She lifted her head and looked at me as if I might be able to help. This Christmas stuff was more important to her than just making sure the shopkeepers had an opportunity to meet their revenue targets. It was clearly deeply personal. I just didn’t know why. “You really think it’s possible?”
“I know it is. And so do you.”
She nodded her head. “I suppose. Worst-case scenario, we could always put the bauble on one of the beech trees around the green this year.”
“I like that idea,” Barbara said. “After all, they all have lights on as well.”
“It would be a good second option,” Celia said, her eyes brightening. She seemed to uncurl herself, brushing off the signs of despair. “Let’s see if Sebastian is right and we can, by some Christmas miracle, get the tree back into position.”
“That, I fear, is hopeless,” Peter replied. “We’d need a crane, and the trunk has split at the bottom.”
“Let’s survey the damage,” I said, not wanting Celia’s mood to sink back into the ground.
The four of us filed out, strode across to the center of the green, and arranged ourselves around the fallen tree. It was difficult to see how the tree had come out of the sunken metal holder that, by all accounts, had been specially made and buried deep in the ground.
“See,” Peter said. “The base is all misshapen. We can never fit it back in there, even if we could find a crane.”
Celia was studying the trunk. “We can saw the end off of it. Get rid of the split bit of the trunk.”
“But how will we get it back up?” Barbara asked, looking to Celia.
“I don’t know anyone with a crane,” Celia said. “But what if we attached a rope to Fred’s tractor and tried to pull it up and slide it into place? If we had enough people helping—guiding it and steadying it while it was being lifted—it might work.”
“Could work,” I said. I liked her creativity. She’d gone from hopeless to determined in just a few minutes, and now had a plan A and a plan B. I could use her back in the office. If half my staff were as creative and determined as Celia, we’d be smashing our targets and I’d be spending longer than Christmas in Barbados.
“It will work,” Celia nodded, her usual smile unfurling on her face. “Yes.” She pulled out her phone and started talking to someone—presumably Fred—about a tractor. “Right,” she said, stuffing the phone back into her pocket. “We need as many people on the green as possible by eight thirty. Fred is going to help.”
“What about ropes?” I asked.
“I’ve got some rope back in the garage,” Peter said. “I’ll need a hand with it though. It weighs a ton.”
“I’ll bring my wheelbarrow,” Celia said.
“I can do that,” I replied. If anyone back in London could see me here in Snowsly, they wouldn’t believe it. I’d gotten used to life in a penthouse, where I never felt the cold or saw the stars, and certainly never came across a wheelbarrow from one year’s end to the next. And now I was getting ready to resurrect a Christmas tree. I’d deny it if asked, but I might actually be enjoying myself a little more than I’d expected. That was the benefit of having exceedingly low expectations. I’d looked forward to being back in Snowsly over Christmas the same way I’d look forward to a root canal. It was a low bar.
Two hours, a tractor, thirty-five meters of rope and thirty residents of Snowsly later, the Snowsly Christmas tree slid back into place.
The frozen ground vibrated with jubilation. Celia turned to me and wrapped her arms around my waist. “We did it.”
I patted her on the back, partly taken aback by her show of affection and partly because her arms felt a little too good. “You did it.”
“Thank you for believing in me.”
“You’re more than capable of removing any obstacle in your way. I’m sure you’ll get your wish and make this the most perfect Christmas ever.”
She grinned. “Anything’s got to be better than last year.” She spun and pulled Peter into a hug before I could ask her to elaborate.
Anything’s got to be better than last year? I wanted to pull her back and get her to tell me what had happened. But she was already off, smiling and hugging and cheering with her neighbors and friends.
As victorious as Celia was in this moment, I couldn’t ignore the glimmer of sadness—or was it resignation?—I’d noticed in her eyes every time she talked about last Christmas. What exactly had happened? And how could I get someone so determined to put the past behind her to drag it all back into the present?
Seven
Celia
Today had started off disastrously, yet now, I felt close to invincible. The market stalls were ready and looking fantastic, thanks to Sebastian. We’d gotten the website back, thanks to Sebastian. And the Christmas tree was up and even more magnificent than it had been since it was toppled, if that was even possible. Sebastian had guided the trunk into position with the force of ten men. The suit he’d sported on the first day suggested power and control, but it had camouflaged his brute strength. I’d had to remind myself to focus on the direction of the trunk several times as my gaze slid to Sebastian’s thick, sinewy forearms, and I felt his grunts of exertion between my legs.
Once the trunk was in place, we’d even managed to secure the tree with some guide ropes. If it had been the wind last night that had lifted it out of the ground, it wouldn’t happen again.
Christmas in Snowsly was back on track to perfection.
“It sounds like you all had a very productive day,” Ivy said, bringing to an end the daily Christmas committee meeting.
“The entire village did,” I replied. “Everyone joined in.”
“I thought we all deserved a little tipple,” Mary interrupted as she came into Ivy’s living room, pushing a drinks trolley set with six glasses and a punchbowl. “Don’t tell Oliver, but I’ve whisked up some of my own mulled wine recipe.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Ivy said. “I’m not sure why I didn’t think of it myself. We certainly have a lot to celebrate.”
“We still have to hope that the loss of the website hasn’t hurt us too badly,” I replied. “But we’re in the best possible place to try to beat last year’s first day sales at the market.” I took the glass of mulled wine from Mary, sinking in to its warmth. I chinked my glass to Barbara’s before taking a soothing sip.
“And we’ve even got a tree to hang the annual Snowsly bauble on when Ivy’s feeling up to it,” Peter said. “If it hadn’t been for you two, Celia and Sebastian, I’m not sure we’d still be having a Christmas market in Snowsly this year.”
“Cheers!” Ivy raised her glass of mulled wine. “To Celia and Sebastian.”
“We all played our part,” I replied. Truth be told, I’d been close to losing it when the tree came down. If it hadn’t been for Sebastian pulling me to one side and knocking me off my panic spiral, I might have given up and gone home to bed.
My second sip of spiced wine made my body feel like it had been coated in a condensed, soporific syrup that slowed my senses and smothered my adrenaline. I was instantly cosy and comfortable. And entirely exhausted.