Page 56 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘I slipped out. I didn’t think anyone had seen me leave. But when I got back, they were waiting for me.’ She jerks a thumb at the locksmiths.
‘Look …’ The young man steps forward and I can see Mae is trying not to cry, but tears are slipping down her face onto the tray of foil-wrapped potatoes.
I turn my crossness back onto the young man. ‘This is how your business operates, is it? Throwing people out onto the street. Making them jobless and, who knows, homeless before Christmas?’
The tears are now pouring down Mae’s face.
‘It wasn’t like that! I’m sorry. I was just doing what I’ve been told to do. Besides, you were squatting!’
Mae drops her head. ‘He’s right,’ she says quietly. All the fight has gone out of her. ‘I couldn’t think what else to do. And now I really have no idea what I’m going to do.’
Josh steps forward. ‘I’m really sorry, I am. There was no other way.’
She nods. ‘Bet you’ll get a Christmas bonus for sorting out their problem called Mae!’
‘Ah … you got me!’
She gives a little smile, as does he.
He looks back at the long queue of people. ‘You’ve clearly been doing a great job here. People like what you do.’
‘You’d be surprised what a difference a jacket potato and a cuppa, or a bowl of cawl and a Welsh cake can make,’ says Mae. ‘People like home-cooked food. They like the company too, not sitting in their cars at drive-throughs.’
‘You’re right,’ he says. He glances at Dad, holding the bread to him like a newborn baby. ‘You know, you have the customers and the food. You don’t need a café to serve it from. These people are clearly here because they want to be.’
Llew steps forward, and something in me sparks. ‘He’s right. Every business has to start somewhere.’ He glances at the signwriter already stripping down the old board, proclaiming Beti’s Café. If Beti’s useless son had been a bit more involved it could have been saved. But clearly people want to be here, and not just for Beti’s.
Josh speaks again: ‘I can’t tell you what to do,obviously. You just need to work out what you need to make it happen.’ He looks at the queue. ‘I’m sorry again,’ he says, then walks to the signwriter and begins a discussion.
‘He’s right, Mae,’ I say, picking up the pot of cawl and feeling a tickle on my cheeks and nose. The sleet is turning to snow. Tiny flakes. ‘Every business has to start somewhere.’ It’s cold and people are standing around, waiting to see what will happen.
‘But where?’ she says. ‘We can’t just serve up on the pavement.’
‘Well,’ I say slowly, as the problem starts to percolate in my head, ‘you have your jacket potatoes.’
She nods at the tray in her hands. ‘Loads … I thought no one would notice,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking of. I couldn’t take on a big company. I was being stupid.’
‘Not stupid! You were standing up for what’s right! Against Beti’s useless son, selling you down the river weeks before Christmas!’
Twm Bach is shivering.
‘And we’re not going to let that stop us now,’ I say defiantly. ‘You need every penny you can make and you can still do that!’
‘How?’
‘We have the food.’
‘And customers,’ says Llew.
We turn towards the cattle lorry. ‘Wait there,’ I say,handing Llew the pot of cawl. ‘Owen!’ I wave, seeing him arrive at the café.
‘What’s going on?’ he says, jogging over to us, looking up at the changing sign.
‘We’re relocating!’ I beam. ‘Give us a hand, will you?’
He looks at the café, then the lorry, and smiles. ‘Can do!’
Together we pull down the back of the lorry. It’s been a long time since it was open but, thankfully, Dad had made me clean it every time we came back from market and had done the same when he was doing the markets on his own. He was a stickler for hygiene, which means it’s clean, with fresh straw bales in there.
