Page 55 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
We all stare at the queue. ‘Clearly we’re doing something people want,’ I say.
‘And your social media must be helping,’ says Dad, with a proud smile
Llew puts a hand on my shoulder, making my insides leap. ‘You’re good at this. This is proof that you’re getting the word out. People are supporting Mae and there’s an appetite for real home-cooked food. You should be proud of yourselves. You’ve certainly opened my eyes.’
I turn to him and there’s a jolt between us. This Llew, in his old rugby shirt, holding a basket of sourdough, is very different from the one who turned up on that first day. I really like this Llew, despite my attempts to resist him.
‘Let’s get the food in and start serving. I was thinking we should bring some Christmas decorations tomorrow, Dad, get the place a bit festive. Do up the window with lights. Fetch some greenery from the farm and we could have a go at wreaths, like we used to.’
‘Good idea!’ he agrees. ‘We’ll get the baubles from the cupboard under the stairs.’
‘Don’t expect they’ve seen the light of day for years,’ I say.
‘Not a lot of point without you here,’ he says, and I feel he’s letting down the wall he’s built, the braveface he’s worn, telling me he was fine and wanted me to go, that he liked Christmas on his own.
‘Well, I’m here now, and I don’t want to go anywhere, Dad. I’m right where I want to be.’
‘If you’re sure,’ he confirms again gently.
‘I am! Come on, let’s get this food in and start serving. We should put on some Christmas songs too.’ I grab my phone and the three of us get out of the truck with our arms full of cawl and freshly baked bread. And I start singing: ‘We three kings of Orient are …’
Dad and Llew join in. ‘“Bearing gifts we travel afar …”’
‘“Field and fountain …”’ Llew booms in a marvellous tenor.
‘I really am seeing a different side to you!’
‘Rugby boys can sing, you know!’
‘“Moor and mountain, following yonder star.”’ We’re going for the chorus when we spot Mae. Only she’s not inside the café. She’s outside. On the street. No longer locked in, by the look of it, and two men with a lock-changing van are working on the door. We stop, stand and stare. My heart plummets.
24
‘Mae, what’s going on? What happened?’ She’s shivering, her arms wrapped around herself.
She points a finger angrily. ‘He happened!’
I feel a drop of icy rain, sleet, falling on my face.
It’s the young company man, Josh. He’s clearly following orders, making things work, showing leadership. My happy bubble bursts.
‘You again!’ I glare at the younger version of me. ‘I thought they might have sent someone a bit more senior. We’re making quite a noise here, you know! People are interested. They want this place to stay open as it is.’
‘Look, I’m just doing my job,’ he says politely. ‘As you know, this place has been sold and the owners, the company I work for, would like to take it over.They have a schedule to keep so that they can open in the new year.’
I know how he feels, sent in to do a job, but this is about more than his job right now. I bend to put down the cawl. Then, my hands on my hips, I say, ‘They want the building, which I’m imagining was a fairly cheap buy, but they don’t want the staff whose livelihoods rely on it.’
‘They’ll be advertising for staff in the new year. Everyone is welcome to apply.’ He gives a nice smile. What he has said is straight from the company handbook. The one I’ve been cantering out for the last God knows how many years, as I climbed up and up the ladder.
‘But not now,’ I retaliate. I can feel phones being lifted and pointed in my direction. ‘Not when they need work. Life doesn’t stop for employees while there’s a facelift and a new menu. They need to pay their bills. And Christmas is round the corner. Mae has a family. Her life doesn’t stop because your company wants to save a few quid by re-advertising her job in the new year.’
My face is hot and angry. Although the schoolgirls are filming me I can’t stop. I turn to Mae. ‘What happened?’
‘I needed to nip to school, to see the concert and pick up the potatoes I’d left cooking at Mum’s. The kids would have hated it if I hadn’t turned up. I toldOwen and Evie they could go, that you were on your way. I waited for someone to arrive but …’
‘Oh, God! The Land Rover wouldn’t start. I’m so sorry. And then I had to chase off a woman whose dogs were upsetting the ewes. This is my fault.’
‘It’s not,’ she says. Her eyes are red and I don’t think she’s had any sleep, maybe spent the night crying, worrying about what’s going to happen. My heart twists.
