Poppy Blake - The Windmill Café - Christmas Trees

“Agreed!”

Rosie exhaled a long calming breath, blew a wayward cooper curl from her lashes and began to help Mia return as much of the festive paraphernalia as possible to its cardboard home. When they had finished she waited for Mia to balance the boxes in a wobbly stack and carry them to the car park before selecting one of the Windmill Café’s peppermint-and-white aprons and turning her attention to the mince pies. Baking had always provided her with a sojourn of solace when all those around her were going crazy, and she couldn’t wait to delve her hands into a bowl of flour to get her fix.

But she couldn’t blame Mia for her enthusiasm. What had she expected? It was the week before Christmas, this sort of frenzied behaviour always happened at that time of year. For the first time, she was spending Christmas in the close-knit community of Willerby, the Norfolk village whose residents had woven their personal brand of magic through her veins. She loved it here and that was one of the reasons she had agreed to host the inaugural Christmas tree decorating competition at the café – to say a heartfelt thank you to everyone for their kindness. It was just that she hadn’t expected so many entries! Fourteen!

For a woman who loved to be organised and in control of every aspect of her life, Rosie definitely hadn’t thought through her seasonal gesture properly. She was fully aware of the cause of that unfortunate lapse in concentration – as was Mia – and for that she was paying the price. However, she refused to linger on the grenade-splattered landscape of her love life and began to rub the shards of cold butter into the flour to make the shortcrust pastry. Immediately, the tension in the back of her neck started to dissipate and when she added the orange and lemon zest, her mood improved even further and she could envisage the arrangements for Saturday’s competition begin to slot into the schedule template etched on her brain.

“I’ll make us some coffee,” said Mia when she returned, pressing their prized Gaggia machine into action. “Freddie called when I was at the car. He’s on his way over to set up the marquee this afternoon, and then he and Matt will deliver the trees tomorrow – no cost because they sourced them from the woodland around Ultimate Adventures. That’ll please Graham!”

Rosie rolled her eyes at the mention of the habitually absent owner of the Windmill Café - and the adjacent luxury holiday site that housed a selection of Scandinavian lodges and a perfectly proportioned shepherd’s hut painted in the same colours as the windmill and its sails. Once again, with a regularity that was becoming highly suspicious, Graham had managed to come up with an unbreakable prior engagement – this time with a snowboard in the Swiss Alps – when she and Mia had presented their plans for the café’s Christmas promotional event. At the Summer Breeze garden party in August, her erstwhile boss had taken a ‘well-earned’ break from the routine in his villa in Barbados, and during the Autumn Leaves bash he had sailed away from Palma harbour on his brother’s yacht.

However, his absence had turned out to be fortuitous because on each occasion one of the guests staying in the holiday lodges had suffered a terrible accident. First, pop star-to-be Suki Richards had been poisoned, and then Rick Forster, an avid myth-seeker, had been shot with a bow and arrow. Fortunately, both incidents had been wrapped up by the time Graham returned home and he’d only heard the details after the event – a much better scenario as far as Rosie was concerned. In fact, had Graham been there she suspected he would never have agreed to their plans to hold the Christmas Tree Carousel competition at the Windmill Café and Mia would have been devastated. Nevertheless, this time she had every intention of ensuring that everything ran smoothly.

“Do you think we’re crazy?” asked Rosie as she slid the last batch of mince pies into the oven and began the ritual of squirting every worktop with anti-bacterial spray to eradicate any lingering germ from existence. Whilst she loved the delicious aroma of nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves that was currently ballooning through the air, she preferred the satisfying smell of Flash with a top note of chlorine.

“What do you mean?”

“Holding the competition the day before Grace and Josh’s wedding?”

“It’s perfect!” declared Mia, as usual only seeing the positive in any given situation. “It means that their guests can take part in the contest too. It’s a great way to break the ice and give everyone something else to focus on before the frenzy starts.”

“And added another six people to our competitors list!”

“The more the merrier! We’ll set up the trees in the marquee tomorrow morning, and then, after the men’s cycle race has finished, the contestants can make a start. That’ll give everyone a full three days to complete their masterpieces before the judging takes place on Saturday afternoon.”

Rosie finished her session of extreme cleaning with a flourish and felt the last vestiges of her earlier stress drain from her veins. She swept her eyes around the room, satisfied it was as pristine as she had left it the previous evening before Mia had landed with her cornucopia of Christmas knick-knacks.

“It’s a bit of an usual activity for a stag party, don’t you think? A ten-mile cycle race?” said Rosie, wrinkling her nose in bewilderment at Josh’s choice of pre-wedding celebration with his closest friends.

“Not if cycling is your passion. And according to Grace, Josh is not only passionate about his bike, he’s obsessed! You know, last weekend he did the Coast-to-Coast with his best man, Sam, and a group of other friends who couldn’t make it down to Norfolk this week. If I were Grace I’d have him on flower arranging duties!”

“So how many are taking part in the stag party sprint in the morning?”

“Well, according to Freddie, apart from Josh and Sam, there’ll be another three; Dylan, Abbi’s boyfriend, Theo, an old friend of Josh’s who’s arranged the wedding cars at mate’s rates, and Archie, everyone’s favourite pub landlord from the Drunken Duck; so seven guys in total, if you include Matt and Freddie.

At the mention of Matt’s name, Rosie averted her eyes from Mia’s and became interested in choosing the perfect mince pie to go with her coffee, the surge of warmth spreading across her cheeks having nothing to do with the heat from the oven and everything to do with Mia’s not-so-casual reference to the owner of Ultimate Adventures.

“You’ve got to talk to Matt, Rosie.”

“I have talked to Matt!”

“You know what I mean – about Harry’s proposition.”

“I haven’t decided what to do yet.”

“Even more reason why the two of you should have a chat. Okay, so we all know you turned down Harry’s marriage proposal – we were there when he dropped the bombshell on you at the Autumn Leaves party. And, if I might add, you made the right decision when you chose to go with your gut instinct.”

Rosie’s lips twitched in amusement at her friend’s candour. “Thank you, Mia, I’m pleased you—”

“What I’m talking about is Harry’s business proposition. I don’t blame you for thinking about it, it was a great offer – a half share of a florist business in Pimlico is not to be tossed away without very careful consideration, especially when you were so good at it before Harry messed up by frolicking amongst the blooms with a random selection of blushing brides.”

“Hardly a random selection, there was only Heidi…”

“As far as you know,” added Mia, impishly. “But even as his business partner, I ask you one question, Rosie. Can you trust him? Are his motives selfless? Or has he simply discovered the hard way that it was your creative talent that attracted all those lucrative bridal contracts, not his, and he regrets letting you go?”