Chapter 14
It’s Friday. Dad is insistent on getting up and dressed and coming downstairs. Even if he does fall asleep in his armchair once he’s down.
I check and feed the ewes, then clean the henhouse, and let the birds out to peck around the yard.
I check for more wobbly fence posts that need securing.
After I’ve done that, it’s nearly lunchtime.
I decide to go into town, bring something back for Dad.
It’s the end of the week, I’ve made it, and I feel the need to celebrate my little successes.
I shove my phone into Dad’s old coat pocket. The dogs settle in front of the fire at his feet where he’s dozing in the armchair and I pick up the Land Rover keys. One of Mae’s jacket potatoes could be just what I need right now. That and a bit of company.
Evie the nurse is already in Beti’s, her knitting on her knee. She and Mae are looking at Mae’s phone. They turn and smile at me when they hear me come in. The warmth from the fire hits me and it feels good to see some familiar faces.
‘Well, if it isn’t our local celebrity!’ Mae says, looking up from her phone.
‘What?’ I laugh. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You!’ says Evie.
Mae waggles her phone in its case. ‘Your post!’
I’m confused. ‘My post?’
‘It’s sharing all over the socials! My son just sent it to me from his phone,’ she says.
‘Oh, my post?’ They’re not talking about what the postman brings. Life has moved on since I left school.
‘And one of the other nurses saw it and sent it to me, asking if I knew you.’ Evie grins. ‘I said I did. I hope that was okay.’
I sit down next to Evie, haul off my coat and look at Mae’s phone.
I frown. Then I pull out my phone. The screen is spattered with mud and there’s a chip in the corner from when I was driving the quad bike and it fell out of my pocket.
I know that social media is part of business these days, but I’m still finding it hard to keep up.
With working on the farm all day, I’ve barely had time to log in, let alone do any scrolling.
I look at the insights. There must be some mistake, or I’m not reading things properly.
I point. ‘All those people have liked it?’
‘Yup!’ says Evie, stopping mid-stitch to look at me and smile.
‘And commented. Telling you to keep going. Keep your chin up. Saying thank you to you and other farmers.’ Mae’s fingernails click on the screen and she shows me the answers way quicker than I could find them. ‘And look at the followers you’re clocking up!’
Evie’s knitting again. ‘Looks like you’ll have to keep posting now,’ she says.
‘You’re like a cheerleader for the young farmers out there,’ Mae says.
‘Women farmers too!’ says Evie. ‘Loads of them! You said what they’ve all wanted to say! They’re sharing it like mad!’
I stare at the screen, seeing a different me. No makeup, sodden, anxious. Where did the other me go? The one who arrived full of happiness to see her dad and her home, to tell him she’s moving to Seattle. Now I’m just worn out and worried.
The door of the café opens and two schoolgirls, skirts short, blazers practically touching the hems, come in. One is staring at the screen of her phone. ‘Hey, look, that woman shepherd. It’s someone from round here!’ she says, showing it to her friend, who turns down the corners of her mouth.
‘No one knows where here even is!’ she says.
‘They do now,’ say two more girls coming in behind them, also with skirts so short their bits must be freezing.
Where did the time go? What have I done with it?
Well, apart from the obvious – went travelling, got a job, settled down with the wrong man …
I’ve blinked and it’s gone. And now … Now it may all go, if we sell off Gramps’s field.
What will be next? The rest of the farm.
And the house will become a second home for people wanting to get out of the city.
I’m sure Llew Griffiths will have contacts for that too.
And no one will know where this place is and what a thriving community there used to be.
The girls are at the counter as Mae slips behind it to microwave pizzas and warm up rubbery burgers. I slide down in my chair, hoping they won’t recognize me. I’m hardly seen on the screen, just the edge of my face. I listen to them banter.
‘I think it’s sad. I wouldn’t do it!’ says the one who ordered the burger.
‘It’s a brutal job.’
‘And lonely.’
‘Can’t wait to get to uni,’ says the first. ‘Away from this place.’
‘I think it’s cool,’ says another. ‘But doubt there’ll be any jobs in farming by the time I leave.’
‘Nothing that pays you enough to live off anyway,’ says another.
‘New Zealand! That’s the place to go for farming.’
‘Or Australia!’
‘Christmas on the beach!’
‘Got to be better than here!’
I slide down further. I listen to the clack of Evie’s knitting needles, feeling sad for the place this once was.
These young people don’t want to stay here.
