On the outskirts of a quiet market town in Yorkshire, there was an old lane that time had forgotten. The tarmac was cracked, buses ran scarcely, and neighbours could be counted on one hand. But in recent years, everything had changed—city folk, weary of urban sprawl, began flocking here. One by one, houses were bought up—some renovated, others razed to their foundations to make way for spacious cottages.
Steven and Emma had made the leap too. The shabby little house at the end of the lane had been a bargain, and they’d kept their flat in Leeds for their daughter. They mended the roof, laid fresh patio stones, even planted a garden—just as they’d always dreamed. Their son-in-law brought over a young fir from a nursery, planting it by the fence where it could be seen from the lane.
At first, the sapling struggled, as if reluctant to take root. But Emma and Steven refused to give up—feeding it, watering it, even speaking to it as though it were alive. And then, one day, it began to grow. Not quickly, but steadily. That first Christmas, they draped it in fairy lights, and their grandchildren posed for photos beneath it—a tradition born that night, repeated every year with laughter and love.
Two years on, it had flourished—tall, lush, its needles soft to the touch. In summer, wildflowers bloomed around it, and the couple dreamed of adding a bench to sit beneath its shade. Then, one morning, Emma stepped outside—and froze. The fir was gone. Only a stump remained. A little farther, beside the wheelie bin, lay its discarded branches.
Shock. Despair. Rage. Who would do such a thing—not at Christmas, but in the dead of summer?
Steven, fists clenched, marched across the lane to their neighbour—Margaret Wilson. She’d been watching them with bitter eyes for years. Her cottage, passed down from her parents, was worn but tidy. A widow with a son who rarely visited, she’d made it clear—the new arrivals were a thorn in her side.
“Why, Margaret? Why?” Steven asked, voice thick with hurt rather than anger.
“Living the high life, aren’t you?” she snapped. “Two cars! A garden straight out of a magazine! That wretched tree was the last straw. Your lot screaming, racing about—no peace to be had.”
“It was just for the holidays… the lights, the family—” he faltered.
“And I’m to keep my windows shut in summer when yours are shrieking under my nose?”
Silent, he turned away. At home, he told Emma everything. She said nothing for a long moment, then wiped her eyes.
“Jealousy,” she murmured. “Nothing else explains it.”
“Jealousy’s poison. We’re no different—retired, just like her. Only we choose to live beautifully. For ourselves. For the grandkids.”
A week later, their son-in-law returned, this time with two young firs—small but full, roots wrapped in burlap. The couple planted one by their gate. The other, Steven carried across the lane—to Margaret’s. A peace offering, a hope that her heart might soften.
“I don’t want your charity!” she hissed. “Plant it on your own patch—I’ve all I need.”
As Steven turned to leave, an older woman—Ethel, eighty if she was a day—peered over the fence from two doors down.
“That a tree you’re gifting? I’ll take it, lad. Let it grow.”
“But… you live alone, Ethel. What for?”
“So it thrives. Maybe one day, someone kind’ll have this house. And when they see that fir by the gate, they’ll remember me.”
Steven’s throat tightened. He and Emma planted it for Ethel themselves, showing her how to tend it, promising to help. Later, Emma baked scones—hoping, still, to mend things with Margaret.
But Steven stopped her.
“Don’t. She’ll say they’re laced with arsenic. Better she knows we’ve fitted cameras. Every inch of this garden’s watched now.”
And it was. The next day, Steven faced Margaret again, calm but firm.
“Cameras are up. Touch anything—police. That’s vandalism, plain and simple.”
She said nothing. But her eyes darted.
Since then—no rubbish dumped by the fence, no muttered insults. Peace returned. And the fir? The new one grew strong. The old one remained in memory—a symbol of kindness, of simplicity… and of the ugliness jealousy breeds.
