Appleton Farm, Cheshire
Present day
Carmen had reached the end of the private footpath so called the dogs to heel and slipped on their leads. The track led from Appleton House, along the side of the field that backed onto the garden and then downhill towards the garden centre in the shallow valley. She always stopped to take it in: the little empire she had created from an expanse of neglected farmland.
The main building that housed the pet and gift shop, café and country clothing store was at the centre and from there the extensive plant shop and greenhouses spread out from the east side. The car park was at the front and three-quarters full, not bad for a Wednesday. In the distance was the petting zoo and farm, then the forest and beyond that the woodland trail and lake. It was her legacy, her pride and she would leave it to her children and hopefully it would remain in the family for generations to come.
Setting off again, she opened the gate that led to four large potting sheds at the rear of the centre. After weaving through the middle two, she let herself in through the side door of the admin centre and once she’d settled the dogs in Rosina’s office, closed the door and headed towards the gift shop.
It had been transformed in early November into what she could only describe as Winter Wonderland that was dedicated to all things Christmas: artificial trees, lights, decorations, you name it, they sold it. There was even a miniature steam train that wound around the garden centre, a massive attraction all year round but more so in December when children clambered aboard The Santa Express. And then there was the grotto, Winter Wonderland itself, her favourite place. Big Dave the head gardener was roped in every year to be Father Christmas and even though he huffed a lot and made out it was a chore, he thoroughly got into the part. And, as his wife attested, he put a lot of effort into his pre-Christmas training, bulking up on mince pies so his red-and-white suit fit like a glove, size XXXL.
Carmen had always made Appleton Farm a special place for her girls at Christmas but had wanted to create something for other children to enjoy, somewhere that was steeped in the magic of Christmas. She knew only too well how it felt to be a child. The thrill and expectation, believing, then not quite believing but wanting to hold on to the hope that Santa was real, that he really did fly through the sky and squeeze down your chimney. She still felt those things, and she was fifty-seven!
From the moment you walked into the Winter Wonderland, and it didn’t matter if you were young or old, your senses were heightened by sights, sounds and smells of Christmas. The dry-ice machine puffed wisps of white clouds along the path to the North Pole that was covered in snow, and twinkling lights lit your way towards Santa’s workshop and then the man himself, Big Dave and his well-practised, if not rather melodramatic, ho-ho-ho.
Resisting the urge to nip inside, Carmen headed into the café and stopped to ogle the cakes in the chiller, pondering what to have when Rosina turned up. It was something they did once a week to get them over the Wednesday hump. Carmen insisted on it because when the grandkids were about neither of them could get a word in edgeways and there, they had an hour of total bliss, a nice cake and a catch-up.
Seeing that Rosina wasn’t waiting at the reserved table by the window she decided to nip behind the counter and spend a minute with her longest-serving employees and now, after almost twenty years, special friends. Waving as she passed Christine who was serving a customer, she found Jan and Toni hard at work preparing lunch.
‘Hello ladies, are we all ready for Christmas? And let’s not forget our party next week?’ Carmen hovered by the door, observing kitchen hygiene rules.
Toni waved from the counter where she was slicing sandwiches. ‘You bloody bet we are! It’s been crazy here all week and we’re fully booked for Christmas lunches right through to Thursday.’
Jan was loading a tray up with plates as she spoke. ‘And my lot can’t wait. If our Maya asks me one more time if Darcy is coming I’ll go daft!’
‘You’re already daft, mate. That ship’s sailed.’ Toni winked at Carmen who stepped further back against the wall as Jan bustled past.
‘Right, I’ll leave you in peace. I can see you’re busy and remember, the four of us have a bottle of fizzy stuff with our names on, so until next week, be good.’
To calls of ‘we’ll try’, Carmen hurried to her table, smiling at diners as she passed them by. She was early so rather than ring Rosina to hurry her up, she took some time to observe the customers milling about the store. It never wore off, the pride she felt at her achievement and she never got tired of telling her five grandchildren stories of how it all began.
Out of a terrible tragedy, the Appleton women had pulled together, with the help of a Wilson, of course, and once Bern joined the team there was no stopping them. That’s where their history began.
Appleton Farm, Cheshire. December 1999
It was late, the mourners had finally gone home. The remnants of the cold buffet had been cleared from the dining room and Rosina and Violetta were settled in bed. Carmen and her mum were taking a moment for themselves in the kitchen. Sylvia was perched on a kitchen chair in front of the battered old range; Carmen was on the sofa they’d dragged from the lounge when they moved in. Those were the days. When she and Sebastian had laughed and at least tried to make their marriage and the house work, even though he’d hated being confined to the kitchen during the winter months so they could keep warm.
She hadn’t cried all day, in fact she hadn’t cried since the day of the accident when she’d seen her husband killed in the most shocking and gruesome way. All she could remember were flashes, like teasers from a movie trailer, scenes in her head before, during and after. One of them was the kind policewoman holding her hand, saying, ‘At least he was unconscious and he didn’t suffer. Try to focus on that.’ And she had.
From the second she arrived home in a police car, a switch had been thrown and her only concern was for Rosina and Violetta and the baby who waited silently inside her, curled into a ball, hands over its ears. That was how she imagined it because throughout her baby’s gestation, through the layers that protected it from the outside world, most of what it had heard would have been the angry words of a father and the tears of a mother who was hanging on by a thread. Now, the baby would only be meeting one of them. For this, amidst the carnage, Carmen was glad.
The kindly policewoman, who insisted on being called Rebecca, had wanted Carmen to go to the hospital to get checked over and have her bruises looked at, worried that she’d have concussion after hitting her head on the dashboard. She had refused, wanting only to go home, to Appleton.
Sitting at the table, half listening to Rebecca, she lifted her hand to her sore lips and cheek. It was painful but bearable, like most things had been for a long time.
Rebecca had bustled about the kitchen, making tea, promising to wait until the girls were brought home from school so she could help Carmen tell them about their father. She had been grateful for the sensitive intervention of the policewoman who had told two children the worst news in the kindest possible way.
Afterwards, it was easy really, pretending to hold it together for Violetta who had been distraught while Rosina looked shocked, yet accepting, like she was simply relieved to have him gone. Carmen knew exactly how that felt.
In the days that followed the accident she’d asked her eldest many times if she wanted to talk about it and she’d declined, and when Granny Sylvia had broached the subject she’d been met by the same response. Who could blame her though?
Rosina had been picked on and shunned by Sebastian, physically abused on more than one occasion so as with herself, his passing was a blessing. Since that day they had got on with life and focused their attention on Violetta who needed their love and support and never shut up about her dad. Even though her words of adoration and moments of despair were hard to bear in different measures, Carmen did her best. She kept up a front, like she had done since the day he died. It was for the best.
To those who’d attended the service and wake earlier that day, Carmen would have appeared brave and stoical. To others she was simply a mother guiding her children through a very difficult time and not wanting to overly distress herself or her unborn baby. It was also evident from the way her mother had been scrutinising her for most of the day that she was worried about her daughter’s well-being, or, was she merely biding her time?
When Sylvia spoke, Carmen realised it was a bit of both. ‘Rosie seemed pleased that I’m going to stay on for a while. Her little face lit up when I told her. She’s a pure diamond, that girl.’
Carmen forced a jovial tone. ‘Sometimes I think she prefers you to me. I don’t mind though. As long as she’s happy and I can’t blame her for being glad. I’ve put too much on her shoulders of late and now she can just get on with being a teenager. So thanks, Mum, for offering to stay.’ Her words were genuine as was the rush of emotion that took her by surprise after feeling nothing all day, nothing at all.