They don’t have dreams that include this place.
I didn’t. I was so keen to prove I could make something of myself.
So keen to do as Dad suggested and move away, like Mum did, to make him proud.
But do I have dreams for this place now?
I know I don’t want our fields to become a solar farm.
I know I don’t want Dad to sell up. But what do I want?
If I want to save the farm, where does that leave me and Matthew?
Would he ever join me here? I know the answer to that.
Matthew and my bosses are expecting me in Seattle in the new year.
I have to work out a plan between now and then to save the farm and leave it in safe hands.
The door of the café opens, letting in a cold blast and the young, brave-against-the-cold girls, no coats, short skirts, nose piercings and colourful hair, leave, talking of life on the other side of the world where everything, apparently, is much better than it is here, from wages to jobs and weekend beach parties.
They’ve seen it on the internet. Suddenly I feel very old, as if the world has passed me by.
I’ve seen it all from the inside of hotel reception areas and guest suites, and in helping to create an idea of paradise I’d forgotten what I’d left behind. Maybe paradise was once here too.
The door opens and my past walks into the café.
‘Hi.’ Owen raises a hand and smiles. ‘Hi,’ he says to Mae.
‘Can I take a jacket spud? I’ll settle my account soon.
Going to pick up some money for grass-cutting I’m still owed from the end of the summer.
Some of the second-home owners are here and I’ll be back with cash. ’
‘No worries. Oh, actually’ – she grimaces – ‘the boss is coming down tomorrow to check things over. Would be great if you could pay me before then.’
I see him dip his head.
‘Really. I’m owed some money. I’ll get it to you,’ he promises. ‘Thank you for letting me owe it.’
Mae’s face creases. ‘I hate to ask. I know how hard things are right now,’ she says.
‘For all of us,’ he says. ‘I know things are for you too. Can’t be easy, this close to Christmas.’
She shrugs … her armour against the world. ‘It’s okay. I’ll get by.’
‘If there’s anything I can do to help, you know where I am.’ He’s always there to help others.
‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I know. We seem to be a small group still looking out for each other around here.’ She hands him the jacket potato wrapped in foil.
He thanks her again and goes to leave, then turns back. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, with the money I owe. I promise.’
‘I know you will. No worries.’
Then he turns to me and stops. ‘Great post on Instagram. Bloody brilliant!’ It’s a smile that looks like it hasn’t seen the light of day recently.
‘I just wanted to get some things off my chest. Maybe should have come here instead!’ I try to hide my embarrassment behind the mug of tea Mae has put in front of me. ‘Not sure what I was thinking of, to be honest.’
‘Well, you certainly said what a lot of us are thinking,’ he says. ‘Well done.’
I hear a single bark from outside.
‘Jess is waiting for me!’ he says. His brown and white collie is in the front of his battered truck and I wonder if the food he’s carrying is for himself or for her.
‘Just … Good for you, Jem.’ He puts a hand out and squeezes my shoulder. ‘Someone needs to be saying it. You always were the one to take the lead and others followed.’
I laugh. ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘Well, you left, and most of the town followed. Not many of us stayed. You were the one with the right idea. You always were independent-minded.’ He adds, ‘They were good times, Jem.’
Suddenly, I have no idea why, I feel a deep sense of betrayal: I let down the town. The farm and the town. The place where I had such a wonderful growing-up: I left and gave nothing back. Like Mum. Just ran away.
Owen nods shyly to Evie, then to me and raises a hand in farewell. ‘See you around, if you’re still here?’ he says, and although I don’t think he meant anything by it, it hurts.
My phone rings. It’s Matthew.
‘Hi!’ I say.
He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. ‘What’s all this about you on social media? I’m getting loads of messages.’
‘Oh, that …’ I try to laugh it off. ‘It was just a bit of …’ I can’t say it was fun. ‘Maybe I should have kept it to myself.’
‘Well, it’s not going to do us any favours if the bosses see it,’ he snaps. I’m feeling told off. He’s right. It’s not ‘on brand’ for the hotel chain.
‘You can barely see it’s me in it.’
‘Hardly recognizable, I agree, but it is from your account.’
‘Yes, I know. I’ll take it down.’
‘Best you do,’ he says, letting out a long sigh.
I feel as if a small flame thrower has ignited in the pit of my stomach. I want to tell him this is important to me and should be to him. Instead I stop myself and think of another way to get him to support this part of my life. ‘Matthew, how do you feel about spending Christmas here at the farm?’
