Chapter 21
There’s a knock at the back door and we all stare at it.
There’s no time to dwell on the life I’ve left behind or the one I was going to.
I’m not back in the office, overseeing the managers, their Christmas budgets and occupancy rates.
I’m not packing to go to Seattle and check out the apartments I could choose from.
I’m here, holed up in a café, watching my social-media following rise by the minute and hoping to keep the new owners of this place at bay.
‘I’ll go,’ I say, standing up.
‘I’ll come with you,’ says Owen, close behind me.
I put my ear to the door. ‘Hello?’
There’s another knock.
‘Who’s there?’ I ask.
‘We’ve come for Mae’s jacket potatoes!’
I glance at Owen, then turn back to the door.
‘What’s the password?’ asks Owen.
’Twenty-four days until Christmas.’
Owen and I look at each other, wide-eyed. Then, slowly, I open the back door just a tiny gap and stare at the faces outside. I shut the door. ‘There’s a queue,’ I say excitedly to the group in the café.
‘A queue?’ says Mae, in disbelief.
‘They want jacket potatoes,’ I say. ‘Your jacket potatoes!’
‘How?’
Owen opens the door, wider this time.
‘And there’s people asking if there’s any cawl left. Like the one they saw on the post this morning,’ he calls back.
‘Who? What people?’ asks Evie.
‘People who’ve seen the post! The one I just put up. The live feed. It’s like building a community, but online.’
‘But we can’t just serve food from the back door,’ Mae says.
‘Can’t we?’ I say. ‘We’ve come this far. It shows that people are talking. Voting with their feet! Maybe now the new bosses will listen. We can serve them from here, earn you some of the money you’re missing out on.’
Evie puts down her knitting. ‘I’ve got a break until my next appointment. I can help.’
‘It’s just a few jacket potatoes and cawl,’ I say. ‘Why not? They’ll make a donation for it.’
‘Shows the owners what they’re missing out on. This is the food people want, not plastic burgers and microwave chips. Might change their minds,’ Dad joins in.
‘Let’s get serving then!’ Mae says, excited. We open the back door to a line of people and begin to take orders.
We move a table in front of the door and Owen sets up the generator.
We’re busy loading jacket potatoes. ‘Another beans and cheese!’ I call to Mae. Evie is pulling them out of the oven and Dad is cutting them and creating the well. Mae is doing the toppings, I’m taking the orders, and Owen is on lookout for the return of Josh, the corporate guy.
‘Last few jackets now,’ calls Evie. ‘Then we’re sold out.’
I look up. Everything inside me leaps like lambs in the field come spring. ‘Oh hello. What can I get you?’ I say, looking at Llew Griffiths.
‘Someone told me about the cawl here. Said it was the best around.’
I take a deep breath and try to calm the lambs in my stomach. ‘As long as that’s all you want,’ I say tersely.
He nods, gazing at me steadily. ‘It is.’
‘Llew,’ says Dad, holding up a hand from his seat behind the counter.
‘Edwin.’ He raises a hand back. ‘Good to see you on your feet, so to speak.’
‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you,’ Dad calls from his chair.
I turn to him. ‘Not now, Dad. Can’t it wait?’ Dread washes over me. I know that Dad is going to agree to the solar panels.
‘Come in, come in.’ Dad waves to Llew, who looks at me. I want to shout, ‘No, not yet,’ but I let him in through the back door.
‘You’re not to sign anything without me, Dad!’ I call over my shoulder.
‘Jem,’ calls Owen from the front of the café, ‘don’t look now, but you’ve got visitors. Or maybe we should look now.’
A car is pulling up outside the café. ‘Quick! Shut the back door!’ I shout to Mae.
‘Lock it!’ Mae says to Evie, tossing her the keys.
‘Sorry, we’re closed for today,’ says Evie, slamming the door, locking it and putting the table in front of it.
‘Look, we know this has come as a shock,’ says the young man outside the door. He’s bending and shouting through the letterbox to Mae. ‘We realize that. I mean, the company does.’
‘A shock!’ Mae shouts back. ‘I’ve got Christmas coming and two kids and my mother to look after. You can’t just shut us down with no notice.’
‘If you’d just come out and talk to me …’ he says.
‘We’re not going anywhere,’ I join in.
He shakes his head. And tries again diplomatically. ‘You have to come out sometime.’
‘Well, it’s not going to be now.’ Mae slams the letterbox shut, turns and leans against the sideboard.
With that, it all goes quiet and Josh walks back to his car, gets in, shuts the door and pulls out his phone.
‘He’s telling them they’ve got a problem,’ says Evie, watching through the front window.
‘How do you know?’ I ask.
‘Lip-reading … I learnt to do it so that I could work with a deaf patient I had.’
