Lucas cleared his throat. ‘Would you like me to tell you?’
‘I’m indifferent about it, to be honest.’ His father blew out a breath that rattled his thin lips.
‘OK then.’ Lucas shrugged inwardly, not wanting to add to the atmosphere of irritation that his father was creating, and focused on driving instead.
He drove them through country lanes, past farms where tractors stood caked in mud, black and white collies peered from the gates, and where smoke curled up from chimneys into the chilly air. Rolling hills spread out in a chessboard of browns and greys, divided by hedgerows and dry-stone walls, and dotted with skeletal trees that pointed their bare limbs towards the sky. Robins hopped around the hedges, their red breasts vivid against the muted palette of late November, and high above the car, kestrels, buzzards, and sparrowhawks soared in circles as they hunted for their next meal.
When they reached a crossroads, Lucas slowed down and checked that the road was clear, then he turned left and drovefor three minutes before indicating right and turning into a large gravel carpark.
‘Know where we are now?’ Lucas asked, fighting a smile because the sign ahead made it quite obvious.
‘Holly Hill Christmas Tree Farm,’ his father read from the sign as Lucas pulled into a parking space and cut the engine.
‘That’s right. Remember it?’ Lucas had debated whether bringing his father here was a good idea or not, but then he’d decided that it could be a positive thing. While he had some sad memories from childhood, he also had some pleasant ones and so he wanted to embrace the latter to see if they could help repair his relationship with his surviving parent.
‘Should I?’
‘Oh come on, Dad. We had several trees from here when I was a child. Not every year, as we had an artificial tree for about ten years, but then Mum decided we should get a real tree and we had one for the next few years. It was a happy time, especially the years when we came up here together to choose a tree.’
His father looked down at his hands where they rested on his lap and stared at them as if seeing them for the first time. He lifted them and moved them in front of his face. ‘That was a long time ago.’
‘It was. About twenty-five years ago since the last time we came here. But I have nice memories of those days when you, Mum and I drove up here and walked around the tree farm together.’ There hadn’t been many occasions when he could recall the three of them doing something nice as a family, but those trips to Holly Hill had been good ones. His parents had seemed happytogether back then, even if it only lasted the time of the trip to the tree farm.
‘These damned things!’ His father’s tone made Lucas turn, and he winced at his father’s expression. ‘Look at the state of them.’
Lucas looked at his father’s hands. The joints were swollen; the fingers forced into claws, and the skin was red and shiny. ‘Do they hurt?’
‘Of course they hurt! Do you think they could look this bad and not hurt?’ Outrage laced his father’s tone, and Lucas shivered. ‘I … I hardly recognise myself anymore.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Lucas sighed softly. ‘I wish there was something I could do.’
‘Turn back the clock then, son. Turn it back and let me be young again.’
Lucas gazed out of the windscreen at the scene in front of them. There were a few other vehicles in the car park, but no people. The entrance to the tree farm comprised a wooden archway lit up with twinkling fairy lights. Tall evergreens stood either side of the archway like sentries on duty and beyond them, a path led through to the shop and then out to the lot where trees could be selected.
Regret filled his chest like lead as he realised this was a bad idea. Surrendering to nostalgia was risky because while the past could be viewed through rose-tinted glasses, the present was often hard to face. Especially with a father like Eddy.
‘I wish I could change things for you, Dad. I really do. However, nobody has that power and all I can do is try to help you in the here and now,’ he said, wiping his clammy palms on his jeans.
‘I know that, Lucas,’ his father replied eventually. ‘I know that and I … I am grateful to you for trying. Getting old isn’t easy and I hate how my body has changed. My mind … it’s still mostly the same and I feel the same inside. A bit more resilient. Less idealistic. I’m still the same person on the inside but this body of mine … I hate the changes in it. These hands … they used to play piano, draw portraits… They were strong and agile. But now, at seventy-five, they can’t do any of those things.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad.’ Lucas shook his head and his father sighed.
‘You don’t need to be sorry. I’m the one who should be apologising. Lucas … I am sorry for being such a grump. Since you came home earlier this week, you’ve done nothing other than try to help me. You’ve cleaned my house, filled my fridge and freezer, and now you’ve brought me out for the day. I am … I’m grateful, son.’ The last three words came out choked. ‘I don’t deserve kindness, and yet here you are being kind. Come on, son, let’s get us a tree.’ His father pressed the button on the seatbelt with his thumb and Lucas did the same, then got out of the car and came around to the passenger side. He opened the door, held out a hand and helped his father to get out, then they crossed the gravel and went through the archway.
Christmas songs filled the air as they strolled around the shop looking at decorations and fairy lights. There were also stockings to hang on the fireplace, colourful festive sun catchers, andSanta Stop Heresigns in different shapes and sizes.
‘Do you need some lights and decorations?’ Lucas asked.
‘We could get some new lights and maybe a few new baubles, but I’m sure there’s a box in the attic that’s filled with other decorations.’ His father scratched his beard. ‘We can have a look later.’
‘Good plan.’
They wandered out to the tree lot and looked at the different trees, finally settling on a Norway Spruce. It was six feet tall and had dark green, glossy needle-like leaves and the description of it said that it smelt rich, sweet and piney. A farm employee wrapped the tree in netting then took it through to the shop, and Lucas and his father chose a wreath for the front door.
Back in the shop, they selected some decorations and lights for the tree and the windows, then Lucas went to pay.
‘No! Let me,’ his father said. ‘It’s my house and I should pay.’
