Page 50 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘It’s me. Jem.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘What’s the password?’
‘I don’t need the password. I made it up,’ I say.
‘Then you should know it.’
‘I …’ I want to argue. Instead I give in. ‘Twenty-four days until Christmas,’ I say, resigned.
‘Sorry, couldn’t hear much Christmas cheer in it,’ he says.
‘Twenty-four days until Christmas,’ I say louder, and I’m laughing as the back door swings open and he’s on the other side, laughing too.
‘Very good!’
I step inside.
Everyone has left, and it’s quiet, just me and Llew. Suddenly I feel rather shy.
There’s a blow-up mattress that Mae has brought over, with two sleeping bags from her house. There’s Buzz Lightyear and Woody fromToy Story, or Paddington.
‘Take your pick,’ says Llew, pointing to the sleeping bags. ‘I’m happy with either.’ That makes me smile again.
He’s wearing joggers, I notice, and a sweatshirt, a change from his smart shirt and gilet, with smart Redback boots.
‘The bathroom’s all yours,’ he says, pointing to the loo. And I notice he’s put candles as bedside lights, and a row of rolled-up towels down the middle of the blow-up mattress, like a bolster.
‘Good handiwork!’ I say, gesturing to it.
‘Wouldn’t want you thinking you could take advantage of me,’ he says, making me laugh again and grateful he’s doing everything to make me feel comfortable.
‘Oh, and your dad lent me this, in case it gets cold!’ he says, pulling on the pink hat. I still don’t know if it was my mother’s, or even a tea cosy, and burst out laughing.
‘Well, best we get some sleep,’ I say. ‘Let’s hope tomorrow we warrant enough coverage to bring the owners here to reopen the place.’
I use the bathroom, then put on my joggers and sweatshirt, and quietly slip back into the café. I see the outline of Llew on the side of the mattress nearest the door. I slide into the sleeping bag, which I think features Paddington, and lie on my back, listening to the rain on the window, knowing I won’t get a wink of sleep.
‘So that’s it,’ he says, as we lie there in the dark. ‘You’ve given up your job. Your dad told me. You don’t have to tell me any more if you don’t want to.’
I look up at the rose cornice in the middle of the café. ‘Yes, I have,’ I say, as if I’m confirming it to myself. ‘They told me to think about it, but if I did any more social-media posts, they’d sack me.’
‘That’s brave,’ I hear him say.
‘Or daft.’
‘At least you’ve got time to work out if it’s what you really want.’
‘Either way, it feels good. I want to do something real. Something hands-on.’
‘I can understand that,’ he says quietly. ‘Like when I played rugby. It was in the moment. It was doing something I could feel proud of. Something tangible.’ And it’s as if he’s remembering being on that rugby field.
‘But not now?’ I ask.
‘Not so much, no,’ he says. ‘But it felt like a safe option. I didn’t want to put myself out there and takea risk on another dream. This way, I know where I am. I don’t have to wonder what would happen if I were to drop a ball, so to speak.’ I hear the smile in his voice and it sounds nice. Really nice.
‘So you went for a safe sales job?’
‘Yes.’ He pauses. ‘You?’
