Page 34 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
I wonder what will happen to the flock if he decides to sell. ‘You could come back with me, Dad. You know that.’
He nods. ‘But it’s not for me. Your mum, she was one for moving to sunny climes. This place has always felt like home. The solar panels will make it possible for me to stay. And you need to be thinking about getting back to work. I won’t let you stay here for me, no matter how much I love having you home. I’m always so proud to tell people what you’re doing.’
He’s saying I should go. How can I tell him it’s the last thing I want to do? What if I want to stay? I just have to find a way.
16
It’s been a week of working on the farm, posting occasional live feeds of the fields and the animals, and popping into Beti’s for my lunchtime jacket potato. Back at work everything will be ramping up now it’s 1 December. Everything will be feeling festive. Here, it hardly feels like Christmas is only just under a month away.
‘Did you see the video this morning?’ I hear one of the schoolgirls I recognize from the café call to her friends, as I park the Land Rover, which has limped its way to the town this lunchtime. I pull on the handbrake and put it into first gear just in case.
‘Yes, she’s great!’
‘Does anyone know who she is yet?’
I find myself smiling in the front seat.
‘Really went to town on the supermarkets andhotels this morning. Telling people why they should shop local!’
‘People are calling her the Stand Up to Big Business Shepherdess!’
‘I’d love to meet her!’
I smile again, watching the girls ambling towards the café.
‘Perhaps Beti’s should start listening to her and get local stuff instead of the disgusting burgers and pizzas we have to buy there,’ says another.
‘Speak for yourself. I’m not changing the way I eat,’ says the girl I recognized. ‘Farming is for losers. Who wants to spend their day in the rain with animals? Doesn’t matter where food comes from. As long as it’s cheap, my family’s happy. We can’t afford all that high-welfare stuff. My mum’s got seven of us to feed.’
And my happy bubble pops. I don’t know how this will ever change now.
The sun is trying to come out. It’s wintry and there’s very little Christmas cheer about the high street. But at least a crowd is waiting to get into Beti’s, which is great. I must bring Dad tomorrow, I think. This will be good for him. He’d love a visit to the café, see some people. I’m pleased with the idea: things are getting better; he’s on the mend.
I pull up the hood on my coat and look at the front of the café. Clearly burgers and pizza are in demand today, I think sadly. Or maybe word’s got out aboutMae’s jacket potatoes and they’re queuing to order them. Maybe Beti’s son let her put them on the menu after his visit.
I stand back and watch, wondering if it’s going to be a long wait for a cup of tea. I could just go home. But this place has become part of my daily routine. A connection to people that helps when I’ve been outside in the cold and wet all morning. Contact with others has been my daily treat. I’m wondering if things are moving but the crowd isn’t getting any smaller. In fact, as I look closer, the group of people around the door seems to be growing as passers-by stop and stare. An argument is going on outside the front door. I’m hoping it isn’t about Beti’s son having found out about Mae’s jacket potatoes and she’s in trouble. It’s not like she wasn’t charging people for them and putting the money through the till as the daily special. He should be grateful for her ingenuity. She’s been keeping this place going. Or perhaps she’s been giving too many people leeway and running tabs for them. Maybe Owen wasn’t the only one with an account to settle. I should check that Mae’s okay.
Owen’s truck pulls up in front of the Land Rover. ‘What’s going on?’ he says, as he gets out and stands beside me. Now I can see Mae with a man in a suit.
‘Not sure, but looks like trouble,’ I say, and walk towards her, not bothering to lock the Land Rover.
Owen’s beside me and we quicken our pace towards Mae and the gathered crowd, where a heated debate is going on.
‘No! No!’ Mae is saying firmly. ‘You can’t do this!’
I look on from behind the interested schoolgirls and Owen, who seems to want to help but is apparently unsure of what to do.
‘Mae? What’s going on?’ I call.
‘What’s happening?’ Evie appears beside me, her knitting bag on her shoulder. ‘Is anyone hurt?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I tell her.
Mae spots us. ‘They’re shutting the café down!’ she calls. ‘From today!’ She points to a sign Sellotaped to the front door, beside the closed sign in front of the drawn-down blinds.
‘What?’ We nudge our way through the crowd.
‘That’s why Beti’s son came yesterday. He told me he’d lock up – he didn’t tell me he was closing down.’
