Page 82 of The Merry Christmas Project

Her eyes widened. ‘It smells of Christmas trees.’

‘Would she like that one, do you think ?’

The little girl nodded and without warning thrust her skewer at me to hold for her while she checked the contents of her purse. I held my breath while she counted out the coins, hoping that she had enough money. She did, well, thereabouts anyway, so while she chose a gift card to give to her mum, I pocketed the coins, wrapped the candle and sent her on her sticky way.

After she’d gone I leaned back on the tiny chair which must have come from one of the children’s classrooms and sipped the coffee which Tom, or Mr Hughes as he was known around here, had brought me. He’d been around all the stallholders earlier, taking their refreshments order, dressed in his Christmas jumper and Santa hat, followed by an adoring gang of little helpers who foisted mince pies on us all.

There was no mistaking that Christmas had well and truly arrived in Wetherley. The main hall, where my stall was, was a cross between Santa’s workshop and a German Christmas market. The air was warm and cinnamon-scented, Christmas music was being piped through enormous speakers mounted just below the ceiling and there had been two queues which hadn’t died off all afternoon : one for Santa and one for the ladies’ loos. Rows of small stalls selling everything from Christmas cake to Christmas stockings lined the room and in the centre were all sorts of fundraising activities from the bottle stall (over 18s only) to pin the nose on Rudolph. If you were so inclined, you could design a Christmas card, make a stained-glass window from cellophane or decorate a biscuit. Hordes of children, fuelled by the chocolate fountain and wall-to-wall Christmassy-ness, ran around at high speed, while the large group of mums in charge of the mulled wine stall had got pinker and louder as the afternoon had worn on.

It was peak Christmas chaos and I was having the best time. In the run-up to today, I’d focused on making enough Christmas-themed candles for this event while simultaneously fulfilling my other orders, and, of course, preparing for the Christmas lights switch-on later this evening. The Christmas Fair had simply been another chore on my calendar. What I hadn’t predicted was how much I was going to love spending time in the company of small people for whom the wonder of Christmas was too great for their little bodies to contain. Their excitement was contagious and I’d found myself singing along gustily to the Christmas songs. And when the children had gathered around the big Christmas tree in the school reception area to sing ‘Silent Night’, I’d had a lump in my throat the size of a tennis ball.

If I’d needed confirmation that I wanted children, then spending the afternoon at Wetherley Primary School had provided it in spades. When my offspring eventually appeared, I’d definitely send them here. It had a cosy community feel to it, and although the Victorian building was small and old-fashioned, there was no shortage of gadgetry and technology, from the security entrance system to the laptops in the computer suite. But perhaps more importantly, the children seemed genuinely fond of their teachers and it was impossible not to be impressed by staff who’d fully embraced the Christmas spirit, with their festive knitwear and unadulterated enthusiasm.

I’d bucked the trend by not wearing a Christmas jumper, on the basis that Tom had warned me how quickly the hall became overheated. But I was wearing bauble earrings handmade by Astrid and I’d been asked about them so many times that I fully expected Astrid to have her own stall here next year selling them.

Astrid was in her element. She’d spent the first twenty minutes with me, gift-wrapping candles for customers. But after Tom had confided in us that the face painter had cancelled at the last minute, she had immediately offered to fill in. So for the last two hours she’d been sitting on a velvet chair with children at her knee while she created the most exquisite Christmas-themed art on their faces. I wasn’t sure who was enjoying it more : Astrid or her little customers.

There were two women heading my way, one holding the hand of a little boy and the other wearing a papoose, a pale yellow hat just visible over the top of it. I set down my coffee out of harm’s way and smiled welcomingly at them.

‘These are lovely. Look Cesca !’ said the one carrying the baby.

‘Oh yes, Mum would love one.’ Her friend picked one up and sniffed it, and then held it out so that her little boy could smell it too. ‘How much are they ?’

‘Uh-uh, I’m getting one for Mum, I saw them first !’

‘I’m guessing you’re sisters ?’ I grinned at them as they pulled faces at each other.

‘Fliss has literally been moaning that she saw it first my entire life.’ The two of them laughed.

I handed them a price list. ‘And it’s one pound extra for gift wrapping.’

‘Is that all ?’ Cesca gasped. ‘Where do you live ? I’m tempted to drive round to give you the rest of my wrapping at that price.’

I told them it was a Christmas Fair offer only and between them they bought eight candles, all gift-wrapped.

‘Are you local ?’ Fliss asked. ‘I promise I won’t bring you presents to wrap, but I would like to buy from you again.’

I nodded. ‘Yes, all handmade from my cottage in World’s End Lane.’

Not strictly true at the moment but I had moved my things back in and had spent my first night there last night.

Fliss’s eyes widened. ‘Did you hear that, Cesca ? This lady lives in World’s End Lane.’

Cesca, who had been rifling through a large, quilted bag looked up. ‘Really ?’

The two women looked at each other and then back at me with renewed interest.

‘Doesn’t it worry you, being so near the river ?’ Fliss asked.

‘Not at all,’ I replied. ‘It’s really peaceful and I love being surrounded by the trees. I’m actually the cottage right at the end, so I can hear the river flowing on a calm day.’

This morning I’d woken to such a thick frost that at first I thought it had snowed. You could keep your Saks and your Selfridges window displays ; as far as I was concerned, Mother Nature did hands-down the best Christmas decorations in the world and all for free.

Cesca produced a cloth from her bag and wiped the baby’s face. ‘But the floods—’

Fliss nodded vehemently. ‘Did you flood very badly recently ?’

‘Um …’ I looked from one to the other, wondering why they seemed so bothered on my behalf. ‘A bit.’