Page 49 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
I take a deep breath and pull a straw. ‘It’s short,’ I say. ‘I’ll stay tonight, once I’ve got Dad home and in bed.’
‘I can get myself to bed!’ Dad says crossly.
‘And after I’ve done the sheep.’ I look at Dad. ‘And no, Dad. You are not up to checking on the ewes.’
I turn back to the mug and see Llew looking back at me. ‘Guess it looks like I’m here too!’ he says, holding up his short straw. I have no idea why the lambs are skipping in my stomach again.
‘You don’t have to! I’ll be fine,’ I say quickly.
‘I’m happy to. Besides, I’m waiting for my car to be fixed and, a bit like Bethlehem, there’s no room at the inn. Actually, there’s no inn. Not for miles.’
‘Ah,’ I say. ‘Just the pub.’
‘And from tonight no rooms. They’re closing the B-and-B. Can’t get enough cleaning staff apparently. The Polish couple who were working there are going home for December to be with family. So I’m happy to stay. Besides, it would be nice if I could convince you I’m not here to rip off local farmers. I really did think I was doing the right thing.’
‘Did?’ I raise an eyebrow.
‘Let’s just say maybe you’ve made me see thingsa little differently. That day we walked the farm, I hadn’t thought about the history of the place. Or how important it is that we support our farmers instead of putting them out of business.’
‘As long as you keep to your side of the blow-up mattress, you can stay. But only because we need as many people as possible to stop this happening right now.’ I sigh. This is a terrible idea! He’s the last person I wanted to be matched with. But I can’t ask to swap. I don’t want everyone to know I’m trying to avoid him, like he’s rattled me. I have to play it cool. It’ll be fine. I can do this. It’s just one night. And we’re here to save the café and Mae’s job. And stand up to big business buy-outs! That’s way more important right now than me having to share the shift with Llew Griffiths.
We spend the afternoon playing cards from a pack Mae had in her bag. And Owen sits at the piano and starts to play. I’d forgotten he could.
‘All those years of Young Farmers’ Eisteddfods,’ I murmur. We sing along to Christmas carols, and I can’t help but film it on my phone and share it with followers, with the hashtag #LocalCafeSitIn #Supportlocal.
The local radio station gets in touch and I find myself giving an interview about why we’re here, why it’s important, how we need to try to save the high streets and remember our farmers. How we need to bring community back to towns like this.
We gather round and listen to the interview go out on the local news, and on the phone-in, many people are talking about the Social Shepherdess getting the online community to vote with its feet. It’s been a good day, and by the time darkness falls, I’m exhausted.
I’m about to slip out of the back door to take Dad home when Evie stops me. ‘Jem, I can stay at the farm, keep an eye on your dad,’ she says quietly.
‘I don’t need looking after!’ Dad barks, looking at me. He stumbles.
Evie is there like a shot, putting an arm out for him to lean on. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I’d like to. I hate going home to an empty house.’
‘In that case,’ he says, ‘thank you. Maybe a little help would be good. Just until I’m fully back on my feet.’ He smiles and so does she.
‘It’ll be fun,’ she says. ‘You can teach me how to play cards. Or I can teach you to knit!’
‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘Maybe …’
‘And I can help, you great oaf!’ says Myfanwy. ‘I’m only next door.’
‘Over a couple of fields! By tractor!’
‘Far enough I’d say.’
And they laugh.
It’s a big step for Dad, letting someone in to help. A very big step indeed.
At the farmhouse I make up Evie’s bed in the room where Llew stayed, with the window overlookingGramps’s field. I plump up the big pillows and put hot-water bottles into her bed, then Dad’s, hoping they’ll warm things up for when they climb in, which I shouldn’t imagine will be too long. Dad looks tired. Happy but tired.
Then I go out on the quad bike, with the lights on full in the dark night, to check on the stock. I stare up at the sky, like a huge blanket tucking us in for the night. Then I put the dogs inside in front of the range and tell them, with a pat, that I’ll be back in the morning. I hear Dad teaching Evie the rules of sevens, sitting in front of the fire, and tell them not to be late to bed with a smile.
At the café, I knock on the back door.
‘What’s the password?’ says Llew, and I roll my eyes.
