Christmas at Hollybush Farm, page 23
‘Hi, welcome to Hope Food Festival,’ I say, to the young woman. ‘I love your truck.’
‘Thanks. I’m just starting out, so I wasn’t sure if I’d be the right fit here.’
‘You’ll be perfect! We’re here for all the comfort food.’ I smile. ‘If you need anything, just ask us. And thank you for coming,’ I say, as she hands me her pitch fee.
She’s followed by the boys from the tractor run. They’re going to do hot dogs again, on Gramps’s field, on the big oil-drum barbecue. And others follow, the macaroni-cheese truck, crêpes sold by members of the Young Farmers with their parents. The kids are test-running the chocolate spread and seem to have it all over their faces. The lorry is set up to serve shepherd’s pies, hogget curry and cawl, with homemade bread; the trailer next to it, with Mae’s jacket potatoes, boasts pots of grated cheese, beans, tuna and a vegetarian chilli.
At twenty to five, the firepit is lit. The festoon lighting from Gramps’s field to the yard is turned on. All the food trucks have battery-operated fairy lights and smoke is spiralling upwards from the fire. The barbecue and the sweet crêpes smell amazing. The scene looks and feels fantastic.
‘Something you created,’ Llew says. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘What if it’s not enough? What if no one comes?’
He pulls me close. ‘Then you will at least have tried.’ He kisses me. ‘One last thing to do,’ he says, and disappears towards the field where the cars are parked. I can see him and Myfanwy in conversation.
Later I do a mental check that everything is set. Now all we need is customers. I take a deep breath and look around for Llew. He went off about half an hour ago with Myfanwy.
‘Jem!’ I hear a shout. It’s Mae. She’s standing on the edge of the yard, looking over the field towards the end of the drive. Like fireflies in the night, there are lanterns and torches flickering at the bottom of the drive. I can hear the chug of a tractor.
‘It’s Llew and Myfanwy. They took the tractor and trailer to town to pick up people from outside Coffi Poeth,’ she shouts, coming towards me. ‘Myfanwy’s driving! Llew put it online! A tractor ride to the farm!’
‘But he hates all that online stuff!’
She beams. ‘Looks like he realized maybe it’s not such a bad thing after all.’
And there, coming up the drive, is the tractor with lights all over it, and a group of young revellers flourishing phone torches, riding in the trailer with Llew pointing out where everything is and the parking in Myfanwy’s field to the left. Cars are backed up behind the tractor.
‘They came,’ I say, quietly at first, then look at Mae.
‘THEY CAME!’ we shout.
‘It’s like the Three Wise Men, a bit late, but they’ve followed the star and made it.’ She throws her head back and laughs.
Llew is standing in the trailer, holding up a lantern and waving at me. The tractor stops in Gramps’s field and Llew jumps down, helping people off the trailer and pointing them towards the festoon lighting that is showing the path up to the firepit in the yard where there are straw bales to sit on, at a suitable distance from the fire. It has a pen around it, organized by Owen. People start to wander up towards the yard, some stopping at the barbecue for their range of hot dogs: chilli dogs, hot dogs with cheese, and even a veggie dog.
Music is playing and it’s crisp and cold.
‘Hello, you!’ says Llew, pulling me close to him.
‘Thank you!’ I say, feeling choked. Now. I should tell him now. Tell him I want him to stay here, with me. Make this work one way or another. Run a farmer’s market every month, maybe a farm shop from one of the barns, sell our produce and other local farmers’, with Mae running a café here.
‘Llew, I …’ I lift my face to look at his. I know this is what I want. I want to tell him, right now. I lean in closer to be nearer his face and his lips. I want to ask him to stay. Tell him I’ve never felt more certain about anything.
‘You’ve got a queue,’ he says. ‘Need a hand?’
I turn to see people waiting by the cattle lorry. ‘Yes!’ I say, and we hurry up the ramp and start serving under the dark but glorious starry night. The very last of the year.
