His dad had won Dawn over with the roasted chestnuts the year she was heavily pregnant with Scarlett, and right after Dawn died and Nathan had struggled through his and Scarlett’s grief and their first Christmas without her, with a sense of déjà vu set fast in his mind from having once before had to deal with a missing person at a key time of the year, they’d gone to his parents. When they arrived, without uttering a word his dad had taken out the cast-iron pan, tarnished from years of use above the flames, looked over at Nathan and he’d followed his dad outside while he lit the coals in the fire pit. Once it was going, Nathan showed Scarlett how to rinse and score the shells of the nuts, then they’d taken the morsels out to her grandad, who’d put them all into the frying pan and held them over glowing coals, the ritual like a balm for their pain. The chestnuts never took long to release the potent yet comforting smell and the family had sat there beneath blankets, thankful for each other, drawing strength from the people in the present, reflecting with sadness on all that they had lost.
‘Dad,’ Scarlett frowned at him now, at the markets, as she grabbed his sleeve. ‘I’ve been calling you for ages.’
‘Sorry, miles away.’
She nicked a chestnut and popped it in her mouth, the heat coming out in puffs when she realised how hot it still was.
‘Serves you right for taking it without asking,’ he grinned.
She managed to chew it eventually and pointed to the end of the row of chalets. ‘What do you say?’
‘What are we looking at?’
‘You need glasses, I’m telling you.’
‘No I don’t.’ Actually, he probably did. In all their traipsing of New York streets it was Scarlett who spotted the names high up on their signs first, he took longer to focus.
‘It’s a Christmas tree stall.’
‘And…?’
‘Why don’t we get one for our suite at the inn?’
‘Darcy offered us a tree, remember, and we agreed to just appreciate the trees all around the city – we wouldn’t have our decorations anyway.’
‘I know what I said, but I didn’t realise how much I’d miss that smell when I woke up in the morning. I want it so bad.’ Her hands were together against her chest in prayer.
‘You sound about four years old.’
‘It’s not Christmas without a tree when I wake up.’
‘Go downstairs to the communal lounge in your PJs, Darcy won’t mind.’
She nicked another chestnut. ‘It’s not the same, and you know it. Come on, you love a tree as much as I do. And who knows how many Christmases we might have left, what with me growing up and possibly flying the nest?’
He clutched his hand to his heart. ‘You know how to get me. OK then, suppose we get a tree, how are we going to get it back to the inn? It’s a twenty-five-minute walk and I can’t see you helping to carry it.’
‘I’m no weakling.’
‘Ask if they deliver. If they do, you’re on. If they don’t, forget it.’
She clapped her hands together, stole his last roasted chestnut and skipped off towards the tree chalet. He had to admit, he’d missed having a tree too, but without the ornaments it seemed a bit pointless. Darcy had already told them that she had a whole stash if they changed their mind about a tree and so he fired off a text to check and the reply he got back told him that the man, Mitch, running the stall was actually her supplier when it came to trees anyway, and that she was sure he’d deliver it for them if they were desperate to choose one tonight.
He thought he recognised the girl at the knitting stall as he walked past, carried along in a wave by the crowd, but he was in a city where he knew nobody, it was impossible. When he reached the tree stall, its chalet with a garland on the door, he spotted a young lad with his back to them, taking payment, flanked by two trees bedecked with white lights. There had to be at least twenty trees on display and the debris on the street that a man was sweeping up showed plenty had been here before but were already sold.
‘Found anything?’ he asked Scarlett, who was admiring a tree in the middle of a big bunch.
‘How about this one?’ she suggested.
‘Can’t really tell when it’s leaning against all the others.’
She squeezed in closer. ‘Looks about the right height, taller than me, probably slightly smaller than you.’
‘Is that your accurate method for measuring a tree?’ he mused.
‘May I help you?’ It was the man who’d been sweeping the ground when Nathan arrived. ‘You interested in this tree?’ When Scarlett nodded he tugged it up tall and held on to the trunk so they could see it in its full glory.
‘It’s taller than me,’ Nathan pointed out to Scarlett.
