Page 6 of Christmas All the Way

Which allowed Grace a lazy morning of browsing Keeley’s impeccably curated bookshelves, she thought with a small flutter of pleasure. ‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘How about afternoon tea at that nice garden centre near Flaxwood?’

‘Ruggles?’ Keeley pursed her lips. ‘That works. I could pick up some autumn bedding plants while we’re there and you can help me decide where to put them.’

‘Sounds like heaven,’ Grace said, and winced. ‘Ugh, did I really just say that? I told you I’ve morphed into a middle-aged cliché.’

Keeley laughed. ‘If that’s the case then I’m one too, but I don’t mind a bit.’ She raised her wine glass in salute. ‘Here’s to our garden centre era.’

The mirth dancing in her eyes made Grace feel a little better. She chinked her own glass against that of her friend. ‘You know, it doesn’t sound so bad when you put it like that. Cheers!’

While Grace was of the considered opinion that August was most definitely still summer, it seemed Ruggles Garden Centre had leapt headlong into autumn. The grand, domed entrance lobby was awash with russet, gold and brown in the form of artfully arranged floral displays and cascading garlands loaded with glistening berries. Leaf-shaped bunting criss-crossed beneath the glass-panelled ceiling, plush miniature pumpkins in purples, greens and creams were piled high on old-fashioned wooden handcarts, while real pumpkins and their smaller, sister squashes nestled in raffia-packed crates on the floor. An assortment of lanterns hung at different heights; Grace could imagine them filled with fairy lights or flickering faux-flames. She lingered beside a display of scented candles, all bearing names like Fireside Dreams and Toffee Apple Delight, and was tempted to choose one to brighten up her living room when she returned home. Jack had always complained about the smell when she’d lit them previously, calling them ‘mum catnip’ so she’d stopped buying them. But there was something soothing about the gentle glow of candlelight, and having a room filled with a mood-enhancing aroma. There would be more inside, she supposed. Perhaps she’d pick one up before they left.

‘This is nothing,’ Keeley said, when Grace commented on the abundance of autumnal decorations. ‘You should see the pumpkin patch they open in September – it’s like walking into Stars Hollow. I half expected to find Lorelai running the cinnamon bun stall.’

Grace smiled, because they’d both loved the idyllic small-town setting of the Gilmore Girls television series. ‘Sounds like I need to come back next month.’

‘Definitely,’ Keeley nodded. ‘We could take a pumpkin-carving class.’

At that, Grace’s spirits dipped, because carving a too-big pumpkin for Halloween had been an autumn tradition Jack had loved when he was younger. But it had been years since he’d shown any interest and Grace couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought one. These days, she left a bowl of sweets on the doorstep for visiting trick-or-treaters, with a note to help themselves. ‘Maybe,’ she said.

Her friend eyed her knowingly. ‘You’re allowed to make new traditions, Grace.’ She pointed to a poster advertising an autumn wreath workshop. ‘I remember you producing the most glorious wreaths for your front door in Christmases gone by. Fancy seeing if you’ve still got what it takes?’

What it took was a base, some greenery and an eye-watering amount of floristry wire, Grace thought, but it was true that making her own festive wreath had been one of the Christmas rituals she’d enjoyed the most; she and Keeley had occasionally managed to align their diaries to attend a workshop together. And then one year she’d been poorly, and she’d found an old artificial one in the loft that had done the job almost as well, and somehow she’d never found the time to get back to making her own. Much like mixing her own Christmas cake on Stir-Up Sunday, or baking a gingerbread house to decorate once school had broken up, or filling the house with the scent of homemade mince pies. There didn’t seem much point in going the extra mile when Jack was too busy growing up to notice. But dipping her toe back into something creative with Keeley could be fun. Maybe she was right – it was time to make some new traditions, for her own enjoyment rather than to please someone else. ‘I’d like that. But only if you have time.’

‘I’ll make time,’ Keeley said. ‘Now, do you mind if we head to the cafe first? I didn’t have time for lunch and I’m starving.’

By a stroke of luck, they found a table in one corner of the busy courtyard, shaded by a large parasol, and before long they were working their way through a delicious selection of sandwiches, delicate pastries and mouth-watering scones presented on an arched brass stand. Grace felt her enjoyment was only improved by the exquisite rose-painted tea set it was served on. The overall effect was gloriously old-fashioned; she felt as though she’d slipped into a bygone era, where the taking of tea was the lynchpin of good society. ‘This is lovely,’ she told Keeley, when a lull in conversation allowed her to gaze around in appreciation. ‘Thanks for inviting me to stay this weekend.’

‘Totally my pleasure,’ Keeley said, leaning back in her seat with a contented sigh. ‘I’ve been so caught up with work recently that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to take a bit of time for myself. And I can’t remember the last time I ate here – I usually make straight for the plants and get through the tills as quickly as I can. I’d forgotten how decadent an afternoon tea can be.’

