Paradise Fields (2 page)

‘I know,' said Vivian. ‘And that is not a coincidence. I've been talking to Sacha about providing her with beeswax for her lip balm, but I don't think I could ever get it pure enough. Everything has to be perfect for her stuff.'

‘It's why it's so good,' said Nel, relieved that her friend appeared to have been looking the other way when she was swooped on from on high.

Her relief was shortlived. Vivian peered suspiciously at her. ‘Have you been holding out on me? Who was that man who kissed you? You've been keeping him dark.'

‘No, I haven't. He's a complete stranger and he bought some mistletoe. As have plenty of other people here today.'

‘Did everyone who bought mistletoe kiss you?'

‘Lots did. It's an occupational hazard. Although I suppose it's mostly been people I know, who would have kissed me anyway. It's no big deal.'

Vivian, who enjoyed an active and varied love life, disapproved of Nel's casual attitude. ‘You should have maximised your opportunity. He was the most gorgeous man I've seen in weeks.'

‘And I have a boyfriend, as you very well know.'

‘Simon, yes.' Vivian didn't approve of Simon, and although she never said so, Nel was perfectly aware of the fact. ‘Oh well,' she went on, ‘he must be a commuter, down for Christmas. Or staying with his parents, possibly. He looks young enough to still have parents. Oh, sorry, Nel.'

‘It's okay, mine died decades ago. But I am still young enough to have them.'

‘What d'you reckon?' said Vivian. ‘Has he hired a cottage to spend Christmas in the Cotswolds with friends? He was on his own, so probably not with a girlfriend.'

‘I have no idea and couldn't possibly speculate!' Nel said defensively.

‘Well, I certainly haven't seen him before, I would have remembered.'

Actually, Nel had seen him before, playing squash at the leisure centre. She had been going home from Weight Watchers on Monday and had looked into the squash courts to see if her son was there, possibly wanting a lift. Instead of a couple of sweaty teenagers, she had seen this stranger, hammering ten bells out of a large blond man. They were both galumphing about the court like young bulls, shoes squeaking, squash balls ricocheting bullet-like around the court. At the time Nel had wondered if this sort of squash would be better for losing weight than the low-cal kind she occasionally made herself drink instead of wine. But as her hand–eye co-ordination was atrocious, it probably wasn't a great idea – although it might be more fun than queuing for hours each week to find that, in spite of all her efforts, she had stayed the same weight
as last week, and was still on the plump side of size fourteen.

She didn't say any of this to Vivian, who disapproved of dieting even more than she disapproved of Simon. ‘Well, when you've found out everything about him, including his collar size, let me know, will you?'

Vivian laughed. Her ability to extract huge quantities of information about people, men in particular, in a very short space of time, was a skill she had been honing for years.

Harry, Nel's younger son, who looked so like his father it was almost uncanny, arrived, panting slightly. Like Sam, he was down from university for Christmas. ‘Hey, Mum – Oh, hi, Viv – Mum, I've just overheard something that might interest you.'

‘Oh?' asked Vivian. ‘About your mother's bit on the side?'

Harry frowned in bemusement. ‘What? No! That friend of yours who's on the council?'

‘Fenella, yes?'

‘She was talking to a woman while they were picking over the apples – God! People are so fussy! There I was with my paper bag open and ready and they were looking at each apple as if they might have worms in them.'

‘Well, they might,' said Nel, ‘but what did you overhear?'

‘Apparently there's a planning meeting. And they mentioned Paradise Fields – that was when I pricked my ears up. Something to do with planning permission. Anyway, it's tonight. I asked Fenella and she said anyone could go. I said you might be interested, and she said, yes, she thought you might be. So are you?'

Nel and Vivian both frowned, trying to cut their way through this confused report. ‘You didn't pick up any other bits of information, did you?' asked Nel. ‘I mean, I don't understand. The hospice owns these fields. We've been using them for years. I really don't think anyone could be building on them.'

‘Is Fenella still here?' asked Vivian, looking about her. ‘We could ask.'

Harry shook his head, his floppy brown hair landing in his eyes. ‘No. She said she had to rush. I told her I'd tell you about the meeting. She said ring her to find out the time. She couldn't remember offhand.'

