far from being the one upsetting everything, Amos was the only one who appeared to have any manners. For some reason it meant a lot to her to explain to Amos how she felt about him being there. She knew he hadn’t heard Gareth’s comments last night, but she felt the need to atone for them nonetheless.

  ‘Firstly, can I just say that I’m sorry that Gareth is being such a prat.’

  Amos looked up sharply at her words but she held her hand up to finish. ‘This is my house and who I invite into it is my business. I know Gareth is my boyfriend, and perhaps I sound a bit disloyal, but he’s got no right to moan about you being around, especially when he’s so completely uninterested in everything I’m trying to do here. We’ve got a busy week ahead and I haven’t got time to pander to his selfish and childish arguments.’ She stared at Amos to check whether he was still following her. ‘Secondly, you have a room in the house and a bathroom which you are very welcome to use, so please Amos, don’t sleep in the barn; it’s bloody freezing out there.’

  Amos took a slug of tea and hacked off the corner of a piece of toast. ‘Rant over?’ He smiled.

  ‘Rant over.’ Freya smiled back. They understood one another perfectly.

  ‘It strikes me that what we need is a plan of action,’ added Amos. ‘It’s not just the wreaths that need to be made is it? You’ll need more holly and mistletoe for next week’s fair, and that doesn’t include all your normal jobs. Let me finish this and we’ll make a list.’

  ‘I tell you what, I’ve got an even better idea. There’s plenty of hot water left, so why don’t you go and grab a shower and warm yourself up a bit while I make us a proper breakfast; then we’ll see where we go from there.’

  Amos touched his hand to her sleeve. ‘Thank you.’

  It was noon before they stopped again for a welcome cuppa. They had spent the morning walking the fields and deciding what to cut and when. Freya would need a good deal of greenery for her arrangements but there were still two sales left, and of course she would need a little left over to decorate the farmhouse too. She never tired of the orchards. Whatever the weather, whatever the time of year, there was always some new wonder to catch her eye; baby r
abbits running and chasing across the fields, frothy clouds of elderflower blossom in the hedgerow, or row after row of apple blossom, its pale beauty against a blue summer sky a sight she would never forget. Even on the darker days she loved it; those still October mornings when the sky hardly seemed to clear the ground but where here in the orchard the sparkle of dew on cobwebs really was like diamonds, and the air was heavy with the scent of apples.

  She had never known anywhere else and the thought that she might soon have to leave was almost unbearable. She’d taken it all for granted. She hadn’t realised until her dad died how much he had protected her from, how much of a struggle it must have been for him to keep things going and how much he had sacrificed over the years. She hadn’t realised either quite how much debt they were in and she felt enormously guilty that she’d never known. Her dad had carried that burden solely on his shoulders, and although she knew he wouldn’t have had it any other way, she couldn’t help wondering whether it had contributed to his early death; he had after all been only sixty three.

  Her mobile had flashed during the morning with a missed call from a number that she had been expecting. She couldn’t go on deliberately avoiding these calls and finally decided to voice the nagging thoughts that had been plaguing her.

  ‘Do you think I’m mad Amos?’

  ‘Possibly,’ he replied ambiguously. ‘But there’s several definitions of mad in my book, not all of them bad I might add, so which variant do you think you might be?’

  ‘Well, all this; doing all these orders, going to sales – for what? The estate agent rang this morning and I know it’s because he’s got someone he wants to show around. Sure, I’ll make a bit of money from the sales, but it’s never going to be enough to save this place, so why am I doing it, why am I putting myself through this?’

  Amos took in a long slow breath, considering the question, and then gently let it out again. ‘That’s not something I can answer Freya. Only you know why.’