Chapter 11
Back in the farmhouse I pull off my hat and coat and hang them by the back door.
I slide off my boots and notice that the cracks are getting bigger.
I find some tape in the drawer on the dresser and patch them up.
That should last for now, I think. This time next week I’ll be back in smart black court shoes and suits.
I walk to the range, almost as if it’s pulling me towards its warmth. The kettle is still hot. I make Dad another cup of tea and put a Welsh cake on a plate, then take it upstairs to him in bed.
‘I was just getting up,’ he says, his legs out of bed. I put the tea on the chest of drawers and slide them back under the covers.
‘Dad! You’re not well. You’ve got to take it easy.’
‘I can’t stay here in bed all day, Jem love. It goes against everything I know. I need to check on things. See the flock.’
‘The flock is fine. I’ve fed them. The dogs are sorted too. And I’ve even been round checking some of the fence posts with Llew.’
‘With Llew?’
‘Yes. He’s up in the feed shed, trying to get his car sorted.
We fixed some of the fence posts to make sure Bertie and Harriet can’t escape again, and put the gate back on its hinges.
He even helped me straighten the farm sign,’ I say happily.
‘I think he’s going to be a great addition around here, Dad. ’
‘And … how did—’ He starts to cough.
‘Take it easy, Dad. Honestly, everything is fine, I promise. I like him. He seems nice. Getting him on board to help here could be great. Bring some fresh ideas to the farm. Owen’s good, but I can see why you might be open to listening to some new ideas.’
‘But—’ He coughs again. ‘I need to explain …’
‘Dad, plenty of time. I’m pleased – really. Now, drink your tea and stay in bed. At least for today.’
He leans back on the pillows, all the energy knocked out of him. I give his legs another little push back into the bed and pull the covers over him.
‘Take it easy, Dad. I’m here to help.’
‘But you need to get back. You have Christmas coming! And your holiday!’
‘I know, I know. But work will cope. I’ve been planning this Christmas since January.
Everything’s in place, running like clockwork.
It’s what I do. I put the hard work in early on to make sure it all runs smoothly when the time comes.
Mise en place!’ I say, smiling. ‘Everything in its place. Just like they taught us in hospitality at college.’
‘But I need to make a delivery. From the shed. Potatoes, from the allotment.’
‘Dad, this is not the time to be worrying about your potatoes.’
He shakes his head. ‘You don’t understand. I have to deliver a bag to the café, in town.’
‘Beti’s?’
He coughs. ‘Yes,’ he says, sounding weaker. ‘We have … an agreement.’
‘What kind of agreement?’
‘I take in potatoes to Mae, the waitress. She pays me cash in hand.’
‘Ah.’
‘She’ll be waiting for them.’
‘No worries. I can do that.’
‘Every little helps, these days,’ he says, and closes his eyes. I know he’s exhausted: he’s not arguing that he needs to get up.
I head out of the room, pull the door to and head downstairs into the warm, cosy kitchen.
All of a sudden I get a wave of longing, of homesickness, or as we say in Wales, hiraeth.
A sense of belonging. I wish I wasn’t leaving and heading back to Christmas at the hotels.
I wish I was here, having Christmas with Dad in the farmhouse kitchen, like we always did.
I decide to do some tidying up before Dad refuses to stay in bed any longer, gets up and tells me not to fuss, like I know he will.
He’ll want me to sit and tell him about the hotels and the plans made for Christmas.
Now is my chance to get as much done as I can, while he’s sleeping, occasionally waking and letting me know he’s happy I’m here.
And right here is where I need to be. I can’t believe I’ve left it so long to come home.
I shouldn’t have listened when he kept telling me he was fine, that I should go and enjoy myself. But first I’ll find the potatoes.
I go out to the shed, which is next to the vegetable plot.
His pride and joy, and Gramps’s before that.
I pull open the door to the whitewashed stone shed and smile.
I should have known Dad wouldn’t be living on fresh air and mouldy bread.