As the queue quietens, I pull out my phone and look at all the pictures shared, loved and liked on social media of the Hope Food Festival. I look around for Llew. I need to tell him what’s on my mind.
‘Excuse me?’ says a young man, holding up a lantern. ‘Is it true you’re going to rent out studio space in your barn?’
I give a little laugh. ‘Word travels fast,’ I say. ‘I’m certainly thinking about it.’
‘I’d be interested. I make chopping boards from wood. I’m with the cake lady,’ he says, pointing to the pretty horsebox. ‘I’ve been looking for somewhere to set up, but I can’t find anything I can afford.’
‘Well, give me your number and, if all goes well, hopefully, we’ll make these events a regular thing and find some space for young entrepreneurs like yourself.’
‘I could do workshops too. Oh, and I do IT for a big company, if that helps.’
‘It does,’ I say. ‘We all share our skills, so I think we could make this work.’
As we’re swapping numbers I hear the laughter first, then a voice I recognize. I freeze.
‘You wouldn’t think this was the same place, honestly. When I first came here it was like something from Cold Comfort Farm!’
My mouth drops open in surprise. I close it and collect myself. ‘Matthew!’ I say. ‘What are you doing here?’
38
‘Jem!’ He holds his arms wide. ‘I was just saying how you’ve changed this place.’
I clear my throat. ‘Yes, I heard.’
He walks towards me and kisses me on both cheeks, leaving me feeling cold. ‘Happy New Year!’ he says, smiling.
I have no idea what he’s doing here. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready for Seattle? You leave tomorrow, don’t you?’
‘Yes! But we had to take a run out here first. This place has gone mad on social media. Hope Food Festival.’ He looks around. ‘It’s what people want! Good home-grown, affordable food.’
‘Yes, we like it,’ I say stiffly, not needing his endorsement for what he referred to as Cold Comfort Farm.
‘I’m impressed,’ says a man with him.
‘Jem, this is Paul Henry, a new member to the board at Cwtch Hotels, in charge of diversity, new ideas,’ says Matthew. ‘With you gone, we need to come up with some fresh strategies of our own. I’ve shown him what you’ve been up to here.’
The irony of this being my idea isn’t lost on me.
‘Had to come and see it for myself,’ he says, wearing the same smile as Matthew. ‘Before Matthew shoots off to the States. Not sure I could have found my way on my own.’ He gives a ridiculous loud laugh.
‘Maybe I should have kept it secret.’ I frown, remembering what it was like working for the hotel chain, never being at home for Christmas or New Year. Never imagining there was a different way of living. ‘So you came here on New Year’s Eve? Drove all the way to see our food festival?’
‘We did!’ he says, as if I should be impressed. ‘As I say, you have a very persuasive way of selling this place and being on a farm on your social-media feed. It’s impressive marketing.’
I want to laugh at Cwtch Hotels following my feed and finding it ‘impressive’. But it’s not that that’s bothering me.
‘Don’t you have family you want to be with this evening? Friends you want to share a drink with? Don’t you find it odd that you’re out working on New Year’s Eve and not taking time to enjoy a local pub or restaurant, encourage and support the industry? Actually enjoy being in the world you work in?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not for me. Taking the early flight with Matthew to go through new ideas for the Seattle hotel. I must say, though, this is very impressive,’ he says, looking around at the busy yard, people eating and drinking – there’s a fishing boat on a trailer, selling local beer, and the barmen are singing sea shanties: a late but very welcome addition to the party who heard about us from the pizza truck. They had a cancellation so asked if they could join us here.
‘You know,’ Matthew says, into my ear, ‘you could still be part of the team over there. I know they’d have you back if you asked. I could put in a word. And this place will have done you loads of favours. What you’ve pulled off here is incredible.’
‘If I asked to go back? Begged, you mean,’ I say, feeling my festive spirit dissipating into the starry sky.
‘Or … there is another option,’ says Mr Diversity, as Llew comes to stand beside me. I see Matthew eye him suspiciously.
‘What’s that?’ I wish I didn’t want to know.
