Page 45 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
Now I’m enraged! A red mist, like the early morning sunrise over Gramps’s field, descends before my eyes.
‘Embarrassing? Standing up for what’s right?’ A flood gate is opening within me. ‘For making people aware of where our food comes from, and supporting the people who produce it? People like Dad, and his parents before him. For the young people serving food on zero-hours contracts with no job stability? Why is it that other countries get it and we don’t? That’s what’s embarrassing!’
For a moment, there’s silence in the café and at the other end of the phone, until Matthew says, ‘They’re giving you a chance, Jem, to put this behind you.’
I look around the café at the people gathered here, staring at me. ‘They said so on the phone.’
‘Good. Okay,’ he says. ‘And once everything is sorted, we can come back and see your dad, even suggest a visit to Seattle. Give him the best room in the hotel with the best views.’
The best room in the hotel. Seeing life from the inside out. That’s what I’ve been doing all these years. I should have been doing it the other way round.
‘Dad already has the best views,’ I say, my feet digging in even deeper to where I am right now.
‘Jem, I don’t want to say this, but either you comeback and we get ready for Christmas at the hotel and New Year in Seattle, or …’
‘Or what?’ I say slowly.
‘Well … that’s it, isn’t it?’
I feel my voice drop and an eyebrow lift. ‘That’s it?’ I repeat on a slightly higher volume. ‘What about loving me for the person I am, for what I believe in, where I need to be right now?’
‘You’re different from the woman who left here a few weeks ago. You’ve roamed off into cowboy country.’
‘Cowboy country!’ Everyone in the café takes a sharp breath.
‘It’s like you’re living out some childhood fantasy. Roaming around the fields on a quad bike, with dogs, staging sit-ins and ruining the plans of businesses. I thought that was what you believed in too. Getting business done.’
‘Yes … I did.’ I look around the café. ‘But this isn’t a fantasy. It’s real people. Real lives. Real jobs at stake. If we don’t support the people making the food, where’s it going to come from?’
‘I’ve been in touch with Llew Griffiths. He seems a good bloke. It’s a fair offer.’
‘I’m sorry, you’ve done what?’
‘I thought I’d google him, after you said about the offer on your dad’s field, find out what I could about him.’
‘And you contacted him?’ I’m incredulous.
‘Yes. It all seems like a good idea, makes sense … Look, Jem. I’m standing in some run-down barn to get a signal. Are you coming or not?’
This may be the maddest thing I’ve ever done but …
‘I’m sorry, Matthew, but I won’t be coming back, not now, not in the new year, not ever. My time in corporate hospitality is over. I want to make sourdough. I have a starter to take care of. And I want more chickens. And after Christmas, come the spring, there’ll be lambs on the way.’
‘You’re pulling out? You’re not going to Seattle?’
‘I’m … not coming back, Matthew. Here is where I need to be.’
‘Well, I’m not moving here! Jesus, God forsaken! Maybe we’re where we both need to be, then,’ he says with finality.
‘Maybe we are.’ I nod, putting the same final full stop to my job and my relationship.
There’s a silence. In the background I can hear the dogs barking on the farm.
‘You could come back now, put this right.’
‘I’m not coming back Matthew. They asked me to decide, there and then, on the phone. I’m not taking the new job. I’m not coming back. I’ve told them.’
‘What did they say?’
