Chapter 6
‘Myfanwy!’ I say, surprised to see her on the doorstep. She hasn’t changed a bit.
‘What’s the old bugger gone and done now, then?’ she asks gruffly. ‘Heard he’d landed himself in hospital. Won’t stay. Just came to check on the ewes, but you’re here now. I saw the light on, so I know they’re being looked after. Wouldn’t want them going without.’
‘He’s in hospital … sepsis.’
‘Ooh, nasty.’ Behind her I can see she’s driven herself here on an old Massey Ferguson tractor that looks older than me. ‘Bloody farmers, see, they think they’re invincible.’
The landline rings again. ‘Excuse me, I must get that! Come in,’ I wave to her as I dive to the phone and listen. I hang up and Myfanwy is still in the kitchen, waiting.
‘That was the hospital. Dad’s asking to come home.
They’ve said they’ll only let him if there’s someone to look after him and there’s a medical professional on hand to check on him.
If so, I can pick Dad up this afternoon …
’ I say, as a wave of relief rushes over me.
‘I need to tell the nurse. As long as she’s on hand, and I’m here, he can come home.
As long as we phone the hospital if there is any change at all!
’ I look at Myfanwy, feeling that we’ve just dodged a bullet.
‘That is good news. I’ll bring some Welsh cakes. They might go with a cup of tea,’ she says matter-of-factly.
‘That’s really good of you, Myfanwy.’
‘No, not good of me. Your dad and I can’t stand each other.
Haven’t seen the bugger since he outbid me on that ram at the mart.
But we’re neighbouring farmers and it’s what we do.
If we don’t look out for the stock, who else will?
Besides,’ she says, a little quieter, the wind going out of her sails, ‘it’s very scary thinking he was alone here – anything might have happened. Could have been any one of us.’
She looks around the kitchen again. ‘We may not see eye to eye on lots of things, me and your dad. But I’d hate to think of another person being in trouble. Here, in case you need anything.’ She hands me a used envelope with her phone number on the back.
‘For when you go home, like, to …’ Her forehead wrinkles. ‘Where is it you are?’
‘All over the place at the moment. Mostly Cardiff, but I’m an area manager for the west of the country, mostly the hotels in the east of Wales. But Bristol too. Oh, this is Matthew, my partner,’ I say, as he appears dressed, in his jacket, carrying his overnight bag. He comes to stand beside me.
I can feel him wanting to say something about me becoming an overseas manager too and, for some reason, I pray he doesn’t. I don’t want anyone else to know before I’ve told Dad.
‘Diolch, thank you, Myfanwy. This means a lot. I know you and Dad have had your differences.’
‘I’d like to think the old fool would be there if I needed him. Not that I intend to be in that situation.’ She sniffs and pushes her clasped hands up under her bosom. ‘Now, who have you got to look after the flock?’
‘I …’
‘You could ask that Owen chap to come back. He seemed to know how things run.’ Matthew nudges me.
Myfanwy nods her approval.
‘Actually,’ l lift my chin, ‘Dad may have someone else in mind. I’ll be here to do it until things are more sorted.’
Matthew frowns. ‘But we have to get back, Jem. There’s a lot to organize. It’s our busiest time of the year.’
I lower my voice and say calmly, ‘I can’t leave yet, Matthew.
Dad is coming out of hospital. There’s the farm to see to.
’ Then, a little louder with a smile, ‘You go. I’ll catch you up.
I’ll let head office know I’m staying on for a few days.
Compassionate leave. About time I took some of the advice I hand out to staff. ’
‘But you’ve spoken to the nurse. And Owen could help out,’ he says, and I know he’s frustrated and itching to get back.
‘Not if there isn’t enough money to pay him, he can’t,’ I say quietly. ‘Everyone needs to make a living. He can’t work for nothing.’
Matthew looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. ‘But it’s only just over a month until Christmas.’
‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ I snap, wishing I hadn’t in front of Myfanwy, who doesn’t seem to be moving. ‘Like I say, I’ll let HR know I need some compassionate leave.’
I see him take a breath. ‘Well, don’t stay away too long. There’s a lot of people out there who’d kill for the job they’re offering you.’
I feel myself flushing and glance at Myfanwy. ‘I know,’ I say quietly.
Myfanwy is studying me with interest, her head on one side.
