Page 85 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘Looks like this one’s a fighter,’ says Dad.
‘What are we going to call her?’ asks one of the boys.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, watching them take turns to hold the bottle as the lamb tugs on the teat.
‘What about Mary?’ says Luke.
‘Or Angel?’ says Owen.
‘Gabriel is nice,’ says Mae. ‘Or Josh?’
‘That’s because she fancies him,’ says Luke to me. ‘I can see she’s happy. I like it when Mum’s happy!’
‘Me too,’ I tell the pair. ‘And she likes seeing you happy as well!’
‘Today has been very happy,’ says Jacob. ‘Can we come back for my birthday?’
‘And feed lambs!’
I laugh. ‘Well, yes, that would be lovely,’ I say, not adding, ‘If we’re still here, me and the flock.’ I think of how lovely it would be to hold children’s parties on Gramps’s field in the spring and summer, with a barbecue going, like last night at the cattle market, but with good weather.
‘What about Hope?’ says Llew, watching the children.
I turn to him. I want to have this man in my life not just for Christmas but for a long time after. ‘I think Hope is a very good name.’ I look around the group. Dad is wearing his napkin on his head like a pirate’s hat, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. ‘Hope is what we all need.’
We move from the kitchen to the living room and I put the lamb, full and sleepy, in front of the fire there and sit on the arm of the sofa. Llew hands mea drink and sits next to me. The others follow us in and the boys sit on the floor next to the lamb. I take a picture of her, and introduce her to my followers on Instagram.
‘Everyone, this is Hope. And hope is what I’m wishing for you all this Christmas,’ I say, into the microphone and post it.
‘So, we were talking while you were bringing a new lamb into the world,’ says Mae, sharing an armchair with Josh.
‘Hope,’ corrects Luke.
‘Hope,’ says Mae. She takes a deep breath. ‘We want to do another food night. Keep doing what we started, keep the idea of the market going.’
‘Well, that sounds good,’ I say, sitting on the arm of the squashy sofa sipping the spicy red wine.
‘But where? We haven’t got the money to buy the lease on the cattle market and I don’t think that woman would agree to us doing another fundraiser. In fact, I’m not sure we’ll see her around here again.’
They look at Dad, then at me.
‘It was your dad’s idea,’ says Mae.
He beams.
‘Well?’ I ask.
‘Here!’ he says.
‘Here?’ I frown.
‘Yes! On the farm. Or, more precisely, in Gramps’s field.’
‘But the solar panels? I can’t see another way. We’re going to have to agree to sell it.’
‘But it’s not agreed yet,’ says Llew. ‘Not until the new year. You have until twelve o’clock on New Year’s Eve, the last day of the year, to agree … or not.’
I think about the contract on the shelf, waiting to be signed.
