Chapter 4
Stepping into the pub is like stepping back to my youth.
The wave of warmth from the fire, stoked up and burning brightly, greets us.
The Shepherd’s Rest was always the hub of the town, especially when there was something to celebrate – Halloween, Bonfire Night, and Christmas Eve after carols in the little church.
Although it all looks the same, something’s missing. I look around. People.
‘Gosh, it’s quiet,’ I say to Matthew.
He shrugs. ‘It’s the industry all over. People aren’t going out like they used to.
You know that better than anyone. You have to pull them in.
That’s why your gala nights and weekday getaway specials are so good.
You give people a reason to want to come to the hotels.
Make it an affordable treat, while offering something a little extra. ’
‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘But the margins are still slim. We have to make savings wherever we can.’
‘And that’s why you’re so good at your job. Buy in bulk for the lowest price. Running the same menus in all the hotels at the same time means you’re making it work when the small businesses can’t.’
I look around the quiet pub. ‘It’s hard out there right now. Unless you’re a big company like us, it’s pretty brutal for independents. But that’s enough shop talk. This weekend was supposed to be a break from work.’
‘You’ll never be able to stop talking shop.’ He grins. ‘You live and breathe it. It’s one of the things I love about you, your commitment to the job. And that you’re so good at it.’
Right now, I need to be committed to sorting out Dad and finding Owen.
Unless I give Owen a piece of my mind and get him to pull his weight at the farm, I won’t be able to go back to work with peace of mind …
and I need to be able to do that, with the busiest time of the year coming up.
I want to know that Dad has all the help he needs.
‘Jemima,’ says a small man, sitting at the bar, using my full name, reminding me that I’m home again, with half a pint cradled in his gnarled hands.
‘I heard about your dad.’ It’s Twm Bach.
He was always a little man, hence his name – twm means ‘small’ in English – fit as a fiddle.
Now he’s much smaller and not looking as fit as usual.
His family had a big dairy farm once upon a time, but none of the children wanted to take it on, so it was sold, Dad told me.
‘My grandson Pedr works at the hospital. Said he’d been taken in. How is he?’
‘He’s okay,’ I say, feeling a sense of relief as I say it and slightly tearful at the same time.
‘I mean, he’s been better but he’s in the right place.
It’s sepsis. Probably from a cut in the palm of his hand.
Hoping to bring him home soon.’ I attempt to smile again, like I would to reassure hotel guests that there’s nothing that can’t be sorted, but with all sorts of worries at the back of my mind about how he’ll be when he comes home.
Will he be able to manage the stairs? Make his own food?
Should I look at getting someone in to look after him?
I guess I won’t know anything until he’s home.
‘Sepsis. Can be nasty if they don’t catch it early enough! Give him my best. Haven’t seen him in a while. None of us seems to get out like we used to,’ says Twm Bach. ‘Years ago, we’d have been meeting up on one another’s farms. Nowadays we only see each other at funerals, it seems like.’
‘Actually I’m looking for Owen,’ I say to Twm. ‘Owen Rhys.’
‘I know who you mean.’ He scoffs. ‘You two used to be inseparable! Back to look him up, are you?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. This is my partner.’ I introduce Matthew, standing beside me at the bar. ‘But I need to find Owen.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ says Matthew, holding out a hand for Twm to shake, which Twm does, warily, without returning the sentiment. ‘Yes, I’m the lucky fella,’ he tries to joke to Twm, who still gives nothing back, like a tennis ball hitting a wet blanket and falling to the floor.
Twm turns back to me. ‘I’ll give him a text message,’ he says. ‘Tell him there’s a pint waiting for him. Although he may not get it. His phone’s been cut off for a while.’
Twm pulls out an old brick phone and types.
‘Marvellous technology, isn’t it? When it works.
I reckon he’ll be here in a bit anyway. He’ll be glad to see a friendly face.
Mind you … I think technology’s stopped us all talking to each other face to face.
I should have called up on your dad a long time ago, like we used to. ’
‘Maybe you could, when he’s home,’ I say hopefully. It can’t hurt to have people dropping in and checking on him. ‘Can I get you a drink, Twm?’ I ask.
‘Half of dark, if you’re sure,’ he says, pushing his glass across the bar. ‘Diolch, and good health to your dad.’
I turn back to Matthew, who evidently needs something to make this whole experience a little more enjoyable. ‘What would you like?’
‘A Sauvignon blanc?’ he asks the bar person, who looks at him blankly. I don’t know her. She’s young. I wonder where Sali, the landlady, is. ‘Wine?’ he adds.
‘White or red?’ she asks warily.
‘Let’s have gin and tonic,’ I answer quickly.
Matthew looks at me as if he’s arrived on another planet. He leans forward. ‘Do you have Tanqueray?’