‘Oh God! It sounds ominous!' said Nel. She was mystified and rather concerned. ‘But thank you for telling us, and for finding out. I'm sure there isn't a problem, but we'd better check. Are you busy this evening, Viv?'

Vivian nodded. ‘Hot date. New man. Could be fun.'

Nel sighed. ‘OK, well, I'll tell you if I discover anything exciting.'

‘Oh yes. I'd hate to miss out. I wonder if Simon knows anything? Being an estate agent, he might well.'

‘We could ask him,' said Nel.

‘No, thank you.'

Anxious to get off the subject of Simon before Viv could imply yet again that Nel could do better for herself, Nel quickly changed the subject. ‘So, what are you doing for Christmas, Viv? I don't think I've asked you.'

‘Going to my aunt in the Highlands. It'll be roaring fires, whisky galore, and long walks. I might take the hot date, if he's up for it. What about you guys?'

‘The same old same old, I expect.' Nel smiled to
cover the dread the word held for her. She liked the Christmas carols she sang with the hospice choir, she liked fairy lights and she liked – no, loved the Christmas farmers' market where they now stood. But since her husband had died, all other pleasure in Christmas was feigned. She was so good at pretending, she doubted even her children knew how she really felt about it.

‘What, at yours, with Simon and your cousin and her husband? What about the kids? Are they spending it with you?'

Nel knew perfectly well that soon the children would want to spend Christmas with their various love interests, but so far, they hadn't said so. Nel didn't know if this would make it better or worse. If they weren't around, she could go away too. Perhaps if she weren't at home, the space by the fireside, unmentioned but always there, would be less obvious.

‘Simon's going to his mother's, but I think all mine will be there,' she told Viv. ‘I'm a bit worried about your goddaughter, though. She's got this new boyfriend. He's from London.'

Vivian laughed. ‘It doesn't mean he's a rapist, you know. London is really quite civilised these days. They have policemen and everything.'

Nel made a face. ‘They met in a club. It's the first time she's gone out with anyone whose mother I don't know. Or, if I don't know her myself, I always know someone who does. It's a growing-up experience.'

‘What? For Fleur?'

‘No, for me. Oh good, here's my burger.'

‘Hi, Simon,' said Vivian. ‘I'd better go back. I left your Sam in charge of my stall,' she said, turning back to
Nel. ‘If I leave him to get bored, he might take the money and buy drugs with it.'

Nel laughed as she looked across at her son, persuading someone who obviously did not want them to buy a pair of beeswax candles.

Simon looked down at Nel. ‘I don't understand you,' he said, pretending to take offence. ‘You get huffy if I suggest the boys shouldn't put their feet on the sofa when they're wearing shoes, but Vivian accuses Sam of theft and illicit substance abuse, and you don't bat an eyelid.'

Nel smiled at him, to acknowledge he was joking. ‘Have you smelt their feet without shoes?' The truth was often disguised as a joke, and had been this time, but she didn't want this conversation now, so she bit into her burger. The mayonnaise oozed delightfully. ‘This is so good! It may be the most delicious thing I've ever eaten, and you are a hero for bringing it to me. And you got yourself one. Good choice! Have a bite.' Ensuring his mouth was full and he was therefore unable to speak, she went on, ‘But I'm glad Sam's around. I'll ask him to mind the shop for me while I have a last gallop round the stalls. I still haven't done all my Christmas shopping, and I've got to break it to people that there's a mountain of red tape to go through when we go official. Fleur's obviously gone off somewhere, and God knows where Harry's got to. Oh bugger! That'll never come off.'

A large gloop of ketchup-tinted mayonnaise had landed on the front of her waxed jacket. Muttering and scooping it up with her finger, out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of the man who had kissed her. He was holding his mistletoe bough as if it was a major
embarrassment, watching her lick off the mayonnaise. He smiled. Nel had no choice but to smile back; to appear standoffish now would just make her look even more ridiculous than she felt. After she smiled, she blushed. Oh for a tenth of Fleur's confidence with boys, she thought. Not that he was a boy, exactly.

