Page 89 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
Music is playing and it’s crisp and cold.
‘Hello, you!’ says Llew, pulling me close to him.
‘Thank you!’ I say, feeling choked. Now. I should tell him now. Tell him I want him to stay here, with me. Make this work one way or another. Run a farmer’s market every month, maybe a farm shop from one of the barns, sell our produce and other local farmers’, with Mae running a café here.
‘Llew, I …’ I lift my face to look at his. I know this is what I want. I want to tell him, right now. I lean in closer to be nearer his face and his lips. I want to ask him to stay. Tell him I’ve never felt more certain about anything.
‘You’ve got a queue,’ he says. ‘Need a hand?’
I turn to see people waiting by the cattle lorry. ‘Yes!’ I say, and we hurry up the ramp and start serving under the dark but glorious starry night. The very last of the year.
As the queue quietens, I pull out my phone and look at all the pictures shared, loved and liked on social media of the Hope Food Festival. I look around for Llew. I need to tell him what’s on my mind.
‘Excuse me?’ says a young man, holding up alantern. ‘Is it true you’re going to rent out studio space in your barn?’
I give a little laugh. ‘Word travels fast,’ I say. ‘I’m certainly thinking about it.’
‘I’d be interested. I make chopping boards from wood. I’m with the cake lady,’ he says, pointing to the pretty horsebox. ‘I’ve been looking for somewhere to set up, but I can’t find anything I can afford.’
‘Well, give me your number and, if all goes well, hopefully, we’ll make these events a regular thing and find some space for young entrepreneurs like yourself.’
‘I could do workshops too. Oh, and I do IT for a big company, if that helps.’
‘It does,’ I say. ‘We all share our skills, so I think we could make this work.’
As we’re swapping numbers I hear the laughter first, then a voice I recognize. I freeze.
‘You wouldn’t think this was the same place, honestly. When I first came here it was like something from Cold Comfort Farm!’
My mouth drops open in surprise. I close it and collect myself. ‘Matthew!’ I say. ‘What are you doing here?’
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‘Jem!’ He holds his arms wide. ‘I was just saying how you’ve changed this place.’
I clear my throat. ‘Yes, I heard.’
He walks towards me and kisses me on both cheeks, leaving me feeling cold. ‘Happy New Year!’ he says, smiling.
I have no idea what he’s doing here. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready for Seattle? You leave tomorrow, don’t you?’
‘Yes! But we had to take a run out here first. This place has gone mad on social media. Hope Food Festival.’ He looks around. ‘It’s what people want! Good home-grown, affordable food.’
‘Yes, we like it,’ I say stiffly, not needing his endorsement for what he referred to as Cold Comfort Farm.
‘I’m impressed,’ says a man with him.
‘Jem, this is Paul Henry, a new member to the board at Cwtch Hotels, in charge of diversity, new ideas,’ says Matthew. ‘With you gone, we need to come up with some fresh strategies of our own. I’ve shown him what you’ve been up to here.’
The irony of this being my idea isn’t lost on me.
‘Had to come and see it for myself,’ he says, wearing the same smile as Matthew. ‘Before Matthew shoots off to the States. Not sure I could have found my way on my own.’ He gives a ridiculous loud laugh.
‘Maybe I should have kept it secret.’ I frown, remembering what it was like working for the hotel chain, never being at home for Christmas or New Year. Never imagining there was a different way of living. ‘So you came here on New Year’s Eve? Drove all the way to see our food festival?’
‘We did!’ he says, as if I should be impressed. ‘As I say, you have a very persuasive way of selling this place and being on a farm on your social-media feed. It’s impressive marketing.’
I want to laugh at Cwtch Hotels following my feed and finding it ‘impressive’. But it’s not that that’s bothering me.