The smell is wonderful and earthy. In front of me there are sacks of potatoes, onions plaited up and hanging from the ceiling, next to strings of garlic, all home-grown.
There are carrots too, and I’m thinking they might need using up, along with turnips and swedes.
I grab a bag of potatoes, put it over my shoulder, then take some carrots and a swede.
I close the door behind me, walk to the Land Rover and put the sack of potatoes into the back.
Then I return to the warm kitchen. I begin by wiping out the cupboard.
Not that there’s much in there, but that’s because Dad has been eating, as we always did, from the vegetable garden, and the eggs from the hens.
We’d have bacon from the farm next door, when he and Myfanwy were speaking still, and ham.
Ham, egg and chips is still one of my favourites and I wonder when I last ate it, my mouth watering.
I wipe down the surfaces and wash the floor.
Then I fetch some logs in from outside to stack beside the living-room hearth to light the fire later.
A lot has happened since Matthew and I sat here on the sofa and I had plans to show him around the farm, introduce him to Dad, and warn him about his corny jokes, his wicked sense of humour and strange collection of hats.
I find the vacuum-cleaner in the cupboard under the stairs, along with the box of Christmas decorations that hasn’t seen the light of day this year …
or for a while, I’d imagine. I can’t think Dad’s decorated the place when I haven’t been able to get back for Christmas.
My heart twists at the thought of him here alone, the memory of finding him so sick in the chair coming back to haunt me.
I need to find a way to change this. Maybe invite him away with us, but I’m not sure how Matthew would feel about that, or if Dad would ever leave the farm.
But he has help now in Llew so he could come and stay with us in Seattle. Start to take things a bit easier.
I plump up the worn but comfy cushions on the sofa, then turn on the vacuum-cleaner. Dewi leaps about with shock and excitement, barking.
‘Sssh! Sssh!’ I laugh. But he runs around the room, bouncing off the sofa and Dad’s chair. I try to move the vacuum-cleaner but he barks and whizzes about some more, knocking over the side table next to Dad’s chair in a cacophony of joyous barking and playfulness.
‘Whoa!’ I say, switching off the vacuum-cleaner. The barking stops.
I see Llew standing in the doorway, practically filling it. ‘Oh, hi! I’m just trying to get things sorted here.’ I stretch my arm for the upturned table.
He steps forward, crossing nearly the whole room in one stride. ‘Can I help?’ He reaches out towards the toppled table.
‘No, it’s fine. You’re the one who needs to be careful,’ I say, picking up the papers that were there, as Dewi leaps and bounds for them.
‘Sit, good boy!’ I say, then look down at the papers.
‘My car’s going to be towed away,’ Llew is saying. ‘They’ll see if they can fix it. Might take a few days. They’re struggling to get me a replacement at the moment.’
‘Well, it’s good that they’re going to fix yours,’ I say.
‘I’ll collect up my stuff and get out of your hair.’
And I feel a little disappointment. ‘It was nice having you here,’ I say, thinking that perhaps I’m being a little flirtatious too and I shouldn’t be.
I have a partner, Matthew. But I mean it.
I enjoyed Llew’s company today. But I shouldn’t be giving any wrong signals and suddenly feel a little embarrassed.
‘I didn’t mean anything by that. It was just nice.
Nice to have some company. The farm can be lonely at times.
It’s hard doing this on your own. Don’t know how Dad keeps on with it.
I’ve suggested he leave but I know he won’t.
Maybe I’ll try to persuade him again, to come with me.
Especially if you’re going to be working together.
Get him to come on a long holiday to stay with me – us,’ I correct myself.
I look down at the papers in my hand, and see something I recognize. ‘Oh, it’s from you!’ I look at the familiar name again. ‘Llew Griffiths.’
He looks at me, saying nothing, just watching my face. I get a fizzing feeling in my stomach again. I glance down at the letter. Maybe I get to find out exactly what ‘the plan’ is, with him and Dad, and read until I reach the end.
