Page 44 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘I’m here!’ he says, not hiding the annoyance in his voice like I tried to.
‘Here?’ I repeat.
‘Yes, here. At your dad’s farm.’
‘At the farm?’ I smile. ‘Really?’
I soften. He’s had a rethink. He’s going to join me at the farm for Christmas.
‘How did you manage to get the time off? Did they mind?’ Suddenly the irritation is gone and I’m overwhelmed by this gesture. He gets it. He understands why I need to be here and he’s come to support me.
‘Mind?’ he says.
‘Yes, head office. I mean, you’re right. Why would they mind?! We haven’t had any time off over Christmas in years. You were due to have some, I suppose. This is fantastic! I can’t believe you’re here. I’ll come and meet you.’ I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder, fumbling for my keys in it, with the phone under my ear, gesturing to Mae and Dad that I’ll be back.
‘Jem, I’m not here for Christmas, for Christ’s sake!’ he snaps, stopping me in my tracks. ‘We’ve –you’vegot hotels to run.’ He emphasizes the words. ‘Guests arriving. Christmas parties.’
‘Yes.’ I’m not quite ready to let my happy little hillock disappear into a pool of disappointment. ‘And, by the look and sound of it, it’s all going like clockwork. I’m entitled to some time off with my family’ – I turn away – ‘what with Dad being unwell and things here to sort out.’ I pause. ‘So, if you’ve not come to join me for Christmas, why are you here?’
He sighs and tuts. I’d never realized how annoying those sounds could be until now. I don’t think I’dnoticed it. Or maybe I’d thought it was endearing. It’s not endearing now. It’s like fingernails down a blackboard, making me wince.
‘To take you back, of course.’
‘I – I beg your pardon?’
‘I’ve come to pick you up, Jem. If we get back now and in work tomorrow, we may just be able to salvage this mess.’
‘Mess?’ The happy hillock has evaporated into a miserable puddle as dark as dusk at the farm. ‘What mess? I’m here looking after my dad!’
‘Head office aren’t happy,’ he says. ‘They love you. They want you to head up the new hotel. Put all your plans in place. But this social-media thing has got them rattled.’
I pause. ‘I know. They’ve just been on the phone.’
‘Understandably! You can’t be making these posts in your own name and expect them to be happy.’
‘Well, they should be. I’m standing up for what’s right. For more awareness of what’s going on in hospitality and farming in our country!’
And while all the reasons not to rock the boat clatter around my head, I take a deep breath. It may not be right, but it feels right to me. I’m making a stand for small independent businesses. Young people trying to make a living in the countryside. I’m standing up against buy-outs by big business. The likes of Llew Griffiths.
‘I can’t just let you ruin everything, Jem,’ he continues, as if I’m a child. ‘Come back to the farm, meet me and get your stuff together. The nurse is here to look after your dad.’
I look at Evie, knitting, finding comfort in something that keeps her in the moment. I’ve been so busy planning, looking towards the next step on the career ladder, I can’t remember when I last lived in the moment. Christmas planning starts in January for the hotels. Bigger and better, at bigger profit! I suddenly think about the sourdough bread I ate for breakfast at the farm. I think about the vegetable plot that’s dormant and used to be Dad’s pride and joy. And chickens! Wouldn’t it be lovely to have more chickens on the farm, like we did when I was young?
‘And he’ll be able to sell off that bit of land and have some money. You’ve done your bit. You’ve done what you always do, gone above and beyond. Just like you will in the new job. You’re the boss, babe!’
I listen to what he says about me going above and beyond. And I have: I wanted to do my best and make Dad proud. But I don’t think he could be prouder of me than he is now. But maybe Matthew’s right. I’ve done my bit. Dad will be fine with Evie looking after him. And although we don’t want the solar panels, it’s the only option at the moment.
‘I can see that,’ I say steadily.
‘You have a great career ahead of you. We havea great future, together. You know I’m planning to propose at Christmas. We’re going to have a great adventure in America, you heading up the takeover and me as manager. We’re the dream team!’ he enthuses, a real change from his earlier tone. He’s switched into hospitality mode. It’s a front to make the customer feel comfortable, happy … and spend more. It’s not real. None of life at the hotel chain was real. It was creating an image, a fake world. Here, right now, with these people, is real.
I pause and think about what he’s saying. I think about Dad telling people what I’m doing, wanting the best for me. But the chickens keep pecking at my thoughts, along with the ewes. Where will I be when they’re lambing if I go with Matthew now? Not in the fields or the lambing shed but looking at the world from the inside out again.
‘And take down the posts. Like you said you would. They’re not helping.’
All reason is whipped away from me. I take a deep breath and gather the thoughts that are careering around in my head. ‘I’m not a child, Matthew. I’m not some young influencer. I’m a nearly forty-year-old woman who has realized she’s been backing the wrong horse all these years, climbing to the top of the wrong mountain.’
He lets out another tut and a long sigh. Thefingernails down the blackboard again. ‘It’s embarrassing, Jem,’ he says.
