Chapter 20
As soon as I hang up, the phone rings again. Matthew’s name flashes up. Instead of filling me with joy and even excitement, I’m feeling dread. I take a deep breath and press the green button. ‘Hi!’ I say, as cheerily as I can.
‘Where are you?’ he demands.
‘I’m …’ I take a moment. No ‘hello’ or ‘how are you?’ I realize that calls from Matthew have become an irritation rather than a pleasure, and I dread them more and more. I take another deep breath. ‘I’m in town,’ I say. ‘Why?’
‘I’m here!’ he says, not hiding the annoyance in his voice like I tried to.
‘Here?’ I repeat.
‘Yes, here. At your dad’s farm.’
‘At the farm?’ I smile. ‘Really?’
I soften. He’s had a rethink. He’s going to join me at the farm for Christmas.
‘How did you manage to get the time off? Did they mind?’ Suddenly the irritation is gone and I’m overwhelmed by this gesture. He gets it. He understands why I need to be here and he’s come to support me.
‘Mind?’ he says.
‘Yes, head office. I mean, you’re right.
Why would they mind?! We haven’t had any time off over Christmas in years.
You were due to have some, I suppose. This is fantastic!
I can’t believe you’re here. I’ll come and meet you.
’ I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder, fumbling for my keys in it, with the phone under my ear, gesturing to Mae and Dad that I’ll be back.
‘Jem, I’m not here for Christmas, for Christ’s sake!’ he snaps, stopping me in my tracks. ‘We’ve – you’ve got hotels to run.’ He emphasizes the words. ‘Guests arriving. Christmas parties.’
‘Yes.’ I’m not quite ready to let my happy little hillock disappear into a pool of disappointment.
‘And, by the look and sound of it, it’s all going like clockwork.
I’m entitled to some time off with my family’ – I turn away – ‘what with Dad being unwell and things here to sort out.’ I pause.
‘So, if you’ve not come to join me for Christmas, why are you here? ’
He sighs and tuts. I’d never realized how annoying those sounds could be until now. I don’t think I’d noticed it. Or maybe I’d thought it was endearing. It’s not endearing now. It’s like fingernails down a blackboard, making me wince.
‘To take you back, of course.’
‘I – I beg your pardon?’
‘I’ve come to pick you up, Jem. If we get back now and in work tomorrow, we may just be able to salvage this mess.’
‘Mess?’ The happy hillock has evaporated into a miserable puddle as dark as dusk at the farm. ‘What mess? I’m here looking after my dad!’
‘Head office aren’t happy,’ he says. ‘They love you. They want you to head up the new hotel. Put all your plans in place. But this social-media thing has got them rattled.’
I pause. ‘I know. They’ve just been on the phone.’
‘Understandably! You can’t be making these posts in your own name and expect them to be happy.’
‘Well, they should be. I’m standing up for what’s right. For more awareness of what’s going on in hospitality and farming in our country!’
And while all the reasons not to rock the boat clatter around my head, I take a deep breath.
It may not be right, but it feels right to me.
I’m making a stand for small independent businesses.
Young people trying to make a living in the countryside.
I’m standing up against buy-outs by big business. The likes of Llew Griffiths.
‘I can’t just let you ruin everything, Jem,’ he continues, as if I’m a child. ‘Come back to the farm, meet me and get your stuff together. The nurse is here to look after your dad.’
I look at Evie, knitting, finding comfort in something that keeps her in the moment.
I’ve been so busy planning, looking towards the next step on the career ladder, I can’t remember when I last lived in the moment.
Christmas planning starts in January for the hotels.
Bigger and better, at bigger profit! I suddenly think about the sourdough bread I ate for breakfast at the farm.
I think about the vegetable plot that’s dormant and used to be Dad’s pride and joy.
And chickens! Wouldn’t it be lovely to have more chickens on the farm, like we did when I was young?
‘And he’ll be able to sell off that bit of land and have some money. You’ve done your bit. You’ve done what you always do, gone above and beyond. Just like you will in the new job. You’re the boss, babe!’
I listen to what he says about me going above and beyond.
And I have: I wanted to do my best and make Dad proud.
But I don’t think he could be prouder of me than he is now.
But maybe Matthew’s right. I’ve done my bit.
Dad will be fine with Evie looking after him.
And although we don’t want the solar panels, it’s the only option at the moment.
‘I can see that,’ I say steadily.
‘You have a great career ahead of you. We have a great future, together. You know I’m planning to propose at Christmas.
We’re going to have a great adventure in America, you heading up the takeover and me as manager.
We’re the dream team!’ he enthuses, a real change from his earlier tone.
He’s switched into hospitality mode. It’s a front to make the customer feel comfortable, happy …
and spend more. It’s not real. None of life at the hotel chain was real.
It was creating an image, a fake world. Here, right now, with these people, is real.
I pause and think about what he’s saying.
I think about Dad telling people what I’m doing, wanting the best for me.
But the chickens keep pecking at my thoughts, along with the ewes.
Where will I be when they’re lambing if I go with Matthew now?
Not in the fields or the lambing shed but looking at the world from the inside out again.
‘And take down the posts. Like you said you would. They’re not helping.’
All reason is whipped away from me. I take a deep breath and gather the thoughts that are careering around in my head.
‘I’m not a child, Matthew. I’m not some young influencer.