I look at the logo at the top of the page, trying to take in what I’ve read. I look up at him. He still says nothing, and I reread it, the colour draining from my face.
‘You …’ My tongue feels as if it’s got twisted in my mouth. ‘Is this you?’ I look up at him to double-check. He isn’t smiling. His face is harder now. We’re not making friends, fixing fence posts and enjoying being outdoors.
‘It is,’ he says slowly, holding my stare steadily. ‘Your dad and I have been in talks for some weeks now. I was hoping he’d discussed it with you.’
All of sudden I feel cold, very cold. The dogs slide into the kitchen onto the mat in front of the range as if they’re feeling the temperature change in the room. I lift my chin. ‘No. He hasn’t. He did say he had something to discuss …’
‘It’s … a very good offer,’ he says, with a little cough, slipping into business mode, as do I.
I say very slowly, as if I’m processing the offer, ‘You want to buy Gramps’s field?’
‘Yes.’ He nods.
‘And,’ I raise an eyebrow, ‘put solar panels on it?’
‘We work with companies who want to give something back, offset any carbon footprint by producing cleaner energy.’
For a moment I say nothing.
‘It’s a good offer,’ he repeats.
‘And, this cleaner energy, does it help the people around here? The ones struggling with fuel bills, who’ll have to put up with the panels instead of livestock on the countryside. Will it make their lives better?’
‘It … goes to the national grid,’ he says.
‘So it doesn’t benefit the community at all?’
‘No, but it will help your dad to stay here for longer.’
‘By selling off parcels to you to ease the consciences of big business!’ And I’m not sure where this fury is bubbling up from. Suddenly I feel like battle lines have been drawn. He’s on one side and I’m on the other.
‘Well, yes, the likes of you and your bosses. Flying around the world, sourcing products for price more than provenance!’ he retorts. ‘We’re all here to try to make a living.’
Touché! I feel like I’ve been slapped.
The words sting. He’s right. I’m as bad as the people wanting to buy up the land and put their solar panels on it. I turn away and look into the fire.
‘I’ll get my things. Let me know if you want to talk.’
I say nothing. Then, in disbelief, I turn back to him and say again, ‘You want to buy Gramps’s field.’
‘Yes. Your dad, Edwin, was saying the farm was becoming too much for him. We’ve made an offer to buy the land.’
‘And put solar panels on it.’
‘That’s right. Renewable energy.’
‘But not for the town!’
‘Er, no. The power doesn’t supply the local area.’
‘So you sell it elsewhere?’
‘Yup,’ he says, sipping the tea.
‘And why?’
‘Well, certain businesses want to help the planet. Much like the one you work for, I imagine.’
Suddenly I feel as if I’ve got a foot in each camp and am being torn.
‘But that field is full of sheep. Fields should be covered by crops or livestock to support the local area!’ I say, realizing where my priorities really lie and that I and the company I work for are part of the problem, part of what’s happened to the town I left behind.
‘We should be supporting local workers, keeping them in jobs.’ Suddenly I’m getting worked up, thinking about Owen, Dad unable to pay his bills and the farm being turned into fields of solar panels that won’t make energy cheaper for the local people.
‘I’m not sure what Dad told you, or agreed to, but he won’t be selling Gramps’s field to you or anyone else right now.
Not while I’m here to help on the farm.’
‘Have a chat when he’s feeling better. I can come back,’ he says, clearly feeling the frosty atmosphere between us.
‘Please don’t bother. We’re not selling!’
He lets out a long sigh. ‘You have my number.’ He points to the letter. ‘Call me when your dad is feeling better.’
‘Don’t count on it,’ I say, as he pulls on his coat and makes for the door. He looks as if he’s going to say something else, but doesn’t. Selling Gramps’s field is not going to happen. Not while I’m here. And I’m going to have to stay to make sure it doesn’t. I can’t leave any time soon.
He strides upstairs and, head spinning, I grab Dad’s keys to the Land Rover and pray it’ll start but I have no idea where I’m going. Just somewhere to clear my head.