Page 66 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
We fall silent again.
‘Sorry I couldn’t do more, Mae. I wanted this to work.’
‘Me too,’ she says.
‘Well, in a way, it did. We were victims of our own success! If we hadn’t got such a following on social media we might have been able to keep going a bit longer.’
‘At least we know people liked what we were doing,’ she says.
I hug her. ‘Will you be okay, for money?’
‘Yeah. Like I say, we’ve got jacket potatoes for now. Just need to work out how to pay my rent this month. It’s rent or Christmas this year.’
‘If I could have thought of any other way …’
‘What about you?’ she asks. ‘Will you sell the land?’
I look at Dad sitting in the lorry’s cab. ‘I expect so. I can’t see any other way. At least the money will come through fairly quickly, and Dad won’t have to sell the farm just yet.’
Myfanwy has loaded her little car with her table and Dad hands her her order book. ‘Don’t be a stranger,’ he half mumbles to her.
‘Don’t have any more funny turns without letting me know,’ she tries to joke. But I can see that this little project has brought us all closer together, but now things will go back to how they were.
Owen has put the generator into his truck and Jess is sitting in the passenger seat wearing her red and green scarf, with Evie at her side. At least something good has come of all this, I think. So good to see Owen and Evie together and them both smiling shyly, like they’re at the start of a whole new adventure together.
I turn away from Mae. ‘Bye, then.’
‘Bye,’ she says, and I climb into the cab and start the lorry. It lumbers into life and I leave the cattle market, with Deborah Atkins holding open the gate for us and shutting it firmly behind us.
Dad is fast asleep in the seat next to me as we make our way back to the farm. As we head up the drive, I stop off to check on the sheep, then walk over Gramps’s field, still wondering what he would say if he was here now and saw what was about to happen.Is it a good thing? Is it progress, helping the environment? Or is it the thin end of the wedge when farming will be lost for ever? Then I think again of the mother I met, her son struggling after a tough year on the farm. If others can’t make ends meet, how do I think my being here can help Dad? Maybe selling the land is the only option we have left. I turn away from the field, climb back into the lorry and Dad wakes up.
‘Nearly home, Dad.’
‘It was fun, wasn’t it?’ he says. ‘Shame we couldn’t keep doing it.’
‘It is, Dad. And, yes, it was fun.’
‘That’s why I loved this job. Always different, and at the end of the day, putting a smile on people’s faces. Good food, produced well. It’s something to be proud of.You’ve made me very proud,’ he says, and tears tickle the back of my eyes.
Three long lonely days later, with just a week to go until Christmas Eve, I’ve uploaded my Christmas-on-the-farm Advent posts and I’m back in the kitchen on my own, hating the way I left things with Mae. I’m heating curry for me and Dad from the big pot on the stove when there’s a knock at the door.
The dogs bark as I open it to see Mae, Evie, Myfanwy, Owen and Mae’s boys. Mae is clutching a pile of foil-wrapped jacket potatoes.
‘“Silent night, holy night …”’ they sing, recreatingthe jolliness of us arriving at the café when the locksmiths moved in until we realized that meant she was out.
I smile and open the door wide so Dad can hear them and let them carry on singing until they peter out.
‘No point in having all this food left and not sharing it,’ Mae says, with an apologetic smile. ‘I felt dreadful the way we left things in the cattle market. You did so much to try to help me. I really am sorry we argued.’
‘Quite right about the food,’ I say, ‘and no need to apologize. Like I said, we were victims of our own success! If I hadn’t done the posts, drawing so much attention to us, then been excited by the response and the long queues, we might have been able to keep going a bit longer, at least until the other side of Christmas. I’m sorry.’ I hug her, even though she can’t hug me back.
‘So not only have we brought dinner,’ says Owen, ‘we picked Myfanwy up on her way over too.’
‘I brought Welsh cakes.’ She hands me the tin. ‘Once I started baking I couldn’t stop. That woman at the market was a right piece of work.’
‘Come in, the fire’s lit. Dad, we’ve got company!’ I call to him in the living room. ‘Go on through.’ I shut the front door and usher them in towards the fire.
‘Drinks,’ says Dad, delighted to see everyone. ‘What about that whisky you brought me for Christmas,Jem? Now seems as good a time as any to break it out!’
