Page 12 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘I’ll use Dad’s Land Rover. It’s still going – just!’ I look out of the window at it on the drive. ‘Or there’s always the cattle lorry.’ I chuckle. ‘I’ve still got my licence to drive it.’
‘Well, this is certainly a side of you I haven’t seen before. Jem, the sheep farmer.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ Myfanwy waves a hand. ‘It’ll come back to you in no time,’ she says.
‘And you’ll definitely be back in time for Christmas and then’ – he looks at Myfanwy and back at me – ‘the trip! Our new adventure.’
‘Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Back for Christmas and everything it entails at the hotels.’
‘Then on to January in Seattle! A week of being wined and dined by the bosses before we—’
‘Can’t wait!’ I smile uncomfortably, wishing Matthew hadn’t said anything before I’ve spoken to Dad.Yes, we’ll go for a week to get to know the place before I finally agree to take the post and start in February.
‘Quite the jetset lifestyle!’ Myfanwy gives a little laugh and looks out of the window over the sink onto the yard, as the rain comes down again. ‘Well, I’m sure your dad’s very proud,’ she adds.
‘He is,’ I say.
‘And your mum?’
‘I hear from her occasionally. Birthdays and Christmas. She’s moved on from Spain. In Australia. Loving her life.’
‘I’m sorry about that. Her upping and leaving like she did wasn’t right.’
‘We had Nan and Gramps here too, so Dad and I were always fine.’
‘You were!’ she says, with a firm nod. ‘And you will be again. But I still don’t know how she could have gone.’
And something hits me hard in the chest. A sharp pain that leaves a crushing feeling. We were fine, me and Dad, Nan and Gramps. But every now and again, I ask myself,Why did she go? Was I not enough for her?Sometimes I think that’s what drives me now to be the best I can at my job. Showing I’m as good at what I do as I can be. Letting her know in occasional emails how well life is going for me.
‘And then you’ll be off on your holiday to the States.All very exciting.’ Myfanwy breaks into my thoughts but the pain in my chest remains.
‘We’ll be there soon,’ says Matthew, pulling me close.
‘I’ll be off then,’ says Myfanwy, and gives me the tiniest smile. ‘I hope it all works out like you want it,’ she says. ‘Oh, and if I don’t see you, happy Christmas. Hope it’s everything you’re wishing for.’
‘And you, Myfanwy,’ I say, reaching for my boots in the porch and slipping them on. I see Matthew look at them with horror, then back at Myfanwy.
‘Yes, merry Christmas,’ says Matthew, slipping into hospitality mode.
And suddenly Matthew being here doesn’t feel quite right, as if there’s something fake about the world he and I live in. Like a plastic Christmas tree, too bright for its surroundings. Standing here next to Matthew, I feel like a jigsaw piece in the wrong space. But I’m warmed by being home.
7
‘Drive safely!’ I wave as Matthew pulls away in his clean electric car and I can’t help thinking he’s rather too eager to get away – but I’m relieved that he’s gone. Maybe it’s just that I’m stressed about Dad. I want to focus on him and make sure he’s okay before I leave. ‘And remember to shut the gates!’ I call after him. He gives me a thumbs-up.
I watch him go down the drive, slowly, trying to avoid the potholes that really need filling. Once he’s out of sight, I step back into the kitchen, not wanting to let out any more of the heat, and close the door, with the dogs inside.
I grab the Land Rover keys from the Welsh dresser, pull on a scarf and Dad’s coat, and head out across the yard. I climb into the Land Rover and try to start the engine. To say it needs a lot of encouragement isan understatement. It takes a while, and a few prayers to whoever might be listening, but finally it rattles and shudders into life.
‘Yes!’ I say, patting the steering wheel, like I would the dogs. ‘Here we go.’ I find first gear and release the handbrake. It’s still raining, hard. The windscreen wipers are swishing back and forth without my having to turn them on. Like it’s been raining for ever.
I set off down the uneven drive towards the front gate. Creak, swish, creak, swish go the wipers.
The Land Rover rocks and rolls along and I’m peering at the windscreen, squinting to see better through the rain. I grip the steering wheel – it feels like it’s got a life of its own as I negotiate the neglected drive.
Swish, creak, swish, creak.
I’m hoping I’ll be able to see a bit more clearly once I get onto the main road. I’m nearly at the gate. Right now, I can hardly see …
