The sun is low in the sky, and Haf’s breath mists in front of her.
Even though Christopher said the fête won’t officially start for another half an hour or so, the place is humming with people. Just ahead of them, she can see Esther’s mulled-wine stall being set up, with gigantic tureens of hot drinks. The air is thick with the quintessential Christmas smell of roasting chestnuts, but there’s also freshly popped popcorn and even the sweet ache of candyfloss.
As they walk down the promenade of wooden huts, people arrange their goods in cute displays, reams of wrapping paper and ribbons to hand ready for gift-wrapping.
A cluster of adults with an air of school teachers set up games for the children next to a big sign that saysSnowman Competition. Haf spies a box of Calloway carrots next to donatedscarves, hats, gathered sticks and clumps of coal, ready for everyone to decorate their snow people.
The air moves from sweet to meaty as they get closer to the hog roast. Haf’s mouth waters, and she realises she hasn’t eaten much today, other than gingerbread and decorations.
‘I want to eat everything,’ she whispers.
‘Well, you can’t eat this,’ says Christopher, holding it back protectively.
‘All I’ve eaten all dayisthat. I’m starving.’
‘I promise to feed you once I’ve fulfilled my duty as a son.’
The Christmas tree looms large up ahead, somehow even bigger in person. On TV, she’d seen the Nordic Spruce that gets delivered to London every year, and she swears this is a solid rival to that.
Esther and Otto stand together just to the side of a stage that has been set up and decorated ready for the fête to open. Arms full of Christmas decorations, Otto is directed off to another part of the fête before they can say hello.
‘Ah, my Christmas elves have arrived,’ she says, looking up from her clipboard.
‘I thought it would be a good occasion to bring them out,’ says Christopher, shaking his head so the pom-poms on his hat dance.
‘Very nostalgic of you. You know, we’ve got a stand to make them again this year. You could make a new one that’s not rigid with glitter glue.’
‘That’s part of their appeal,’ protests Haf. ‘It’s kind of impressive that my hair is getting stuck on it after all these years.’
Esther looks to the cake box. ‘Please tell me this one is a prize someone might want to win?’
‘If you’d let me do it first time, I could have saved you all that hassle,’ says Christopher, smug that he’s obviously right.
‘Yes, yes,’ she says, appraising it with a cursory glance. ‘It’s lovely, thank you. Can you set it down over there on the raffle table?’
Without another word, Christopher takes the gingerbread house away.
Is that it? Is that all she’s going to say?
‘He’s so talented, isn’t he?’ she prods, after a moment. Even if he’s not here to hear it, maybe it would be a good fake-girlfriend thing to share the pride.
‘Very,’ says Esther, but then she returns to her list, presumably ticking off the gingerbread house.
Part of her knows logically that Esther is just distracted, but Haf wants to grab her and say, ‘No, go look at it properly. Look at what your talented, clever son can do! Tell him he’s great.’
No wonder he doesn’t talk about his baking.
As Christopher returns, Haf hears the jingle of bells in the distance and realises it’s the reindeer.
‘Do we have time to go see the reindeer before everything starts?’ Haf asks.
‘Yes, yes. Off you go,’ says Esther, disappearing around the Christmas tree.
Trying to swallow her bristling, Haf gives Christopher a conciliatory smile.
‘Come on then. I didn’t go on the Great Carrot Mission for us to not then see these very well-fed reindeer.’
‘Don’t forget the snowmen too.’