‘This place?’ he says.
I look at him. ‘What? The farm?’
He nods.
‘Everyone wants to get into farms these days! Ever since Jeremy Clarkson and Kaleb. Look at the crowd you’ve pulled in. We could help be a part of it.’
‘You’d want to invest?’ An injection of cash to help us on our way is appealing.
‘No, we’d buy it.’
‘Sorry?’ I lean in, as if I haven’t heard him correctly.
‘We’d buy the farm, and you could do what you do best. Turn it into a boutique hotel. Farmhouse B-and-B.’
I repeat his offer back to him. ‘You want to buy the farm and turn it into a B-and-B.’
He nods.
Llew drops his head and walks away. I want to go after him. Ask him what he thinks.
‘With food festivals every week on the car park or yard. We roll out the design and formula to other farms that are struggling, buy them and make them boutique B-and-Bs with street food.’
I stand open-mouthed.
Just as I hear, ‘Ten, nine, eight …’ I check the time on my phone, trying to get a picture of the field to post … It’s nearly midnight and my shaking hands fumble over the video button.
‘It could be the start of a big business,’ I hear him saying, as I struggle to get a snapshot of what we’ve created here.
‘… seven, six, five …’
I glance around again, clutching my new phone, which Llew insisted on buying me for Christmas and which connects to a network that works from the farm, which will help with the social media. People are holding up their lanterns and drinks and counting. Dad and Myfanwy are holding each other in their arms, beaming. Mae is holding hands with Josh, thinking no one can see them.
Evie is stroking Jess, and Owen is by her side. It’s just Llew who’s missing, and I’m trying to see where he went, wondering if he’s gone before I had the chance to tell him exactly how I feel and what I want here at Hope Food Festival.
‘… four, three, two …’
My eyes fill with tears. He’s not here. I look back at Matthew and hope to God he’s not going to lean in for a …
‘… one! Happy new year!’
Matthew leans towards me as I put up a hand. ‘I think we’re way past new-year kisses,’ I say. ‘I wish you well, Matthew, but no, I don’t want Seattle, and this farm is certainly not for sale,’ I say to both men. Suddenly the air is full of happiness and joy. No bangs or whistles from fireworks, just families and friends wishing each other luck for the new year and celebrating their friendship and love around a huge, glowing firepit, radiating warmth and happiness.
It’s the sign I needed, if I needed one at all. I pull out my phone and press the button to film, and as I do, I set off, following the festoon lighting, towards the car park where Llew has the boot of his car open. I have to stop him leaving. Tell him how I feel and that I’m not going to sell out to big business.
Suddenly, I can’t help myself, I break into a run, and when I reach him, I throw my arms around him and hug him hard. ‘I loved this! Thank you! Actually, I love you! Oh, I didn’t plan for it to come out like that! Actually, I don’t really have a plan. But I love you, and I’m hoping I haven’t scared you off, and I just want to know if you’ll stay here, with me, at the farm.’
‘What about Matthew and his companion?’
I turn to look at the drive. ‘If I’m not very much mistaken, Matthew and his companion are leaving now.’
He looks at me. ‘And you, are you going with them?’
‘No, I’m not going anywhere! Corporate life is out of mine for good! This dream is not for sale! This is about all of us building this place together.’ I stop smiling. ‘I thought you’d left.’
‘I thought you might leave.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘Nor did you!’
I laugh.
‘What?’ he asks, and laughs back.
‘That idea, about the outside gym, healthy bodies and minds, here on the farm,’ I say. ‘You could …’ I swallow and take a deep breath ‘… you could always stay here. If it worked,’ I say quickly. ‘If you wanted to. I mean, if … you, me … if you thought …’ I’m rarely tongue-tied, and I think I’ve got my words out, roughly in the right order. ‘You could run your boot camps from here. Have people to stay at the farm and get them working out here.’
‘I thought you’d never ask!’ he says. ‘I don’t have a lot to offer. But I promise you, I’ll put my whole heart into getting the food market off the ground. I’ll help you.’
