Page 6 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘I didn’t want to go. In fact, I kept turning up until he told me to get off his land.’
‘Dad did?’ I frown. ‘Well, he must have been fed up with you taking another job.’
He shakes his thick blond hair again. ‘I didn’t find another job, Jem. He laid me off. He couldn’t afford to keep me on, not with the way things were going, lamb prices and wool. Fleeces are worthless these days. He’s been working the farm on his own.’
‘On his own? For how long?’ I turn back to Matthew. ‘Why wouldn’t he tell me that?’
‘You know your dad. He wouldn’t have wanted to worry you.’
Tears spring to my eyes, hot and angry. I nod and press my lips together. That’s Dad all over.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, looking up at the ceiling, to stop the tears falling. ‘I had no idea.’ I give a wry laugh. ‘That says a lot about how good a daughter I’ve been, doesn’t it? Didn’t even know he’d laid you off andcome home to find him practically in a coma, without heating.’
‘He was happy for you, Jem. He was glad you’d found your own path. He wouldn’t have wanted you rushing back here.’
‘And what about you?’ I say, concerned. ‘Did you find another job?’
He shakes his head. ‘Things are … difficult around here at the moment. Plenty of work still to be done, but no money to pay farm hands.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. ‘I shouldn’t have—’
‘It’s fine. You’re upset. Give your Dad my best and just call me if you need anything, anything at all. I have credit now. You can get hold of me and I’m happy to help, you know that.’
‘I do,’ I say, feeling utterly wretched.
‘Now, I’m going to have my pint that Twm’s promised me for cutting his grass.’ He nods at Matthew. ‘Nice to meet you, Matthew.’
‘At least let me get you one,’ I offer.
‘I don’t need charity. Not yet …’ He gives a little smile but the laughter isn’t there.
He walks to the bar and orders a pint of cider.
‘How are your heifers?’ asks Twm Bach.
Owen shakes his head. ‘Got a buyer coming to look at them this week. I can’t keep them going over the winter so I have to give them up. And the land.’
‘Solar panels, that’s what you want. Everyone’s doing it. Don’t cost to feed them.’
‘And ruins the countryside for everyone, while sending the power to other parts of the UK so the locals don’t even benefit from it.’
I sit in silence with Matthew, desperate to get back to the farm.
At the farmhouse I find more blankets, stoke the fire.
‘I’m going to check the sheep. Then we’ll eat,’ I say to Matthew. ‘Do you want to come with me, or wait here and open the wine?’
‘I’ll open the wine. At least I know what I’m doing there!’ he says.
‘I won’t be long,’ I say, kissing him, then grabbing Dad’s wax jacket, with its torn pockets and worn collar, from the hook by the door. I breathe in its familiar scent.
‘Come on, girl,’ I say to Ffion. She’s looking at me as if she knows she needs to step up now and help. ‘We can do this together. I’ve just got to remember what I’m doing!’
‘See, I told you it would be cosy,’ I say, as we sit in front of the crackling fire, blankets over our knees, the dogs curled up at our feet. Our empty plates are stacked on the coffee-table, and I’ve just refreshed our glasses from the bottle of red I brought. Matthewlooks around the small but cosy living room, with big windows looking out over the fields that drop away from the house. In daylight, you can see the sheep gathering under the big oak tree, like office workers at the coffee machine, passing on the gossip. And I’m remembering those early mornings in the lambing shed with Dad. We’d be knee-deep in straw and smiling at each other every time a new one was born and safely on its legs with its mum.
‘With the rain lashing so hard you can’t see a thing’ – I point to the window – ‘but when the snow comes, it’s really special.’
‘Is this how it was for you growing up?’
