Page 21 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

Aled was studying the van, his eyes crawling all over it, curiosity coming off him in waves. But, unlike with Harriet, Owen didn’t feel like inviting the man to take a look inside.

‘Good, good…’ Aled nodded. ‘I hear you’re after a job?’

Owen blinked. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Oh?’ Aled looked taken aback. ‘The word is that you’re a jack of all trades. I heard that you do a bit of this, and a bit of that.’

‘I have been known to,’ Owen replied warily, wondering where the conversation was heading.

‘I could do with a bit of help, see,’ Aled continued. ‘Nothing much, mind, and it’ll only be a few bob because I can’t afford that minimum-wage nonsense, and I thought you could do with the work, like. What do you say?’

Owen was inclined to say no, but curiosity got the better of him. ‘What sort of work?’

‘As I said, it’s nothing much, but it’ll be enough to buy a pie and a pint in The Jolly Fox. Are you interested?’

Although writing articles and his blog provided Owen with more than enough funds for his needs, he wasn’t averse to doing a bit of something else from time to time to supplement his income. He had been known to do anything from fruit picking to casual labour on a building site over the years, although he didn’t make a habit of it these days.

‘It depends,’ he replied, and Aled frowned. Owen could tell that the man had assumed that just because he lived in a van, Owen would have jumped at the chance to earn a bit of money. ‘What would you want me to do?’

‘I hold a boot sale in the field next to this every Saturday morning. Now, seeing as you’re already on site, so to speak, I thought you could help with the marshalling of the pitches. As I said, the pay won’t be much but I expect every bit helps, don’t it? How about twenty quid?’

Owen didn’t answer; he was too busy hoping that the boot sale wouldn’t spill over into the field his van was parked in.

Aled mistook his hesitation. ‘Thirty, then,’ he said, ‘but that’s my final offer. Take it or leave it.’

Owen took it. What did he have to lose?

‘Owen is cool,’ Bobby said. ‘I want to live in a van when I grow up. He can go anywhere he wants.’

‘I thought you wanted to be a tractor driver?’ Harriet said.

‘I can do that, too.’

‘No, you can’t,’ Sara piped up. ‘Mam, tell him – he can’t drive a tractor and a van at the same time.’

‘I can if I tow it,’ Bobby argued. ‘Can’t I, Mam?’

‘I suppose.’ She unlocked the front door. ‘Take your trainers off, please; I don’t want mud trampled through the house.’ Grabbing an old towel, she picked Etta up, patting her paws and tummy dry. The dog squirmed and wriggled until Harriet put her down, then she dashed to her water bowl and had a long drink, before jumping on the sofa and curling up in a ball.

‘Right, then.’ Harriet clapped her hands. ‘How about a mug of cocoa, and we get the craft box out?’

‘I don’t want to make a card. It’s lame.’ Sara pouted.

‘I do,’ Bobby said. ‘Can I still make a card even if Sara doesn’t want to?’ He looked anxious.

‘Of course you can,’ Harriet assured him. ‘Why don’t you fetch the box? Sara, get the mugs out, please.’

Sara made a show of not wanting to have anything to do with card-making, and huffed and puffed for the first few minutes as the three of them sat around the table, mugs of steaming cocoa in front of them and a variety of coloured card, string, ribbon, glitter, beads and scraps of fabric spread across the wooden surface.

But once Sara had started cutting and sticking, Harriet could tell that her daughter was enjoying herself, especially when Harriet allowed her to use the ancient laptop to research card ideas online.

‘That’s brilliant!’ Harriet exclaimed, when she saw Sara’s finished result. She had drawn the figure of a girl, and had added fabric, beads and glitter to make a dress, and had used coloured thread to write out the words ‘Happy Birthday Darlene’.

‘Is mine good, Mammy?’ Bobby asked. ‘I made a card for Tristan, and I made one for Owen.’

‘For Owen?’

‘It’s his van. See?’

---