Page 27 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
There’s a ping on his phone and I can hear him checking the message. ‘Ah, that’s HR, confirming our flights for the new year.’ I can hear the smile in hisvoice. ‘So, your dad’s home. On the mend? You on your way back?’
I pause, again not knowing where to start. ‘Not yet,’ I reply. ‘Just need a little longer. Dad’s not on his feet yet and I need to see off some chancer who’s trying to buy some of Dad’s land to put solar panels on. But I won’t be long. Is everything okay there? Managing without me?’
‘Yes. All under control. You’re so organized, everything’s running fine. You make things look easy!’ He laughs.
‘That’s because a lot of work went into it.’ I’m feeling a bit scratchy. The Christmas schedules, bookings and events aren’t just thrown together.
Matthew senses the irritation in my voice. ‘I was just giving you a compliment.’
‘Sorry.’ I sigh. ‘I’m just wound up by this guy trying to buy a piece of the farm without my knowing about it. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.’
‘It’s fine. You’ve got a lot on your plate. But solar panels? That sounds good,’ he says. ‘Could be the answer.’
And now I’m really irritated. ‘It’s not, Matthew,’ I say. ‘For starters it would look terrible.’
‘Yes, but if it brings in money for your dad, it could be more profitable than sheep and it is helping to save the environment.’
The comment hits me like a flick in the face witha wet tea-towel. ‘But this is a sheep farm. Always has been.’
‘But, Jem, people have to change, adapt. Like you in work. You sort things when they happen, go with the flow to make sure things get done.’
‘Well …’ I try to gather my thoughts ‘… the supermarkets could pay farmers what the product is worth. They’re selling the lamb for less than it costs to produce it sometimes.’
‘Which is why,’ he says slowly, as if he needs to spell it out for me, ‘many people are moving to plant-based diets.’
I’m exasperated now.
‘And solar power has got to be good for the planet,’ he carries on.
‘Not for the people round here, though,’ I say, thinking about Mae in the café and Owen. ‘It’s not helping the people who actually live here.’
‘But you don’t live there,’ he says.
‘No, I don’t.’ And then a voice in my head says, loud and clear, surprising me,But I wish I still did! I wish I’d never left!I wonder how my mother and I could have brought ourselves to do it.
There’s a pause.
‘It’s not really your problem as long as your dad has some money in his pocket.’
I don’t say anything. Right now, that couldn’t feel further from the truth. I’m thinking about Evie, thenurse, knitting to help herself relax after a stressful morning at work. ‘It just keeps me in the here and now. It centres me.’
But wool is expensive. And Mae is using a food bank to feed her children. And Owen hasn’t enough work to support himself or his family. It shouldn’t be like this, I think. ‘There has to be a different way.’
‘See, you can’t help yourself, trying to find answers,’ he says. ‘It’s what you do. You solve problems. You’re getting too close to it all. You’ll be back here soon, once your dad is sorted. Maybe ask the neighbour to drop in. Then we can start getting ready for the big trip. I really want to enjoy every minute of this with you,’ he says, finally making me smile and, for a moment, whisking me away from the worries that seem to have settled in my mind. ‘We’ll be meeting the owners of the hotel and deciding if we want to make it our new home.’
My timer goes off on my phone. ‘I have to go. I’m cooking,’ I say, standing up from my cosy corner by the window in the shed on the straw bales.
‘Cooking?’ He sounds surprised. ‘You never cook.’
‘I can though. It’s what happens when you don’t work in hospitality and have all your meals cooked by the hotel kitchen.’ I add a little lightness to my voice, but he’s right: when did we last shop or cook a meal together, instead of relying on the kitchen staff or smashed avocados on toast?
‘Well’ – I hear the smile in his voice – ‘I look forward to tasting it when you’re back.’
‘My new-year resolution is to cook more! I’d forgotten how much I enjoy it.’ I’m thinking about Evie again: knitting centres her, and I felt the same as I stirred the carrots and onions and browned the meat.
‘In Seattle!’ he says. ‘Sounds good to me!’
‘Goodbye, Matthew,’ I say, and something inside me shifts. Like I’m at a crossroads and Matthew is there, his bags packed ready for the Seattle adventure, and I’m having to choose a path, but nothing is pointing me towards Seattle.
