Page 79 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘When he’s been at rock bottom, she’s been there for him.’
‘Like he is for her now.’ I feel two arms wrap around me and pull me close. I can smell him, like pine and woodsmoke, and something close to hope.
I lift my head see the snowflakes in his hair and on his cheeks. ‘You didn’t expect this when you turned up here this evening.’
‘The thing about being around you, Jem, is that I’ve come to expect the unexpected.’ He smiles. ‘And I think I quite like it.’
I smile back. ‘I need to check the flock,’ I say to Mae. ‘Can you finish up at the food market?’
‘Sure.’
‘We’ll meet you back here with the keys.’
‘Leave the lorry, I’ll get it tomorrow.’
‘What about Mrs “You Need To Be Out At Midnight”?’
‘Stuff her!’ I say. ‘There are more important things to worry about tonight. And I’ll be letting them know that on social media. This might be the season of goodwill. It might be Christmas Eve. But that means treating others as you’d want to be treated. It’s about looking out for others.’
I reach into my pocket, pull out my head torch and put it on. Llew turns on his phone torch.
The ewes are cowering under the big oak tree.
‘You don’t have to stay,’ I tell him. ‘I can manage.’
‘I want to,’ he says. ‘I told you. I’m beginning to like the unexpected.’
And despite the misery of the night, the cold and the snow, my heart swells, and I know there is nowhere I would rather be than on the farm, and no one I’d rather be with.
34
When we finish checking the flock, we return to the farmhouse.
‘I’m going to check messages.’ I hold up my phone.
‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’
In the feed shed I sit on a bale and look through the window. In any other circumstances this would be the picture-perfect Christmas setting, I think, looking out over the fields on Christmas Eve with the dogs at my feet. I check my messages but there’s nothing from Evie or Owen yet about Jess.
Then I check the crowdfunding page and my mouth falls open.
There are small donations and messages on social media from people saying how much they appreciate what I’ve been doing. People who have visited and holidayed here want to help, as do van drivers whohave visited the food trucks and the biker community, who came tonight to celebrate Christmas Eve together and raved about the shepherd’s pie. There are big donations from companies based in the area, the largest from Coffi Poeth. Maybe guilt money, I think, but we’ll take it anyway.
My phone rings with the news I’ve been waiting for.
I walk back to the farmhouse. The windows are full of warmth from the orange glow inside. The dogs run ahead and wait at the door. I let them in and peel off my scarf and hat. An old Massey Ferguson tractor is parked on the yard next to Llew’s car, topped with snow.
Dad and Myfanwy are sitting at the table. Dad has the whisky bottle out. Myfanwy is getting out mugs.
‘Is that your tractor, Myfanwy?’
‘Hadn’t driven one on the roads in years. Felt like we were a proper community again tonight. But what news on Jess?’
There’s a knock at the door.
I open it. It’s Mae, holding the keys.
I beckon her in. ‘Jess needs an operation … as soon as possible.’
