Page 82 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘Plenty of ideas,’ I muse, recalling what Llew was saying about it becoming a B-and-B. But it needs work. ‘Just not the money.’ The brown envelope with the contract for solar panels catches my eye on the shelf.
‘You can keep it, sell some of it, or all of it. I’ll agree with whatever you decide.’
‘Well, I got you a scarf, from Evie, and one each for the dogs.’
‘Perfect!’ he says, pulling his from the bag and wrapping it around his neck.
‘You two go and sort out the tree,’ I say to Dad and Myfanwy. ‘I’ll start on the veg.’
I stare out of the window. The snow has stopped falling and is freezing now. It’s still and silent. I wish I could feel happy about the farm, but all the joy has gone out of the day as I stand at the sink, peeling potatoes, listening to Anneka Rice on Radio 2. Not even the song about Ernie, with the fastest milk cart in the west, can raise a smile, like it usually would between Dad and me. Llew is next to me. The bottles of fizz he bought from the shop where he got the tree are still in the fridge.
‘What’s your thinking about your dad giving youthe farm? You don’t have to say but I’m not here for any reason except to listen.’
I sigh. ‘Maybe you and Dad were right all along. The only way is to sell Gramps’s field. The solar panels.’
‘Surely there’s another possibility.’
I shrug sadly. ‘The food market might have worked, but now we don’t have the money for that, and the deadline has passed. The solar panels are the only other solution. It might give me enough to do this place up, set up a B-and-B like you suggested. It won’t make a fortune but it will supplement things.’
‘What if there was another way?’ he says, standing beside me, peeling carrots.
‘Then I’m all ears!’ I say.
‘It’s just I was thinking …’
Suddenly we see the light blue truck coming up the drive. ‘It’s Owen!’
‘That was quick!’ says Llew.
‘Please let it be good news!’ I say, as we run to the door and fling it open. Owen gets out, head down. There is no Jess following him. It seems strange to see him without her. It’s cold, really cold.
Evie gets out of the front passenger seat, pulling her coat around her, looking out on the frozen fields around us.
Owen walks over to me, standing in the openporch. ‘She’s in surgery now. They said to ring at five. Just wondered if we could spend the day here with you, rather than waiting at home.’
‘Of course!’ I say, and fling my arms around him. ‘Come in, both of you.’
‘Hey,’ says Llew. ‘I’d say happy Christmas, but it doesn’t seem right.’
‘No, but happy Christmas anyway!’
We all stand and watch the sky darken out of the window.
Dad comes into the kitchen wearing his scarf and a new hat Myfanwy has given him, with the label still on. ‘Well, being together is what counts,’ he says. ‘Let’s have that glass of something to warm us up.’
‘Agreed. Don’t want to ruin your day. But, like I say, we couldn’t think of anywhere else we’d rather be,’ says Owen, as Llew opens the fridge and hands the bottles to him.
The meat is cooking and the radio is on. It may not be traditional to have hogget for Christmas dinner, but it is in this house. We’re a farm and we eat what we produce. I shudder to think of howcwtchhotels are serving standard lunches, weighed, portioned and priced to bring in the biggest profit, forgetting what this meal is all about. It’s about being grateful for what we have.
Owen is making a fuss of the dogs in front of the fire when there’s a knock at the door.
I open it. ‘Twm Bach? Come in, you must be freezing!’
I guide him into the little living room that, once again, seems to expand to embrace the amount of people in it.
‘Went out for a walk,’ he says, ‘and found myself coming this way, so I thought I’d see if there’s any news.’
Owen shakes his head. ‘I have to ring at five. Butdiolch, Twm. The thought is very much appreciated.’