‘What’s he saying now?’ I ask.
‘He says there’s a problem, and it’s called Mae.’
We burst out laughing.
‘For someone who never said much at school, you’re making yourself heard now,’ I tell her.
Her eyes light up and we high-five each other. Then she says, ‘It’s just, with Rob leaving … Owen, you know what it’s like.’ Owen holds up his hands. ‘It suddenly all got to me. All so unfair! On you too, Owen.’
‘It is. But you’re doing great. Your kids are proud of you, and you should be too, however this turns out,’ I say. ‘But we’re going to have to make sure we stay put, dig in deeper. We can’t leave the café empty.’
‘Agreed.’ Everyone speaks in unison.
We turn back to the man in the car, and it’s only then that I remember Llew Griffiths is in the café with us, locked in, sitting with Dad, holding a cup of tea that Evie’s made for him, looking very much at home.
Now what?
‘We should pull straws to see who stays over with Mae. She can’t be here on her own.’
‘I’ll be fine!’ she says, lifting her chin.
‘I’m more worried about what you might do to anyone who comes to get you out!’ Owen chuckles. And I see Mae allowing herself to soften, just a little.
‘We should take it in turns, in pairs,’ I say.
‘Straws!’ Owen grabs a handful and tears off the ends. Then he arranges them in his fist so they all look the same length and holds them out. ‘There’s two of each length here. All grab one. Those with the short ones, stay.’
‘And this way Mae gets to go home to see the kids,’ says Evie.
We reach forward to pull out a straw from the hand that Owen is holding out.
I reach in and accidentally touch the tips of Llew’s fingers as he reaches in at the same time. It’s like an electric shock.
‘Sorry!’ I say, yanking back my hand. ‘You go first. Actually, it’s fine. You really don’t need to be here. We’ve got this covered.’
‘I know, but, well, I’m here. I may as well make myself useful,’ he says.
I wish he would just go, slip out through the back door. But he doesn’t make a move. ‘After you,’ he says.
I take a deep breath and pull a straw. ‘It’s short,’ I say. ‘I’ll stay tonight, once I’ve got Dad home and in bed.’
‘I can get myself to bed!’ Dad says crossly.
‘And after I’ve done the sheep.’ I look at Dad. ‘And no, Dad. You are not up to checking on the ewes.’
I turn back to the mug and see Llew looking back at me. ‘Guess it looks like I’m here too!’ he says, holding up his short straw. I have no idea why the lambs are skipping in my stomach again.
‘You don’t have to! I’ll be fine,’ I say quickly.
‘I’m happy to. Besides, I’m waiting for my car to be fixed and, a bit like Bethlehem, there’s no room at the inn. Actually, there’s no inn. Not for miles.’
‘Ah,’ I say. ‘Just the pub.’
‘And from tonight no rooms. They’re closing the B-and-B.
Can’t get enough cleaning staff apparently.
The Polish couple who were working there are going home for December to be with family.
So I’m happy to stay. Besides, it would be nice if I could convince you I’m not here to rip off local farmers.
I really did think I was doing the right thing. ’
‘Did?’ I raise an eyebrow.
‘Let’s just say maybe you’ve made me see things a little differently. That day we walked the farm, I hadn’t thought about the history of the place. Or how important it is that we support our farmers instead of putting them out of business.’
‘As long as you keep to your side of the blow-up mattress, you can stay. But only because we need as many people as possible to stop this happening right now.’ I sigh.
This is a terrible idea! He’s the last person I wanted to be matched with.
But I can’t ask to swap. I don’t want everyone to know I’m trying to avoid him, like he’s rattled me.
I have to play it cool. It’ll be fine. I can do this.
It’s just one night. And we’re here to save the café and Mae’s job.
And stand up to big business buy-outs! That’s way more important right now than me having to share the shift with Llew Griffiths.
We spend the afternoon playing cards from a pack Mae had in her bag. And Owen sits at the piano and starts to play. I’d forgotten he could.
‘All those years of Young Farmers’ Eisteddfods,’ I murmur. We sing along to Christmas carols, and I can’t help but film it on my phone and share it with followers, with the hashtag #LocalCafeSitIn #Supportlocal.
The local radio station gets in touch and I find myself giving an interview about why we’re here, why it’s important, how we need to try to save the high streets and remember our farmers. How we need to bring community back to towns like this.
We gather round and listen to the interview go out on the local news, and on the phone-in, many people are talking about the Social Shepherdess getting the online community to vote with its feet. It’s been a good day, and by the time darkness falls, I’m exhausted.
I’m about to slip out of the back door to take Dad home when Evie stops me. ‘Jem, I can stay at the farm, keep an eye on your dad,’ she says quietly.
‘I don’t need looking after!’ Dad barks, looking at me. He stumbles.