Page 42 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘No point in us being here if no one knows about it,’ says Dad. ‘Open the blinds. Let people know we’re staging a sit-in.’
‘He’s right,’ says Owen. ‘No point in putting on a protest that no one knows about.’
We step forward and open the blinds.
A group of schoolkids goes past and gives us a little cheer.
We wave.
‘I’ll take some cawl to Twm Bach,’ I say.
‘I’ll go,’ says Owen. ‘You work out how to let people know you’re here, and why. You’re more use here.’
‘Thanks, Owen,’ I say, as he takes the bowl, with a chunk of bread and butter, and makes for the back door, where there’s a knock.
‘It’s me, Evie.’
I open the door a crack. ‘Are you on your own?’
‘Yes! Of course!’
‘What’s the password?’ Dad chortles.
’Twenty-four days until Christmas,’ she replies, and slips inside.
‘Excellent,’ I hear Dad say.
‘Still the joker, Edwin,’ I hear Myfanwy say, but there’s a definite softening to her tone.
It makes me smile. I’d like Dad to find happiness, like I’ve done. Something in me jolts: the happiness isn’t where it should be. It’s being here. I need to speak to Matthew. I need to tell him how I’m feeling, what’s going on. I can’t put this off much longer. I need to listen to my heart.
Evie has taken off her coat. ‘I’ve just come from your farm. I was looking for the patient. And here you are!’ she says, smiling at Dad.
‘Found me!’ He grins naughtily. ‘Guilty as charged!’
‘Well, I had a good idea where you might be. I spent a few lovely minutes with your sheepdog and the pup.’
‘Not such a good guard dog, then.’ He chuckles, shoulders shaking.
‘Okay if I do your blood pressure?’
‘Work away,’ he says. ‘But I’m having another of Myfanwy’s Welsh cakes. You’d better try one, just to make sure she hasn’t come here to poison me. She’s had it in for me for years.’
‘I’d have done it a long time ago if I’d known it was as easy as plying him with Welsh cakes and bara brith!’ She laughs and the friction between them seems to disappear, all those years of not speaking wiped away over a tin of Welsh cakes. ‘How about a cup of tea to go with it?’ says Myfanwy to Evie, standing and picking up the kettle. ‘You couldn’t do my blood pressure too, while we’re here? I’ve been meaning to go for a check-up, but what with trying to keep on top of things at the farm and trying to get an appointment at the surgery, I’ve been putting it off.’
‘Of course,’ says Evie.
‘Smashing,’ says Dad, and I can see the old Dad coming back to life right in front of me.
‘It’s amazing what a cup of tea and some company can do,’ says Evie, with a little wink.
‘And the Welsh cakes. Don’t forget Myfanwy’sWelsh cakes!’ Dad laughs. ‘Can’t believe how good they are. I’d have given her Bertie years ago if I’d known she made Welsh cakes like these.’
‘Well, I’ve no one to make them for now the kids have gone,’ she says. ‘It’s nice to have people to cook for again.’
‘Oh, and your mum messaged me, Mae,’ says Evie. ‘She said she’d baked some jacket potatoes in case you got hungry. I picked them up. The boys send kisses and said you’re Superwoman.’ She’s holding a tray of foil-wrapped potatoes.
‘Those could feed an army!’ I laugh. ‘At least we won’t starve. And I’ve brought cawl.’