Decadent was an excellent description, Grace decided as she sipped her Earl Grey, but calorific was another – her stomach was groaning and there were still several scones and cakes left uneaten. ‘We’ll get a box to take them home in,’ Keeley said, rubbing her own enviably flat stomach. She looked around for a member of staff. ‘They can be a teatime treat tomorrow, before you leave.’

Once the leftovers had been packaged up, Keeley led the way through the various rooms of the garden centre towards the outdoor plants. ‘They really go all out for Christmas,’ she said as they passed a tempting display of velvety red and orange toadstools. ‘The rooms are transformed into grottos, arranged by colour and theme, and each one has a fully decorated tree in the middle to make it easier to visualise how the baubles and ribbons on the shelves will look. The arrival of the preview evening invitation in November sets off my “Christmas is Coming” klaxon.’

Even now, three months from the frenzied whirl of the festive period, Grace could picture the scene. ‘No wonder Freezy Tye wins the Most Christmassy Village award every year, with this place on the doorstep.’

Keeley shook her head. ‘Ruggles is fantastic, but the planning for the village displays starts long before the decorations go up here.’ She smiled. ‘Let’s pick out some plants and I’ll introduce you to the secret of our success.’

Mystified, Grace could only follow her friend to the outdoor nursery, where rows of low wooden shelves stretched into the distance, filled with pots of joyful colour. Bees buzzed around clusters of lavender, the scent of roses drifted from a nearby display and a pair of unrepentant blue tits chased each other across the space between shelves, in search of seeds or worms or both. She watched Keeley briskly assess the assortment of autumn bedding plants and select several plugs of cheery pansies and a number of bold pink cyclamen. ‘These will brighten things up,’ she said, loading them into the pull-along basket. ‘We have a professional gardener at Juniper Cottage and I’m always stealing his ideas, although on a much smaller scale.’

Pausing for Grace to collect one of the scented candles she’d noticed earlier, they paid and made their way back to where they had parked. But instead of steering the car towards the exit and the main road, Keeley turned left, to where the smooth tarmac of the garden centre car park gave way to a wide, three-bar gate and a dusty track beyond it.

‘We’re not going home?’ Grace asked, frowning as they bumped along the less well-maintained road. Sturdy hedgerows on either side hid whatever lay ahead from view.

‘No, Alice,’ Keeley said, with a mysterious smile. ‘We’re going to wonderland.’

Before Grace could ask what she meant, the car rounded the bend to reveal a tall, oak-beamed barn. A cheery red and white sign above the plain wooden door bore the name ‘Santa’s Secret’ but there were no other obvious clues about the building’s purpose. She glanced at Keeley in bafflement. ‘What is it? A getaway for Father Christmas when he wants a break from the North Pole?’

Her friend laughed. ‘No, this is Freezy Tye’s secret weapon in the battle to remain Britain’s most Christmassy village. You’ll understand when we go inside.’

None the wiser, Grace followed Keeley to the entrance. ‘After you,’ Keeley said, holding the door back and sweeping an arm to usher Grace inside.

The room Grace stepped into was disconcertingly not what she was expecting. Instead of the open space suggested by the barn’s exterior, she found herself in a square room, enclosed by four white walls and a ceiling. Two closed doors punctuated the wall opposite the entrance, plain and nondescript. A counter ran along one wall, upon which sat a number of old-fashioned electronic tills. Michael Bublé and Shania Twain crooned in unison from an unseen speaker, dreaming of a white Christmas with little regard for the fact that it was August. A young woman stood behind one of the tills, tapping at the keys and chatting to the customer in front of her as she worked her way through the contents of her shopping basket. She glanced up and smiled. ‘Welcome to Santa’s Secret. Have you visited before?’

Keeley nodded, bending to pick up a shopping basket from a pile near the right-hand door. ‘Don’t worry, I know my way round.’ She gave Grace a mischievous look. ‘Ready?’

‘I suppose so,’ Grace said. ‘Lead on.’

Nothing could have prepared her for the assault on her senses as she stepped through the door on the right. The barn had been divided into corridors, using the same white walls as the entrance hall, but that was where the similarity ended. Boxes of tinsel in every conceivable colour stretched along the wooden trestle tables that lined one wall, shimmering strands spilling over the cardboard rims to trail haphazardly onto the table top and merge into rainbow puddles. Bolts of fabric in reds and greens and golds, patterned and plain, peeked from deep shelves on the opposite wall. Strings of sequins cascaded from rolls hung from hooks on the walls, dazzling under the fluorescent strip lights, while loose streams of ribbon jostled over row after row of unopened cellophane-wrapped siblings. Oversized red and white candy canes stood to attention in glittery rows, while garlands of gold-berried greenery looped around pillars that appeared to serve no other purpose than to display them. Grace stood gaping for several seconds; it was as though someone had jumbled up every type of Christmas haberdashery known to humanity and thrown them at the walls. And then a movement just to her right caught her eye. Turning, she discovered an enormous, white-furred polar bear standing majestically on hind legs rotating slowly towards her. ‘Oh!’