‘Here.' Simon handed her a handkerchief. ‘Why do you have to make such a mess?'

Nel wiped her finger and then started on her coat, scrubbing at the stain. ‘I don't do it on purpose. But it's an old coat, it's no big deal.'

‘You'll have to have it dry-cleaned,' said Simon. ‘You really should be more careful.'

Nel was about to say that it was impossible to eat a burger without the contents going everywhere when she noticed that he was halfway through his, and not a drop of anything had gone anywhere but in his mouth. ‘Would you like me to wash your hanky for you?'

‘No, thanks. I don't want it pink.'

A little offended, but trying not to show it, Nel tucked Simon's handkerchief back into his pocket. ‘Thank you for feeding me, Simon.' Then she stuffed the rest of the burger into her mouth.

‘I could do it again. Come for a meal with me tonight? There's a new place opened, I hear it's really good.'

Nel chewed hurriedly. ‘It sounds lovely, but I'm going to be exhausted. I think I'd rather just slob out in front of the telly. When I've finished here I've got to deliver my local Christmas cards. That takes for ever.' She didn't mention the meeting. He would want to come with her, and it would make everything more complicated.

‘You could just put a stamp on them, you know.'

‘I know, but it's a chance to catch up with people.
I'm always so busy when we're setting up, I don't get time to chat. There are bound to be things they want to ask me about the changes we need to bring things up to standard and become a properly recognised market.'

‘That'll mean a lot of work. Is it really worth it?'

Nel took a deep breath, swallowing her irritation. ‘There are grants we could apply for, websites to go on, advertising ourselves. As an official farmers' market, we'd get far more publicity, far more people. Fenella thinks that if I present a proper plan to the council, tell them how everyone will be following all the rules, having the right scales, stuff like that, they'd go for it. The more stalls we have, the more money the hospice gets in rent.'

‘Just because Fenella works for the council, it doesn't mean she knows everything,' Simon replied huffily. He didn't really like Nel having sources of information other than him. ‘And do we really want all the extra traffic?'

‘It's only going to be once a month to start with!'

‘That's hardly viable, financially.'

‘Oh Simon, stop being so cheerful all the time. It's really wearing!'

Simon laughed, acknowledging her teasing. ‘I just think upgrading this market into a properly recognised farmers' market will be a lot of work, and no proper money. Now your children have practically left home, you could get a proper job.'

Nel didn't want a proper job. Mark's insurance had left them adequately provided for and she enjoyed working at what interested her and not having a career. As they'd had this conversation many times and now wasn't the time to have it again, she just smiled.

He regarded her crossly, annoyed at his inability to interest her in earning money. ‘And you could have just brought your Christmas cards with you and delivered them now.'

In fact Nel had intended to do just that, but there'd been so much on her mind when she'd rushed out into the pre-dawn that they'd got left on the hall table. ‘I said, I need to talk to people. And organising the market will be a lot of work, but it's very worthwhile, and could be huge fun.' She frowned as the thought of planning permission on Paradise Fields floated into her consciousness. Surely the hospice owned them! Harry had probably got the wrong end of the stick. He was a lot more dreamy than the other two. ‘But as I said, I want to talk to everyone.'

‘You live for chat,' said Simon.

‘I do, I do!' agreed Nel. ‘What better motive in life is there? And here's someone who needs mistletoe. Hey, Adrian! Buy some of this for your wife. This big bit would look lovely in your hall.'

‘We have home-grown mistletoe at the farm, Nel.' Adrian Stewart farmed a few miles away from the town. Nel knew him because she used to work for his wife in her catering business.

‘I'm sure, but I bet you just leave it on the trees. It's no good if you don't bring it into the house. No one will kiss you in the middle of a ploughed field.'

Adrian laughed and put his hand in his pocket. ‘How much will you sting me for, then?'

‘You decide what it's worth. Here's a nice big bunch. Let's say a pound. It's for a good cause.'

‘I thought you said Sam was getting the money,' said Simon.

‘Sam is a good cause. Thank you, Adrian. Give Karen my love. I'm planning to pop over later with my Christmas card.'