Page 62 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

‘Bedbugs? What are they?’ Sara wanted to know.

‘It’s just an old saying,’ Harriet told her.

‘Yes, but what are they?’

‘Tiny little insects that bite people. A bit like mosquitoes or midges.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Sara insisted.

Harriet kissed her on the forehead. ‘Remember, lights out at ten. What are you reading?’

‘Michael Morpurgo,Private Peaceful. We’re reading it in school.’

Harriet was impressed that her daughter appeared to be doing homework at this time of night on a Saturday. ‘Is it a good story?’

Sara nodded, opening the book and removing her giraffe bookmark. ‘It’s really good,’ she said. ‘If it wasn’t I wouldn’t read it.’

‘Not even for school?’

‘I would have to read it in school, silly,’ she said. ‘But I wouldn’t read it at home. My teacher says he’s written lots of books. Do you think I could have some for Christmas?’

‘I’m sure Santa Claus can manage to pop one or two in your stocking,’ Harriet said. She got up off the bed and went to the door.

‘Darlene says he’s not real,’ Sara said. ‘Is he real, Mam?’

Harriet had known this was coming, but she’d hoped to have another year or so of her eldest child still believing in Father Christmas.

‘What do you think?’ Harriet asked, not wanting to get into this conversation right now.

‘I’m not sure.’ Sara was frowning. ‘I suppose it depends on whether you believe in magic or not, because Santa Claus would have to be magic to be able to visit every child in the whole wide world, wouldn’t he?’

‘Do you believe in magic?’

‘I think so.’

‘Well, then,’ Harriet said. ‘Night, cariad. Love you.’

‘Love you, Mam.’

Harriet pulled the door almost closed, leaving just a sliver open, and went into Bobby’s room to repeat the ritual.

But Bobby wasn’t reading. Bobby wasn’t even in bed. Her son was crouched down on his bedroom floor, Lego spread out around him.

‘It’s too late to be playing with Lego,’ Harriet said. ‘Come on, get into bed. I said you could read, not play.’

Bobby gave a huge sigh and reluctantly stood up, and when she saw his face, she realised something was bothering him. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘I did break Owen’s toilet, Mammy.’

‘Owen said everything was fine,’ Harriet hedged.

‘He was fibbing. It wasn’t fine. It didn’t flush. When Owen went inside, he didn’t flush it. I know because I was listening – it makes a grumbly noise when you press the button. How can he live in the van without a toilet, Mammy?’

Her son had a valid point. HowwasOwen going to manage without a functioning toilet? She supposed it would be fine if he was on a proper camping site where they had a toilet block, but he was in Aled’s field, and she didn’t like the thought of him having to go outside for a quick pee.

‘Can it be mended?’ Bobby still looked very concerned.

‘I’m sure it can,’ Harriet said. ‘Owen thinks it might be the water pump, but you didn’t break it,’ she insisted. ‘These things happen. Remember when my car wouldn’t work?’

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