Читать книгу The Little Village Christmas - Sue Moorcroft - Страница 11

Ben remembered Alexia telling him she lived in Main Road, but not the number of the house. As he didn’t particularly want to ask Gabe in case it provoked another lecture, he asked at the village shop.

‘Number forty-four, blue door,’ the well-upholstered lady behind the counter responded promptly. ‘Caught your eye, has she?’

‘Um, thanks.’ Put off by such outright nosiness he hurried out before she could invade his privacy further.

When he located Number 44 he realised it stood quite close to the entrance to Gabe’s track. He must have passed it dozens of times. Squaring his shoulders, he strode up the path and rapped with the black doorknocker.

The door was opened by Jodie, wearing a tatty cardigan and a half-hopeful expression. ‘Oh. Hello,’ they said in unison, each sounding disappointed to behold the other.

‘Is Alexia here?’ Ben felt on edge. Last he’d heard, Jodie’s boyfriend had been proving difficult to contact just when a lot of people wanted to speak to him urgently.

Jodie shook her head.

‘Right.’ He tried to prompt her. ‘Any idea when she might be home?’

Jodie just shook her head again.

Good manners made Ben thank her, though he wasn’t sure what for. He turned and wandered up the track to Gabe’s but found the house locked up.

While he decided on his next move he watched the chickens pecking peaceably, placing each clawed foot as if fussy what they trod in. Though the autumn sun fell on his shoulders there was no real warmth to it. It made him wish he’d spent some of the summer at Gabe’s place instead of letting Gabe come to him while Ben did the hermit thing in the woods.

Shaking himself free of such pointless regrets he tried Gabe’s phone. No answer. He strode back to the shop, where he’d left his pick-up, and drove around the corner to The Angel. He might as well do something useful.

He carried his kit around to the back of the property where the yellowing grass was up around his thighs and neglected shrubs had linked arms as if to keep humans out. His target was an old apple tree with a decided lean. The bare branches on one side and the shelf fungus on its trunk told Ben there wouldn’t be a good end to its story so Gabe had agreed it had to go.

Hardhat, visor and ear defenders in place, he paced around, treading down the grass and deciding on the best place to drop the tree. Then he turned to the wall of shrubs, alternately using his saw and his hedge cutter until he’d cut a path through them. He dragged aside the resultant heap of brush to go through the chipper later.

He turned back to inspect the tree. It would be unsafe for him to get up into it to reduce the crown before felling, so, after a check of the blade and chain, he started up his chainsaw to lop what he could reach from the ground without it falling on him. Guided by his even strokes the glistening blade sliced through the wood in a fountain of chippings as the motor wailed yeeeeOOwwwwww. He cut up the branches as they fell, clearing the brush and stacking the timber.

Then he pulled back the grass and weeds to get a good look at the base of the trunk. He eyed the line on which he wanted the tree to fall then returned his chainsaw and ear defenders to the truck and picked up his axe.

Hefting it, he mentally marked out his target then began to chop, first a pilot cut on the side the tree would fall, then settling in to cut slightly higher on the opposite side, his swinging axe eating methodically through the trunk. Despite gloves, his palms stung and his shoulders ached, but somehow the regular blows gave him satisfaction.

He paused to shrug off his jacket and wipe the sweat from under his visor, checking that his line of fall was still good. That was when he realised he had an audience.

A woman who reminded him of Betty Boop was standing back, watching. He pulled off his hardhat and visor. ‘Alexia!’

The deep blue jacket and skirt she wore with heeled shoes made her look more grown-up than the jeans and T-shirt he’d so far seen her in. And out of. She tilted her head. ‘You’re using an axe when you have a chainsaw in your truck because …?’

He glanced back at the tree, only a few strokes away from succumbing, the cream and brown heartwood exposed. ‘I wasn’t prepared to wield the chainsaw on a trunk with no one around to get help if I got into trouble. Anyway, it seems fitting that such an old tree meets its end by hand.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You looked like you were beating it to death.’

Face heating up, he felt as if she saw right through him. But he pushed the thought aside, wanting to make the most of their return to conversation rather than frozen silences. ‘I really need you to let me properly apologise—’

‘It’s OK.’ Her expression didn’t change.

‘It wasn’t OK! I was incredibly crass, doing a vanishing act while you were asleep then sounding as if I was accusing you of having something to do with what’s gone missing. I’ve hardly slept for wondering what you must have felt.’ Hardly sleeping wasn’t new, but he’d passed a bad night even by his standards. ‘You must have something to say.’

She stared. Finally she nodded. ‘I’m glad we didn’t have condoms.’ Then she turned and vanished around the corner of The Angel.

He stared after her, insulted, as he knew he was meant to be.

Turning back to the apple tree he pulled on his hardhat and visor and weighed the axe in his hands before swinging the glinting glade once more. Ten strokes and the tree creaked and whined. He stood back and watched as it seemed to fall in slow motion, landing with a thump that travelled up from the earth and into his legs.

It lay exactly where he’d planned. At least he was good at something.