Lola turned at the sound of his voice. ‘Yes, it has been. I didn’t realise you’d actually implemented my idea. Alf’s admitted to being grateful for my baking.’
Tristan chuckled. ‘He’s not the only one, and not just your baking either. The tree was very inspired, Lola, the perfect suggestion. I wanted it to be a bit of a surprise.’ Their eyes met and Tristan faltered. ‘When I came to Polcarrow I wasn’t expecting much, OK, maybe the usual villagers who are stuck in their ways, the odd few who want to modernise. The sort of teething problems any new vicar might have. I admit I was expecting Polcarrow to be a stopgap on the way to wherever else I was called, but I’ve fallen in love with the place and all the unexpected things that have come in this year.’
Lola smiled up at him, warmth spreading through her at how his sentiments mirrored her own. They glanced around at the mural, which was partly obscured by the gratitude tree but still garnered a lot of attention. Lola anticipated Angelo’s next big reveal and despite Freya’s apprehension, knew it would be a treat.
‘Yes, it has all been a bit unexpected, but the best things usually are,’ Lola eventually said. ‘I’m glad Sue is determined to put the village on the map; it’d be a shame if the likes of Cathy allowed it to fade away. I understand the need to preserve the traditional, but we have something here people want as well. I do hope the press turn up and make Sue’s dream of Polcarrow stardom come true. She’s worked so hard on this and the Fisherman’s Fair.’
Tristan agreed. ‘I’m going to encourage people to continue to add to the gratitude tree.’ He paused before asking, ‘I know church isn’t really your thing, but I would very much like it if you came along to the carol service we’ll be holding later this month.’
Lola glanced up, her eyes meeting with Tristan’s. He gazed down at her, full of affection and she couldn’t help but smile. ‘Of course, I’ll be there, although you might regret it when you actually hear me sing.’
Tristan laughed. ‘So there is an end to your many talents? I don’t think I believe it.’
‘You’re only saying that to make me prove it to you, which is a slightly underhand way to get me to come along to the service. I better go and take Alf another mince pie and a cup of tea. Are you heading to the pub after the lobster pot tree unveiling?’
‘If you’re there then I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he said, making Lola’s heart skip a beat.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Is your idea that if my hands are full I won’t be able to eat them?’ Freya asked as Lola passed her some boxes of mince pies to take to the tree switch on. Dusk had fallen and the café had been tidied up and closed down ready for the evening. ‘Also, how many pies did you make? You took just as many to the church earlier.’
‘Honestly? I lost count. Tristan ordered some for the church and Sue ordered some for the switch on. It’s only just December and I’m a little bit sick of the sight of mince pies, which doesn’t bode well,’ Lola said as she followed Freya out of the café and locked up. ‘Have you heard anything from Angelo?’
Freya’s face blanched as she shook her head.
‘Nothing?’
‘No.’ Freya sighed. ‘But I’ve got everything crossed he’ll be there when we arrive and I’ve been worrying for nothing.’
They made their way along the seafront towards the lobster pot tree where a crowd was gathering. A local sea shanty choir had been booked to perform before the switch on. Their deep, melodious voices were singing Christmas songs, in a stirring way that brought a tear to Lola’s eye. The Polcarrow streets twinkled with white fairy lights and a sense of togetherness washed through the village. Lola and Freya set the boxes of pies on the table where Cathy was running a raffle. Sue was busy with an urn of non-alcoholic mulled punch, the smell fragrant on the cold air. Sue pointed a finger in the direction of a woman with wild curly hair in a black coat and mouthed, ‘Press.’ Lola gave Sue a thumbs up. Mission accomplished.
Lola wrapped a mince pie in a napkin and took it over to Alf, who was the only person sitting down. ‘Hello, love, I feel like king of the village here, not that I need to sit but Tristan and Sue insisted and I’m not one to create more of a fuss, that’s more his job.’ Alf gave Scruff a scratch behind the ear. ‘Thanks for this. I’ve lost track of how many of these I’ve had today,’ he said as he took the pie from her, then seeing Freya, asked, ‘Where’s your young man? The tree is still without its fairy.’ Alf gestured to the top of the stack of lobster pots.
Despite it being almost dark, Lola saw the blood run from Freya’s face.
‘I was hoping he’d be here with it,’ she said, her voice shaking. Freya threw a panicked glance at Lola.
‘I’m sure he’s just being a perfectionist.’ Lola tried to reassure Freya but her own nerves were suddenly on edge. Surely Angelo wouldn’t let everyone down.
Freya surreptitiously checked her phone – nothing. ‘Maybe he’s just running late,’ she suggested with faked brightness. ‘I’ll give him a call.’
Alf shook his head at Lola. ‘Maybe he’s got wind there’s press here?’ Alf pointed to the woman who was busy chatting to Tristan and scribbling something in her notebook.
Alf and Lola exchanged a glance. Press would definitely be problematic to Angelo, who had become a self-imposed artistic recluse following a very public breakdown at an art auction earlier in the year, which had been one of the reasons he’d ran away to Polcarrow. Freya pulled her phone out of her pocket and rang Angelo, walking away from the crowd so no one could listen in. Lola threw her a questioning look, which she answered with a shrug and tried him again. Lola tried to catch Tristan’s eye to stall him but he was too busy talking to the reporter. No one seemed to realise the tree topper wasn’t in place.
Any further discussion was stopped by Tristan stepping onto a small platform that consisted of two rather rickety-looking crates and, due to lack of a microphone, shouting, ‘Good evening, everyone! Can you hear me? Good. Now, welcome to the Christmas tree light switch on. As you can all see we’ve gone for something a little less traditional this year, which is still in keeping with the local customs. A lobster pot tree!’
There were a lot of appreciative sounds, but Lola saw the moment Tristan realised something was missing. He threw a glance at Freya who was forced to shake her head when Tristan mouthed, ‘Where’s Angelo?’ It was long past the time when the lights were due to be switched on, it was growing darker and colder and Lola saw the moment Tristan decided they’d just have to go on without the topper.
‘I’m not one for big speeches, plus it’s getting cold.’ Tristan rubbed his hands together to demonstrate. ‘I’d like to thank you all for coming and, without further ado, to welcome Alf, our local superstar, to come and do the honours.’
‘Look after Scruff, will you?’ Alf asked Lola as he made a big show of standing up and ambling over to Tristan. Just as he reached the platform a loud cry of ‘Stop!’ sounded through the crowd.
The whole of Polcarrow turned as one as Angelo loped out of the shadows, cradling something wrapped preciously in an old rug in his arms. Alf and Tristan looked at him. Angelo glanced around the assembled villagers until his eyes met with Freya’s. Lola saw the relief wash through her followed by a quick nod of encouragement. Lola felt the apprehension buzzing in the air ahead of the big reveal.
‘Sorry I’m late—’ Angelo stepped forward ‘—I completely lost track of time. I hope you weren’t thinking I’d forgotten all about the tree topper.’ He glanced around the crowd. ‘I went to bring it down and it needed one last tweak and maybe I got carried away trying to make it even more special, but here it is. I wanted to do something to reflect a village that is trying to rise again, something that entwined the old seafaring past with the hope of the future. The village is on the cusp of rediscovering itself, it’s having a renaissance, and as sad as it might be that we can’t find the old fairy, I think it’s fitting that we have a new one. Except,’ Angelo admitted, ‘it’s not quite a fairy, but . . .’ He whipped off the old blanket.
‘A mermaid!’ Alf gasped as Angelo held aloft a figure made of wire and metal.