I’m a nearly forty-year-old woman who has realized she’s been backing the wrong horse all these years, climbing to the top of the wrong mountain. ’
He lets out another tut and a long sigh. The fingernails down the blackboard again. ‘It’s embarrassing, Jem,’ he says.
Now I’m enraged! A red mist, like the early morning sunrise over Gramps’s field, descends before my eyes.
‘Embarrassing? Standing up for what’s right?
’ A flood gate is opening within me. ‘For making people aware of where our food comes from, and supporting the people who produce it? People like Dad, and his parents before him. For the young people serving food on zero-hours contracts with no job stability? Why is it that other countries get it and we don’t? That’s what’s embarrassing!’
For a moment, there’s silence in the café and at the other end of the phone, until Matthew says, ‘They’re giving you a chance, Jem, to put this behind you.’
I look around the café at the people gathered here, staring at me. ‘They said so on the phone.’
‘Good. Okay,’ he says. ‘And once everything is sorted, we can come back and see your dad, even suggest a visit to Seattle. Give him the best room in the hotel with the best views.’
The best room in the hotel. Seeing life from the inside out. That’s what I’ve been doing all these years. I should have been doing it the other way round.
‘Dad already has the best views,’ I say, my feet digging in even deeper to where I am right now.
‘Jem, I don’t want to say this, but either you come back and we get ready for Christmas at the hotel and New Year in Seattle, or …’
‘Or what?’ I say slowly.
‘Well … that’s it, isn’t it?’
I feel my voice drop and an eyebrow lift. ‘That’s it?’ I repeat on a slightly higher volume. ‘What about loving me for the person I am, for what I believe in, where I need to be right now?’
‘You’re different from the woman who left here a few weeks ago. You’ve roamed off into cowboy country.’
‘Cowboy country!’ Everyone in the café takes a sharp breath.
‘It’s like you’re living out some childhood fantasy. Roaming around the fields on a quad bike, with dogs, staging sit-ins and ruining the plans of businesses. I thought that was what you believed in too. Getting business done.’
‘Yes … I did.’ I look around the café. ‘But this isn’t a fantasy. It’s real people. Real lives. Real jobs at stake. If we don’t support the people making the food, where’s it going to come from?’
‘I’ve been in touch with Llew Griffiths. He seems a good bloke. It’s a fair offer.’
‘I’m sorry, you’ve done what?’
‘I thought I’d google him, after you said about the offer on your dad’s field, find out what I could about him.’
‘And you contacted him?’ I’m incredulous.
‘Yes. It all seems like a good idea, makes sense … Look, Jem. I’m standing in some run-down barn to get a signal. Are you coming or not?’
This may be the maddest thing I’ve ever done but …
‘I’m sorry, Matthew, but I won’t be coming back, not now, not in the new year, not ever. My time in corporate hospitality is over. I want to make sourdough. I have a starter to take care of. And I want more chickens. And after Christmas, come the spring, there’ll be lambs on the way.’
‘You’re pulling out? You’re not going to Seattle?’
‘I’m … not coming back, Matthew. Here is where I need to be.’
‘Well, I’m not moving here! Jesus, God forsaken! Maybe we’re where we both need to be, then,’ he says with finality.
‘Maybe we are.’ I nod, putting the same final full stop to my job and my relationship.
There’s a silence. In the background I can hear the dogs barking on the farm.
‘You could come back now, put this right.’
‘I’m not coming back Matthew. They asked me to decide, there and then, on the phone. I’m not taking the new job. I’m not coming back. I’ve told them.’
‘What did they say?’
‘They told me to think about it, but said if I did any more social media, they’d take that as my decision and sack me.’
‘Well, maybe it’s for the best. Made the decision for me.’
‘What decision?’
‘I was wondering if we had a future, if you and I were the real deal, the dream team. It’s why I wanted to wait until we got to Seattle to propose, but thought I should do the right thing and speak to your dad. Seems it’s a good thing we both know who we really are before it goes too far.’
‘And if my standing up for what I believe in and finding out what matters to me made you feel that, it’s the right choice. Goodbye, Matthew.’ My heart had already let me know we were over.
‘Right, well, if that’s your decision …’
‘It’s what I need to do.’
‘I hope you don’t regret it.’
‘Bye, Matthew. Happy Christmas.’
‘And you, Jem. I hope it’s what you want.’
I switch off the phone and look at the people in the café.
Right now, I’ve never been surer of anything.
I’ve made the right choice. I’m not going back.
I just don’t know how to go forward. But I haven’t felt like this in a long time.
The sheep, the farm, the people who are working to make it all happen …
it seems I’d forgotten about them from inside my hotels.
Now I’m outside, looking in. It may be cold and wet but at least I can feel something, even if it’s just the wind and rain on my face.
‘Looks like I’m here for longer than I first thought,’ I say, tapping the phone in my palm.
I turn to Dad, sitting by the fire, worry etched on his face.
‘Dad …’ I crouch next to him. ‘I know you wanted me to go back, and I wanted to make you proud, but I want to be here.’
His eyes fill with tears. ‘The only thing I’ve ever wanted is for you to find what makes you happy. I didn’t want you to feel trapped here, like your mum did. But if here is where you want to be, I couldn’t be happier or prouder.’
‘It is. It’s where I want to be.’ With that I put my arms around his neck and we hug, very hard.
‘It’ll be tough,’ he says.
‘I know. But that doesn’t mean it won’t be fun too,’ I say, pulling away. Jess jumps up and licks my face and we laugh, but it’s okay to laugh when things feel tough.