‘But today,’ I lift my voice, ‘Dad is coming home from hospital. There are animals out there. A farm that needs running. Farmers don’t get days off. Dad can’t even get himself to the loo now, let alone run the farm single-handed.’
‘So, you mean it? You’re going to stay on and run the farm?’
I can hardly believe we’re having this conversation. ‘Yes, of course. I have to.’
‘But for how long?’
‘Just until Dad is on his feet. And this new guy is here to help out. You go back. I’ll get the train when things are sorted.’
‘When will that be?’
I laugh. ‘Matthew, I have no idea. He isn’t even home yet!’
‘But you’ll be back for the Christmas gala dinners and then New Year?’
‘Of course! Keep me in the loop!’
‘And you’ll be okay, will you? On your own? I mean, I would offer to stay …’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say. ‘I’ve done this before. I may be a bit rusty, but I’m sure I’ll remember how it all works soon enough. And I can always ask Owen if I can’t.’
‘Owen, yes … Your ex, according to the man in the pub last night.’
‘It was a long time ago. He’s settled with children now. Really, there’s nothing between me and Owen.’ I mean it. We were close as youngsters and it was lovely to see his familiar face, but there was no leap of excitement. I didn’t wonder if he was the one who got away. He wasn’t.
I can still feel Myfanwy staring at us, as if she’s watching an episode of EastEnders. I look around the kitchen. ‘This place could do with cleaning. And I need to get some food sorted. And check what time I can collect Dad.’
‘Okay.’ He picks up the weekend bag he’s brought from upstairs, ready to leave as soon as he can. ‘What will you do for a car?’
‘I’ll use Dad’s Land Rover. It’s still going – just!’ I look out of the window at it on the drive. ‘Or there’s always the cattle lorry.’ I chuckle. ‘I’ve still got my licence to drive it.’
‘Well, this is certainly a side of you I haven’t seen before. Jem, the sheep farmer.’
‘You’ll be fine.’ Myfanwy waves a hand. ‘It’ll come back to you in no time,’ she says.
‘And you’ll definitely be back in time for Christmas and then’ – he looks at Myfanwy and back at me – ‘the trip! Our new adventure.’
‘Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Back for Christmas and everything it entails at the hotels.’
‘Then on to January in Seattle! A week of being wined and dined by the bosses before we—’
‘Can’t wait!’ I smile uncomfortably, wishing Matthew hadn’t said anything before I’ve spoken to Dad. Yes, we’ll go for a week to get to know the place before I finally agree to take the post and start in February.
‘Quite the jetset lifestyle!’ Myfanwy gives a little laugh and looks out of the window over the sink onto the yard, as the rain comes down again. ‘Well, I’m sure your dad’s very proud,’ she adds.
‘He is,’ I say.
‘And your mum?’
‘I hear from her occasionally. Birthdays and Christmas. She’s moved on from Spain. In Australia. Loving her life.’
‘I’m sorry about that. Her upping and leaving like she did wasn’t right.’
‘We had Nan and Gramps here too, so Dad and I were always fine.’
‘You were!’ she says, with a firm nod. ‘And you will be again. But I still don’t know how she could have gone.’
And something hits me hard in the chest. A sharp pain that leaves a crushing feeling.
We were fine, me and Dad, Nan and Gramps.
But every now and again, I ask myself, Why did she go?
Was I not enough for her? Sometimes I think that’s what drives me now to be the best I can at my job.
Showing I’m as good at what I do as I can be.
Letting her know in occasional emails how well life is going for me.
‘And then you’ll be off on your holiday to the States. All very exciting.’ Myfanwy breaks into my thoughts but the pain in my chest remains.
‘We’ll be there soon,’ says Matthew, pulling me close.
‘I’ll be off then,’ says Myfanwy, and gives me the tiniest smile. ‘I hope it all works out like you want it,’ she says. ‘Oh, and if I don’t see you, happy Christmas. Hope it’s everything you’re wishing for.’
‘And you, Myfanwy,’ I say, reaching for my boots in the porch and slipping them on. I see Matthew look at them with horror, then back at Myfanwy.
‘Yes, merry Christmas,’ says Matthew, slipping into hospitality mode.
And suddenly Matthew being here doesn’t feel quite right, as if there’s something fake about the world he and I live in. Like a plastic Christmas tree, too bright for its surroundings. Standing here next to Matthew, I feel like a jigsaw piece in the wrong space. But I’m warmed by being home.