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Everyone voted Mrs. Garret’s tree as the best Christmas display in the village. Which was surprising in a way, as she was not really a local. 

Richard Garret, her husband, was not a man to be trifled with. Mrs. Garret had to acquiesce to his demands or else. She dared not divorce him despite his violent temper. 

The first time she saw the cottage, twenty years before, she almost had a heart attack. She was still in her prime, loved the city lights and partying. The village was drab, quiet and boring. The cottage needed refurbishment, especially before the winter cold.

Richard simply ignored her pained looks and spent most evenings at the pub, making a bully of himself and flirting with Jezebel, who worked at the garden centre and puffing his foul cigars. The villagers did not like him.

As Christmas approached, Richard bought a small fir from a nursery. He wanted to plant it in the garden. The bit of trollop, Jezebel, her nickname, suddenly disappeared from the village just a week before Christmas. So did Richard. The village was a hive of speculation and looked at Mrs.  Garret with pity.

Strangely she never thought of returning to the city. They had always been well off and she quickly went to the bank transferred all the funds into her account. 

She was never extravagant and began to work part-time in the villages around. She was a qualified beautician and soon had quite a clientele. Estate agents occasionally asked her if she wanted to sell the cottage, but she always declined. She had come to love the village life, with the charity sales, occasional bingo and parish activities. The only extravaganza she allowed herself was her Christmas tree. Each year she would decorate it so that it soon became an attraction. And each year she bought a small box of cigars.

"A present for my husband! God bless his soul wherever he may be!"
The cigars were never removed from under the tree. By New Year they would be soggy with rain and snow. "They make good manure," she argued.

Then one day Jezebel returned to the village and swore she never ran away with Richard. No body believed her. The police came to ask Mrs. Garret some questions, but what could she tell them? Soon they left her in peace.

Once again, Mrs. Garret was voted the best decorator of Christmas. The fir had quite grown up now and beneath it was the box of cigars.

Mrs. Garret poured herself a glass of wine and switched on the lights of the tree. Lights twinkled and the angel on top emanated a golden glow. She lifted her glass towards the tree and toasted her husband.

"Hope you’ll enjoy your cigars dear. I’m sure their taste will seep into the soil below the tree.  Good night Richard dear, and enjoy." Slowly she returned to the cottage for a good night rest.
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