He laughs and I don’t. There’s an awkward pause.
‘You’re not serious,’ he says, suddenly very serious.
‘It could be fun!’ I say, frowning at his response.
He takes a beat, then speaks slowly and clearly. ‘We have Christmas plans. We work and then we leave for Seattle. It’s all booked.’
‘I know, I know.’ I realize it’s a big ask. It’s almost as if I’m testing things … testing ‘us’. ‘And it’ll be lovely. I’m just wondering … if we could postpone it.’
‘Postpone the Seattle trip?’ he says, as if he’s misheard me. ‘But we’re meeting with the hotel owners.’
‘Yes, but I’d like to stay here with Dad.
What if we just said we’re taking Christmas off?
Going home!’ My laugh sounds slightly hysterical.
Any previous year I’d’ve been the first to say, ‘The thought of it! Taking Christmas off when you work in hospitality? Ridiculous!’ But that’s exactly what I want to do.
‘Are you okay, Jem?’ he says, a little more quietly. ‘Do you have a temperature? Can you get the nurse to check you over?’
I watch through the window as Owen gives the ham from his jacket potato to his dog. She swallows it as he drives away.
‘It’s just good catching up with people here. And then there’s Dad.’
‘I know he’s your dad, but he’s telling you to go and live your life. He’d want you to go to Seattle.’
‘You’re right. I’m not sure what I was thinking. I’ll work it out. I’ll be back.’ I’m trying to snap out of the desire to stay and get back into work mode.
‘This place is a dive. Wish school was closer to the outlet centre. At least we could get Greggs!’ says a girl, arriving with friends in the café.
‘Apparently she’s from around here, but moved away. The one in the video,’ says another, studying her phone. ‘You can tell by the fields.’
‘Okay, okay,’ I say to Matthew. ‘Look, I have to go. I need to get back to see Dad. I’ll take down the post, don’t worry.’ I hang up, my finger hovering over the post’s delete button.
‘Looks like you’re famous now!’ says Mae, nudging me, listening to the girls’ conversation. I look at them, then at Mae and Evie, and down at my phone.
‘Looks like I have to take down the post. My bosses really won’t approve.’
Evie smiles. ‘Or your partner, for that matter,’ she says, clearly having heard everything.
‘I think she’s great!’
Evie looks up at the girls, talking among themselves.
‘I’m sharing it to my followers!’
Evie leans into me, shoulder to shoulder, whispering, ‘Looks like social media isn’t all bad!’
I decide to steer the conversation in a different direction and distract myself from the praise being uttered at the counter for the ‘Social Shepherdess’, as they’re calling me, or the woman they’ve shared on social media who doesn’t feel like me at all. It’s a bit surreal.
‘What’s next? When you’ve finished that?’ I ask her quickly. ‘What keeps you knitting?’
‘Not sure. Mad, with the price of wool. It’s more expensive to make things than buy them.’
I remember what Dad was paid for the fleeces. ‘Madness indeed.’
‘But I can’t stop,’ she carries on. ‘I love it. I like who I am when I’m doing it. Helps me to make sense when the world doesn’t.’
‘Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong. Hiding in the process instead of letting myself be part of it,’ I say. I keep my head down and eat the hot jacket potato, this time with beans, thankful no one has recognized me.
Evie is packing away her knitting. ‘Better get back to work.’
I walk up to the counter and hand Mae my card to pay for my tea and the potato. ‘And I’ll pay Owen’s tab, please,’ I say quietly.
Mae looks at me. ‘Are you sure?’
I nod. ‘Don’t tell him, though. Just thought it might help.’
She rings it through. ‘It will, him and me too, when Beti’s son gets here. Oh, and no jacket potatoes tomorrow. Back to burgers and pizzas from the microwave with the boss in town.’
‘Got it.’
‘How are things at the school?’ I ask.
She sighs. ‘Oh, same. Money for this and that. School trips, and PE kit I don’t have money to replace. But at least I have this job. Thank goodness.’
‘See you tomorrow, Mae,’ I say, enjoying the sense of familiarity coming here has brought me.
Evie and I leave together. ‘See you tomorrow?’ she says, and I nod. It’s good to get out.
‘Definitely,’ I say.
The one thing I can do is support this place while I’m here. Now all I have to do is work out how much longer I can stay. With Matthew turning down my idea of Christmas at the farmhouse, I suppose I should start making plans to go back.