Chapter 21 #2
Evie is there like a shot, putting an arm out for him to lean on. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘I’d like to. I hate going home to an empty house.’
‘In that case,’ he says, ‘thank you. Maybe a little help would be good. Just until I’m fully back on my feet.’ He smiles and so does she.
‘It’ll be fun,’ she says. ‘You can teach me how to play cards. Or I can teach you to knit!’
‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘Maybe …’
‘And I can help, you great oaf!’ says Myfanwy. ‘I’m only next door.’
‘Over a couple of fields! By tractor!’
‘Far enough I’d say.’
And they laugh.
It’s a big step for Dad, letting someone in to help. A very big step indeed.
At the farmhouse I make up Evie’s bed in the room where Llew stayed, with the window overlooking Gramps’s field.
I plump up the big pillows and put hot-water bottles into her bed, then Dad’s, hoping they’ll warm things up for when they climb in, which I shouldn’t imagine will be too long. Dad looks tired. Happy but tired.
Then I go out on the quad bike, with the lights on full in the dark night, to check on the stock.
I stare up at the sky, like a huge blanket tucking us in for the night.
Then I put the dogs inside in front of the range and tell them, with a pat, that I’ll be back in the morning.
I hear Dad teaching Evie the rules of sevens, sitting in front of the fire, and tell them not to be late to bed with a smile.
At the café, I knock on the back door.
‘What’s the password?’ says Llew, and I roll my eyes.
‘It’s me. Jem.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘What’s the password?’
‘I don’t need the password. I made it up,’ I say.
‘Then you should know it.’
‘I …’ I want to argue. Instead I give in. ‘Twenty-four days until Christmas,’ I say, resigned.
‘Sorry, couldn’t hear much Christmas cheer in it,’ he says.
‘Twenty-four days until Christmas,’ I say louder, and I’m laughing as the back door swings open and he’s on the other side, laughing too.
‘Very good!’
I step inside.
Everyone has left, and it’s quiet, just me and Llew. Suddenly I feel rather shy.
There’s a blow-up mattress that Mae has brought over, with two sleeping bags from her house. There’s Buzz Lightyear and Woody from Toy Story, or Paddington.
‘Take your pick,’ says Llew, pointing to the sleeping bags. ‘I’m happy with either.’ That makes me smile again.
He’s wearing joggers, I notice, and a sweatshirt, a change from his smart shirt and gilet, with smart Redback boots.
‘The bathroom’s all yours,’ he says, pointing to the loo. And I notice he’s put candles as bedside lights, and a row of rolled-up towels down the middle of the blow-up mattress, like a bolster.
‘Good handiwork!’ I say, gesturing to it.
‘Wouldn’t want you thinking you could take advantage of me,’ he says, making me laugh again and grateful he’s doing everything to make me feel comfortable.
‘Oh, and your dad lent me this, in case it gets cold!’ he says, pulling on the pink hat. I still don’t know if it was my mother’s, or even a tea cosy, and burst out laughing.
‘Well, best we get some sleep,’ I say. ‘Let’s hope tomorrow we warrant enough coverage to bring the owners here to reopen the place.’
I use the bathroom, then put on my joggers and sweatshirt, and quietly slip back into the café.
I see the outline of Llew on the side of the mattress nearest the door.
I slide into the sleeping bag, which I think features Paddington, and lie on my back, listening to the rain on the window, knowing I won’t get a wink of sleep.
‘So that’s it,’ he says, as we lie there in the dark. ‘You’ve given up your job. Your dad told me. You don’t have to tell me any more if you don’t want to.’
I look up at the rose cornice in the middle of the café. ‘Yes, I have,’ I say, as if I’m confirming it to myself. ‘They told me to think about it, but if I did any more social-media posts, they’d sack me.’
‘That’s brave,’ I hear him say.
‘Or daft.’
‘At least you’ve got time to work out if it’s what you really want.’
‘Either way, it feels good. I want to do something real. Something hands-on.’
‘I can understand that,’ he says quietly. ‘Like when I played rugby. It was in the moment. It was doing something I could feel proud of. Something tangible.’ And it’s as if he’s remembering being on that rugby field.
‘But not now?’ I ask.
‘Not so much, no,’ he says. ‘But it felt like a safe option. I didn’t want to put myself out there and take a risk on another dream.
This way, I know where I am. I don’t have to wonder what would happen if I were to drop a ball, so to speak.
’ I hear the smile in his voice and it sounds nice. Really nice.
‘So you went for a safe sales job?’
‘Yes.’ He pauses. ‘You?’
‘Wanted Dad to think I was happy, seeing the world and making a career for myself.’
‘Instead of doing what you really wanted, which is riding round the farm on a quad bike. With one headlight out!’
‘I must fix that.’ I laugh again.
‘You certainly look like you’re happy here,’ he says. ‘You’ve done a lot to inspire others too. If it’s any consolation, your bosses’ loss is this town’s gain.’
A warm glow fills me inside. ‘You seem quite happy here too,’ I say. ‘Looks like farm life suits you!’
And that was it. We lay there, next to each other, near-strangers, lost in our own thoughts, but comfortable enough to let each other do that.
I turn my head to the side and see his profile in the streetlight outside, with a small scar under his eye, no doubt a reminder from his rugby days.
I keep looking at him: it’s a very attractive face.
Daylight creeps in through the drawn blinds as I wake up from a deep sleep.
It takes me a moment to remember where I am.
Not in the farmhouse or my flat at the hotel but here on a blow-up mattress that Evie has brought, in a sleeping bag, with rain against the window instead of traffic noise outside.
There are no car alarms going off, as there would be at the hotel, no fan-assisted heating kicking in, just the patter of rain on the window and the pavement outside.
No rush to the office. I hear gentle snoring beside me.
I remember that I’m lying next to Llew Griffiths … and my fingers are touching his.
I remain still, listening to his soft snoring. It sounds peaceful. I wonder how to move my hand without waking him.
I actually had the best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages. No worrying about my schedule for the next day, or the new job, just listening to the rain.
The generator starts up and that means coffee – actually, it means tea. A big potful to share.
Llew’s eyes ping open, as I whip away my hand and he sees me staring at him. I blush at getting caught out.
‘Morning,’ he says, smiling.
‘Morning.’
‘Morning all!’ It’s Mae with her boys, bounding in through the back door on their way to school. ‘You all okay?’ she asks. ‘How was it? Did you have any problems? We didn’t wake you, did we?’
I sit up in my sleeping bag and rub my eyes.
‘That’s my Paddington sleeping bag,’ says one boy.
‘No, I was awake,’ I say.
‘We both were,’ says Llew. So he was awake, our fingers just touching in the low morning light.
‘I slept very well with Paddington’s help,’ I say to Mae’s youngest, and rub my hand over my hair. It’s standing on end.
I reach for my glasses from the chair that’s doubling as a bedside table and touch the blown-out candle there, reminding me of our quiet conversation in the dark last night.
I put on my glasses and everything comes into vision.
It’s chilly but luckily the fire is still in the grate from last night, just glowing.
‘I’ll get some more wood,’ says Llew, stepping out of his sleeping bag in his joggers.
A far more relaxed Llew than the smartly dressed one who turned up to talk to Dad about the field on my first day.
I watch him go to the back door and return with an armful of wood and a bucket of coal …
I’m seeing him in a very different light this morning.
He smiles at me again, as if he’s enjoying himself, and I can’t help but smile back, as I remember the touch of his little finger against mine.
It made me feel excited and nervous all at the same time.
The last thing I need to do right now is fall for Llew Griffiths, but on the other hand, maybe I should live in the moment and let myself enjoy it.