Autumn Leaves at Mill Grange, Jenny Kane [big ebook reader .TXT] 📗

over half of the contents of the attic when she came across an old tea chest with the word ‘Christmas’ written across the side. After a few determined tugs, the lid came off, and Tina was greeted with a mountain of tinsel, fairy lights, and baubles.

Mildly spooked by the sudden quiet after the loud creak of the lid’s removal, Tina decided to leave everything where it was until Tom had the tree.

‘If he can find a tree in October!’

*

Hunkering down in the trench to the far right of the excavation, Helen wiped some clay off a shard of pottery. It was one of three large-ish pieces she’d found in the last hour. Two of them, she suspected, came from the same vessel: a large cooking pot.

Placing the finds in the tray, ready to be recorded, cleaned, photographed, measured and drawn, Helen listened to the therapeutic sound of Thea and Shaun scraping back soil in the test pit off to her left.

It had been a long time since she’d been so relaxed in her work. The cameras were not yet rolling, and they had a few precious minutes to simply get on with the excavation. It wouldn’t last. As soon as Phil had decided what he wanted filming that day, the chaotic yet fascinating atmosphere of working an excavation while under a spotlight would return.

Shuffling back on her knees, Helen set to dragging the edge of her trowel over the earth. Tomorrow everything would change again. The Landscape Treasures team would finish work and leave, and it would be all hands on deck to get ready for the first guests the day after.

Mill Grange would be a different place with a procession of temporary residents passing through week by week. Did she want to stay and be a part of it? Thea’s job offer had played around Helen’s mind almost non-stop since she’d suggested it.

Torn between staying at Mill Grange, with its family atmosphere and fascinating work, and giving up the security of the decent salary she’d got used to, Helen felt trapped between desire and common sense. A situation that extended to Tom. She had no idea why she kept thinking about him, but there could be no getting away from the fact that she did.

Shame he’s a self-confessed nightmare when it comes to women.

Hoping he was taking care of her Land Rover, Helen forced herself to concentrate, as another shard of Roman cookware peeped through the soil.

*

The house wasn’t as he’d imagined. Although he hadn’t been invited across the threshold, he could see that the hallway of the two-bedroom terrace Sue lived in with Dylan was uncluttered. The carpet showed signs of being recently hoovered, and Dylan’s toys were neatly stored in plastic boxes, rather than thrown everywhere. Another indication that Sue had turned over a new leaf.

Dylan sat in his car seat, giggling as Tom told him a story about a snake who wanted to learn to swim, but didn’t know where to put his armbands.

Elated at having his boy by his side, and full of relief that the lad hadn’t hidden behind his mother’s legs, shy at the arrival of a relative stranger, Tom finished the story and told him what they were going to do.

Dylan’s blue eyes twinkled in pleasure. ‘We’re going to find a Christmas tree? A real one?’

‘A real one.’ Tom’s heart contracted as he considered the feeble plastic tree he and Sue had used during their only Christmas together. It had been tacky and white and already on its last legs when they got it from a local charity shop.

‘Why, Dad? We haven’t done Halloween yet. My teacher at school, Mrs Harley, she says we’ll be doing Halloween after half-term. We’re doing the Romans now. I like them.’

‘I’m glad to hear that, because it’s because of the Romans that we’re getting a tree.’

As he drove, stoically keeping below the speed limit as he carried his precious load back into Somerset, Tom told his son about his new job, Mill Grange, and how some television people wanted to film a Christmas scene inside the house.

‘Wow! I can’t wait to tell my friends that my dad is going to be on TV. Can I see it? Can I watch the show? When’s it on? Do you think Mum will let me?’

Lost in an avalanche of questions, Tom couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I’m not sure they’ll want to film me, Dylan.’ His stomach twisted as he thought of the consequences of being filmed, but then he saw the eager look on his son’s face.

‘You’d be good on telly, Dad. Mum says you’re good at drama.’

Dylan’s disappointed tone made his mind up for him. He’d tell Sam he’d do the interview about his job at Mill Grange after all. So what if his past came back to haunt him? His son wanted to see his dad on television, so that was that. Tom decided not to dwell on Sue’s comment on him and his flair for drama.

As they turned into the first Christmas tree farm on Bert’s list, Dylan leant forward in excitement. Row after row of pines, all different types and sizes, graduating from the most recently planted, backwards to the older, bigger trees, took his breath away. ‘Can I choose it, Dad?’

Tom ruffled Dylan’s short brown hair beneath his fingers. ‘Why do you think I brought you with me? This job calls for an expert set of eyes. Let’s go find a tree that Santa would love.’

*

For Bert and Mabel it was love at first sight. They clucked around Dylan as if he was the most precious find Mill Grange had ever produced. In turn, Dylan hugged them in excitement as he watched his dad and Helen wrestle the tree into a huge pot next to a fire, in one of the biggest living rooms he’d ever seen.

When Tina had arrived with armfuls of decorations and asked Dylan if he’d be their chief decorator, he looked as if he’d explode with pleasure.

Mouthing