Page 43 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
People pass the window and wave as we drink tea. But, really, I’m not sure what good we’re doing here.
We watch as Owen appears and makes his way round to the back. Evie opens the door to him.
‘Twm Bach says the cawl was fantastic!’ He’s brought back the empty bowl. ‘And he can’t wait to see what you’re going to put on your social-media feed next.’
‘What’s this?’ Dad asks.
‘Old boy Twm said that?’ I ask.
‘He’s been following you.’
I look at Evie, then at Dad.
‘What’s this about social feeding?’ asks Dad.
‘Social media, Dad. I’ve been putting up some posts about farm life with the sheep. Saying howcross it makes me that it’s a hard, lonely job and barely makes a living.’
He scoffs. ‘You can say that again.’
‘Anyway, people like seeing the farm and I feel less alone when I’m out there.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘And it’s going well?’
‘It is. You don’t mind, do you?’
He beams. ‘Of course not, especially if it gets the word out.’
‘They call her the Social Shepherdess!’ Mae joins in.
‘And other cool names too. Got loads of followers, she has,’ says Evie.
‘Well, that’s good! Best get socializing now, then!’ says Dad.
‘What?’
‘Well, as I said before, what’s the point of doing this sit-in if no one knows about it?’
‘He’s right. The way to get the new owners to hear us is to make a noise,’ Mae says.
I said to Matthew I wouldn’t do any more. But somehow I can’t stop myself. After all, this is the way to be heard now. ‘Well, social media is a way to get the word out there. Look at the response I’ve had to my last couple of posts.’
‘Tell ’em what’s going on, there’s a good girl,’ says Dad.
I take a deep breath, hold up my phone and press ‘live’. ‘It’s not just the farmers who are finding it hard,but hospitality businesses. Pubs and restaurants are shutting, it’s just over three weeks until Christmas and there’s no Christmas spirit for these workers! The only bank they’ll be visiting is the food bank! Where have we got to when we can’t produce the food to feed our families any more? This café needs to stay open, for its workers and the community, who come here to see people and get a hot meal. We need to support our farmers and those working in hospitality. Oh, and if you’re in the area, and you’re looking for hot jacket potatoes, come to the café, let us know the password – how many days until Christmas – and you’ll be served!’
I stare into the screen, hit ‘send’ and lower the phone.
‘Well done, girl!’ says Dad, proud as Punch with a tear in his eye, and the others burst into applause.
My phone rings. It’s head office.
20
As soon as I hang up, the phone rings again. Matthew’s name flashes up. Instead of filling me with joy and even excitement, I’m feeling dread. I take a deep breath and press the green button. ‘Hi!’ I say, as cheerily as I can.
‘Where are you?’ he demands.
‘I’m …’ I take a moment. No ‘hello’ or ‘how are you?’ I realize that calls from Matthew have become an irritation rather than a pleasure, and I dread them more and more. I take another deep breath. ‘I’m in town,’ I say. ‘Why?’