‘Gordon’s is fine,’ I cut in, and the barmaid looks at me as if it’s Matthew who’s from another planet. ‘Where’s Sali? She hasn’t sold up, has she?’ I ask.
‘She’s on a cruise,’ says the barmaid. ‘Says she’s had enough of this weather. But the Bay of Biscay was a nightmare! Ice and a slice?’
We take our drinks to a table and chairs by the fire, and Matthew seems finally to be thawing a little. We sip the gin and tonic, with melting ice cubes, and wait.
The door opens and I recognize him straight away. Owen doesn’t change. Still the same crop of blond hair, as thick and plentiful as a field of corn. ‘Owen!’ I say, standing from the table.
‘Oh, hi, Jem. What’s happening? I just heard about the ambulance up at your dad’s place.’
I step out from the table and walk towards him. ‘I should be asking you the same question,’ I say crossly.
Owen puts up his hands and takes a step back. ‘Whoa!’
Matthew stands too, behind me. ‘She’s upset.
Her father’s unwell. I’m Matthew,’ he says, putting out his hand.
‘Jem’s partner. We work together. Met on our first week with the company on a team bonding weekend.
Didn’t realize a weekend of role play and murder mystery in a country house would lead to finding my future wife,’ he tries to joke.
‘Been together for a couple of years now. I’m here to meet her father.
’ But before Owen has a chance to take his hand I step in.
‘She is upset, yes,’ I say, turning and glaring at Matthew, who seems to lean away as I do. ‘And I can speak for myself,’ I say quietly. Then slowly I turn back to Owen. ‘Owen, I’ve just come from the farm.’
‘What’s happened to your dad?’ he asks, looking concerned.
‘He’s in hospital with sepsis.’
‘Oh, God – will he be all right?’
I take a deep breath. ‘Yes. No thanks to you.’
He frowns. ‘What? What do you mean by that?’
‘He’s paying you to work on the farm and the place has gone to ruin! And you couldn’t check in on him and see how he’s doing? Not work out that he hasn’t had any heating on there for God knows how long? Or even contact me? It’s not like you don’t know my number. I haven’t changed it!’
‘Whoa,’ he says again, holding up his hands. ‘Of course I could’ve checked in on him. I haven’t seen him for a while. I’ve been … had things on my mind. But, yes, I should have, I’m sorry. And I’ve been to get credit on my phone. Only just got your message.’
‘We all have things on our minds, Owen, but Dad’s paying you to look after the farm and from where I’m standing, you’re not doing it very well.’
He takes a deep breath and puts his hands on his hips, on his worn leather belt, running through the belt loops on his soft, worn jeans, over his dark brown scuffed boots.
He looks at me, his face as familiar now as it was when we were in school.
Round, with a dimple in the middle of his chin.
Only the laughter from his blue eyes has disappeared.
His eyes always had laughter in them, right up until the day I told him I was leaving, going to see the world, taking a job on a cruise ship, and finished with him.
Of course I’ve seen him since but we’ve both moved on.
He has a partner and two children. I now have Matthew and the chance of a new life in America on the horizon.
‘There’s clearly things you need to catch up on around here, Jem,’ he says, biting at the corner of his lip, as he always did when things were on his mind.
Like when he’d spotted one of the younger kids getting bullied by some of the rugby boys.
He couldn’t stand back and waded in with a couple of well-placed punches and some stiff words of warning.
What Owen lacked in academic qualifications he made up for in heart and respect from his peers.
I frown. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Things I need to catch up on.’
He takes another deep breath. ‘It means I don’t work for your dad, not any more.’
‘What? But you’ve been there for years! You’ve left? Owen! How could you? No wonder he’s not coping.’
‘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 and come 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.
Matthew looks 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?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘No telly?’
‘Oh, yes, we had telly! Colour too!’ I laugh. ‘It wasn’t the land that time forgot. But we were outside most of the time. I’d be helping Dad with the sheep, or with the dogs.’
‘And you didn’t miss other things? Cinemas, bars, shops?’
I smile. ‘Not back then, no.’
I gaze into the fire, remembering when here was the only place I wanted to be.
Safe, with Dad and the animals. Until life moved on …
I moved on. ‘It’s what Dad always wanted me to do, see the world.
’ I smile at the memories. ‘He didn’t want me to end up resenting this place, like Mum had done.
Feeling trapped here. For him this place was everything but he knew it wasn’t for everyone.
This was my grandparents’ place before it was my parents’,’ I explain, and start to tell him how things were before we had heating and electricity.
What Christmas was like when the new range cooker was put in.
I turn, beaming at the memory, but Matthew’s head is on my shoulder, his eyes shut, fast asleep.
Like I say, this place isn’t for everyone, but it’ll always be home to me.