Page 16 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
He laughs as I hold his elbow, a big bear of a man, clearly having had the wind taken out of his sails.
‘I feel like I’ve been hit by the entire front row of the All Blacks,’ he says. He looks at me. ‘No, I won’t be ringing my wife, or ex-wife as she is. I don’t think she or her new husband would appreciate that.’
‘Ah,’ I say, and give him a gentle nudge back into the Land Rover. ‘Come on, let’s get you two inside. Plenty of time to sort out the car and explain your plans.’
I open the gate, with difficulty, drive through and shut it again. That’s one of the first jobs I have to do.
I check that all the sheep are in the right place and that the dog-walker isn’t back with Cosmo and Hubert, then drive us up to the farmhouse, where the dogs are waiting to welcome Dad home.
‘Gently,’ I say to Ffion and Dewi, the pup, now that Dad has reminded me of his name.
‘It’s good to be home,’ he says, sitting in the living room in front of the fire.
‘It is,’ I find myself saying. ‘It really is.’ I run upstairs and gather sheets and pillow cases for the spare room, which looks out over Gramps’s field and the ewes. I’m not thinking about schedules, staffing rotas or suppliers. I’m just here, feeling happy, feeling home.
9
The next morning I’m up early. It’s a dark Monday, but the farmhouse is warm. Matthew messages to say he got home safely yesterday. I can picture him in our apartment in the centre of Cardiff, turning on the coffee machine in the temperature-controlled room. Unlike here: your comfort depends on whether you’re standing by the range or near the front door, where a draught slips around the frame if the curtain isn’t drawn properly.
I feed the dogs and go outside, turning on my head torch, to check the ewes and load up their rack with hay. I’ll take the old quad bike, I decide. I pick up a bucket of ewe nuts: I don’t know if they’ve been scanned yet to see who’s carrying multiple lambs and needs extra feed. I’m slipping back into the naturalrhythm of farming life, away from planning wedding fairs and Christmas parties in January. Ffion jumps up behind me on the seat of the old quad, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to be here, driving it. I also find the tools I need to fix the gate and put them into the front basket. I can probably deal with the hinges, but may need a hand to re-hang it. I also consider making a sign that tells people to keep their dogs on leads and stick to the footpath. Respect our animals. I put a lot of energy into sorting out the hinges. It’s heavy, hard, wet work, not something I’ve done in a long time.
Later, returning to the farmhouse I’m wet and I ache everywhere. I’d forgotten how cold and isolated you can feel when it’s just you and the animals in the dark with only the light thrown from the head torch. Ffion and Dewi are now making for the warmth in front of the range, and Dolly, the Jack Russell, will be reluctant to share the space she hasn’t moved from yet today.
As I ease off my wellingtons I see on the bench in the porch a tea-towel, with a loaf of bread wrapped up in it and a little jar beside it, with a label on it: ‘sourdough starter’. I’m guessing Myfanwy’s come over the fields and delivered it while I was at the gate. There’s a tin, too, and I’m guessing it contains warm Welsh cakes. I lift the bread to my nose and can feelit revitalizing me. I push my boots under the bench and head into the kitchen.
The bread smells amazing as I slice, then toast it on the hotplate until it turns golden brown. I make tea in the big pot, spread butter on the toast and take it to Dad in bed. He’s looking pale and weak. I put the tea and toast on the bedside table and sit on the bed beside him.
‘Well, that’s a treat,’ he says, trying to lift himself up. I stand, step forward and slip my hand under his arm to help him, then plump up the pillows behind him. ‘I must have overslept. Not like me. Need to get up and check the stock.’
I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s fine, Dad. I’ve done them. How are you feeling?’
‘I’ll be great,’ he says, in his usual no-fuss-needed way. ‘Just a little blip. You should be on your way back to your office. You don’t need to be here, looking after me. I can manage.’ But his voice is thin, and I can hear the shake in it.
‘Well, I’d like to see that for myself before I leave,’ I say, patting his hand, then standing to pull back the curtains. ‘Besides, I’m quite enjoying having you to myself for a few days and being home. I know you’re not going to like this, but you do need to take it easy.’
He gives aphhffff. But I get the feeling he won’t have much choice. His body won’t let him pick up where he left off.
‘Dad, there’s something I want to talk to you about when you’re feeling better.’
He nods and smiles at me, patting my hand on his. ‘Me too, Jem-Jem.’ His pet name for me when I was a child.
‘It’s good news,’ I add.
‘Mine too,’ he says, with a tired smile.
‘Okay, well, just rest. We’ll talk later.’ I lean in and give him a peck on his forehead.
In the kitchen, Llew is gazing at the range. ‘No electric kettle, I take it?’
‘There is, but we use the stove when the range is on,’ I say. ‘Let me.’ I push up the lid of the hotplate and put the kettle on to boil.
‘I don’t want to be any trouble. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I have the car collected and a replacement sorted.’
‘Hmm. Could take a while out here,’ I say. ‘It’s fine. Besides, I’m keen to hear your and Dad’s plans.’
He sits at the table, holding his iPad. His hair is on end, butterfly stitches on his forehead.
I make a pot of tea and put it on the table. ‘Help yourself,’ I say, pushing the milk jug and a mug towards him. He looks at me and I can’t help but think how attractive he is, with his hair standing up in places.
