Page 68 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘Neither was doing what you’ve done. Helping raise awareness of where food comes from, young farmers, and young people in the hospitality industry. You should be proud of yourself.’
‘Actually … I am. And what about you? Have you really not come for a decision on the land?’
‘I told you, I’m not going to mention it.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘You’re not the only one thinking about where they’re going in life. I’m handing in my notice. I need to do something a bit more worthwhile.’
‘But … Really?’ The cogs whir in my head. ‘Does that mean the offer is off the table? We haven’t made a decision yet!’
‘I know. And it makes no difference to me now. This is a copy of the contract. It’s valid until the end of the month, like I said. It’ll still stand. I’ve made sure of that. But now that I don’t have an interest in the company, you can make up your own minds about what’s best.’ He holds out a brown envelopeto me. ‘I know you wanted to save the farm and keep it how it was. I thought solar panels might be the way. But maybe there’s a different way. Think about the cattle market. It was good while it lasted. I really admire what you’ve done, standing up for what you believe in. Maybe you could try to raise the money for the lease.’
‘I wish we could. It would be perfect. Bringing back the old cattle market would be amazing. It would mean so much to so many people. Bring the community back together again. Stop so many people feeling alone. And help people understand there’s more to eating than going to the nearest drive-through.’ I wish I could make an offer on the cattle market. ‘While I’ve been here, on the farm and at the café, I’ve realized I spent so much time telling people how enticing food should look and bringing in customers … Now I know that what matters is where the food comes from, how it tastes. Keeping it simple is far better than filling the pockets of people who don’t care about the food chain.’
‘It made me see it’s time for a new chapter for me too. I don’t have to do a job I’m not a hundred per cent invested in.’
He hands me a bag with two bottles of wine inside it, as laughter filters through to us from the warmth of the living room.
‘What’s this?’
‘Call it a leaving present. Something for you to share this evening with everyone. A little thank-you for having me and helping me see I need to do something that has meaning for me … I’m scared of, well, failing again.’
I reach out and take the bottles. ‘You didn’t fail in rugby. You got injured,’ I tell him. ‘But it doesn’t mean it wasn’t part of the journey.’
He nods. ‘I’m thinking about other sportspeople who have had injuries or setbacks, and getting them outside, like being here on the farm. It’s as good as any gym, and in the outdoors. Win-win.’
I look out onto the yard. ‘It is! I’m finding muscles I’d forgotten I had!’
‘Persuading people to work together, mending fences and shifting straw,’ he says, as the idea grows, ‘is good for the body and the mind.’
‘Great!’ I say. ‘You could offer week-long boot camps, working out on a farm.’
‘Maybe one day,’ he says. ‘Maybe I should take a leaf out of your book and go for it. Well, I’ll be on my way.’
‘Thank you.’ The hospitality habit in me jumps into action. ‘Won’t you come in, stay?’ It’s actually the farmer in me who wants him to stay. I pull the door so it’s almost closed behind me.
He shakes his head. And I notice the snow starting to fall, heavier than before, and settle on his hair.
Suddenly I want to tell him everything I’ve been desperate to say since before he left. And for someone who usually knows what needs to be said, I’m at a loss. I have no idea how to put what I’m feeling about him into a coherent sentence. He looks at me and I try to work out what he’s thinking. What if I make a complete fool of myself? What if he doesn’t feel the same? We stand and stare at each other as the flakes of snow fall around him.
He gives a little cough. ‘Happy Christmas, Jem. I hope it’s everything you wish for.’
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. There must be something I could say to make him want to come in. But this was closure for him. He doesn’t need to be here or come back again. And then I say the only thing I can think of. It’s not like I know him well. I can’t just tell him how I feel about him, that I think about him all the time, keep wishing he was in the kitchen when I get up in the morning. Wishing he was joining us now, around the little fire, to eat hogget curry and baked potatoes. I just can’t risk it, can I?
‘And you, Llew,’ I say, and watch as he walks away, his car lighting up with a bleep. I’m thinking about him leaving, but also his words: could we really try to raise the money for the lease on the cattle market? Could we make it something more permanent for all of us?
30
The range is keeping us warm in the kitchen and I’ve found Christmas candles in the old box of decorations to put on the table. The room is warm with the smell of the spices in the curry and the jacket potatoes in the oven. Owen pours the wine into small water glasses I’ve found in the cupboard. Evie is finishing laying the table.
‘Shall I put this somewhere?’ She holds up the brown envelope Llew has left.
I take it from her and see on the back a handwritten note with a phone number, clearly in Llew’s handwriting. For the cattle-market lease, a name and number. I put the envelope on the shelf above the table and call through to everyone. ‘Dinner’s ready.’
The kitchen fills with warmth as we sip the wine and eat.
‘A perfect marriage!’ says Myfanwy.
‘We should make more of these. Maybe do a twist on them,’ says Mae. ‘Meat and veggie fillings.’
‘Using seasonal ingredients,’ I agree.
