Page 98 of The Christmas Fayre on Holly Field

‘It’s not the best, is it?’ her friend agreed. ‘It would be a shame if the Fayre couldn’t go ahead after all the planning we’ve done. I do hope we don’t get much, and if we do that it doesn’t put people off.’

In some ways, Harriet would be relieved if it did. She wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow one little bit, even though she didn’t need to do anything. There was no more organisation to be done, apart from turning up and showing her face. There was no money to be taken on the gate, and she’d already had a word with Aled who, although disgruntled that Owen had left without telling him, had agreed to marshal the parking, so that was one less thing Harriet had to worry about.

Fretfully, she switched the TV on and brought up the news channel.

Mrs Cooke had been right in her hunch that it would snow, but Harriet was relieved when the forecasters said that South Wales would bear the brunt of it, with as much as seven to eight centimetres falling overnight in that area. Mid and North Wales would get off more lightly, with only a smattering of snow, although there would be more on higher ground. Thankfully, although Foxmore was surrounded on three sides by mountains, none of them were particularly high, and the village itself lay at the bottom of the valley; also, the river running through it helped to keep the temperature above those of the surrounding hillsides. Foxmore wasn’t likely to see enough snow to make a snowman. The children would be disappointed, but no doubt more of the white stuff would fall before the end of the winter.

Not sure whether she was relieved or disappointed that the Fayre would go ahead tomorrow, Harriet returned to her task of writing Christmas cards. She wasn’t in the mood for doing that either, but at least it kept her busy and kept her mind off Owen. Because no matter how often she told herself she shouldn’t think about him, since he had left last Friday, thinking about him was all she’d been able to do.

That damn number was calling him again, Owen saw, and he was tempted to turn his phone off. Whoever it was obviously wanted to contact him, but not badly enough to leave a message. This was the third time today. Couldn’t they take the hint? If he wanted to speak to them, he would have answered the phone.

He got up from his spot on the sofa and arched his back, putting his hands to his spine as he eased out the kinks. No wonder his father didn’t like chopping wood; it was hard work. But at least there were now plenty of suitably sized logs stacked neatly in the log store to keep his parents going for a while. He had been at it most of the afternoon, until the drop in temperature had driven him inside. That had been about an hour ago and he hadn’t warmed up yet.

Dear God, his phone was ringingagain.

Cross now, he grabbed it and pressed the answer icon. He was going to give whoever it was a piece of his mind. Talk about persistent. It was probably only a scam call anyway, or market research.

‘Look,’ he said, as soon as the call connected, ‘I don’t know who you are or what you want, and I don’t care. Stop phoning me.’

‘Don’t you dare hang up on me, Owen Loxton!’ a familiar voice yelled down the phone.

‘Pen?Is that you?’

‘Who else did you think it would be?’

‘I didn’t know, did I? I don’t have your number.’

‘I got yours from Kelly. She didn’t want to give it to me, but I didn’t give her a lot of choice, so don’t you go taking it out on her.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘Good. Now, listen. You need to get back here, pronto.’

‘Oh God, what’s wrong?’

‘Harriet is wasting away, that’s what’s wrong,’ Pen said. ‘I know the two of you have fallen out and I know why, but if you ask me, it’s a stupid reason for you to split up. The pair of you need your heads knocking together. I know you love her, and she loves you, so stop fannying around and come back here and tell her. I can’t have her in my cafe with a face like a wet weekend in January. It’s enough to curdle the milk.’

‘Pen, she doesn’t want to see me again. She made that abundantly clear.’

‘Tosh! She was annoyed, that’s all. Admittedly, what you did wasn’t the best, but it’s not as though you’ve killed anyone.’

When Pen put it like that… ‘What do you mean, wasting away?’

‘She’s pining. Lost too much weight, if you ask me. It doesn’t suit her. And like I said, she’s as miserable as sin.’

As am I, Owen thought. He hesitated. ‘I’m not sure she does love me,’ he said.

‘Believe me, she does. She told me. And anyone can see that you love her.’

‘I do.’

‘Well, then. Get your arse back to Foxmore and sort it out.’

‘But what if she refuses to see me?’

‘She can’t refuse if you’re in a public place, can she? And she’s not going to make a scene, either, not in front of a shedload of people and the kids.’

‘Are you talking about the Christmas Fayre tomorrow?’ he realised.

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