‘The pay’s not great, but there’s always a cuppa and a Welsh cake, and a pot of cawl on the go.’ I smile. ‘And there’s this place, the barn,’ I say looking around. ‘Thought I’d make it into a classroom, teach local businesses about social media, how it can help them. Creating a community. And, of course, we’d need Owen back working here, as farm manager.’
‘Definitely. And you could do all sorts of classes too, wreath-making at Christmas, knitting classes with Evie.’
‘It’ll need doing up.’
‘Looks like I’ll have to roll up my sleeves.’
‘Sounds perfect to me.’
‘If we can make this work, if we can all work together, create our own little village, here at the farm, we could all benefit from it.’
‘Let’s hope we do.’
‘I like the sound of that, Hope food trucks in the fields … maybe a farm shop and workshops.’
‘Let’s hope this goes well, then!’
‘Looks like we should probably stay here together.’
‘I think we should. We’ve got a lamb to look after between us.’
‘Yes, the custody battle could’ve been messy.’
‘Think you might have to change your car.’
‘You’re right.’
‘I just came to the car to fetch these for you,’ he says, closing the boot and handing me a box.
‘What is it?’
‘I told you I had something for you in the car. A present. It’s just been so busy, I kept forgetting to give it to you. Until Matthew arrived.’
‘But you left when they were making their offer. I thought you were leaving.’
‘I knew you’d make the right decision. You didn’t need my input.’
I open the box and see a brand new pair of pink, flowered wellington boots, just like my old ones, but without the cracks.
‘I love them!’ I say, hugging him.
‘You’ll need them if you’re going to be a full-time farmer now. Got myself some too.’ I look down at his muddy boots.
‘I can take them back and get you plain ones, if you like,’ he says, suddenly serious.
‘Now, where would be the fun in being the same as everyone else? We’re all different. They’re perfect! Thank you!’
I smile, then lean in to kiss him. Finally, when we break apart, I say, ‘Happy New Year.’
‘Happy New Year.’
‘Come on, I think we deserve a drink. I’ll go with Myfanwy to take the tractor-ride customers back and you open a bottle. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.’
We walk back to the yard, hand in hand, looking up at the starry night.
‘I think Gramps would approve,’ I say.
And in the background I can hear a clock ticking … in my head, in my heart, in the pit of my stomach, as if something has woken up in me. Something a lot like feeling I’m where I belong, with the people, and one person in particular, I love. And maybe this isn’t the end of a mixed-up year but the beginning of a whole new one.
‘I wonder where we’ll be this time next year,’ I say.
‘Here, together, a family …’ he says, and kisses me all over again. Already I’m looking forward to the spring, summer and autumn, not from the inside of a hotel lobby, but from out here, where it all begins, where everything feels real.
We walk up towards the yard where the others are standing, smiling and clapping. Mae, Evie, Dad, Myfanwy and Owen. ‘Finally!’ they cheer.
And I blush.
‘What?’ I try to bluff my way through their enthusiasm.
‘You left your phone on live again!’
‘Everyone on your socials is wishing you all the best and can’t wait to see what happens to the pair of you and Hope Food Festival in the new year!’
‘We’ve got nearly a million likes!’
I look up at the stars, scattered across the clear dark night, each of them twinkling, but one in particular sparkles particularly brightly over Gramps’s field. I know who that is. He always said when I was away, starting my career, that if I was ever homesick I should look up at the sky, find the brightest star and know that he would be looking at the same one. And now we’re all together looking up at the same special star.
‘Hear that, Gramps? A million!’
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. But I know I’m happy. I’m at home and I may not know what this year will bring, but with Llew beside me, my family and friends, between us we have hope.
Acknowledgements
I am surrounded by a lot of young farmers where I live in West Wales. And it’s these young people I have to thank for inspiring this book. It’s a hard job, physically and emotionally. It can be long hours for not a lot of pay. But for them it is a way of life. And I love their dedication to the profession.
