Page 35 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

A reply came back almost instantly.

She loved it!!

I’m so pleased. I’ve been thinking about you.

He hesitated before pressing send and, after a moment’s thought, he deleted that last bit and instead typed,Did it fit?He knew that had been one of her concerns.

I’ll send you a pic of the dress later. At Mam’s at the mo, for Sunday lunch.

Owen hissed, ‘Yes!’, earning himself a curious look from a man of the cloth on an adjacent table. ‘Sorry.’

Nice. I’m at The Jolly Fox for mine.

Enjoy.

You, too.

He would have liked to carry on the conversation, but he wasn’t sure what else to say. At least he’d get a photo of Sara’s dress out of it, so that was an unexpected bonus. He had been delighted to find he had several useable images from the photos he’d taken at the boot sale yesterday, and he had spent last night writing copy for the blog and uploading them. He noticed when he woke this morning that he was getting a fair bit of traction, with lots of comments, and he was pleased his instincts that this would be a good story for his blog were correct.

‘Awright, butt?’

Owen looked up to see Aled Harris at his elbow. ‘Hi, how are you? It was a good turnout yesterday, wasn’t it?’

‘You can say that again.’ The farmer rubbed his hands together. ‘I’m thinking of laying down some gravel ready for the winter.’

‘It’s a good idea if you want to carry on using the field when it’s wet,’ Owen said. ‘But you’ll need a fair bit.’

‘Don’t you trouble yourself about that. I’ve got loads of rubble from where the old barn had to be pulled down. Been wondering what to do with it.’

‘Oh, OK.’

‘Get a round in, and I’ll tell you all about it.’

‘Leave the poor bloke alone, Aled. It’s you who should be buying him one. I saw him clearing up all the rubbish from your field.’ This was said by an elderly gent in a flat cap, who was propping up the bar with an elbow. He had a Border collie at his feet, a pint of thick, dark ale in his hand.

‘I paid ’im to do it!’ Aled declared.

The man behind the bar called, ‘Bet you didn’t pay him much. I’m Dai, by the way, the landlord.’

‘Owen. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Likewise,’ Dai said.

Aled huffed. ‘I paid a decent wage for the job – didn’t I, son?’

Owen smiled but didn’t say anything, not wanting to be drawn into whatever this was. Aled appeared to be renowned for his parsimoniousness, but Owen didn’t see that as a fault. He didn’t like throwing money away either, and he had no complaint about how much he’d been paid. He had known what the going rate was before he had agreed.

‘Are you the chap with the camper van in Aled’s field?’ the man sitting at an adjacent table asked, as Aled pulled out a chair and sat uninvited at Owen’s table. The man was wearing a dog collar so Owen assumed he must be the local vicar.

‘That’s me,’ he said.

‘Are you planning on staying in Foxmore long?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘I’m only asking because I do a mean service on a Sunday and I thought you might like to come next week.’

‘To church?’ Owen asked.

---