Chapter 23 #2
Dad is sitting in the front with the cawl and the freshly baked bread.
I’m trying to shake off my frustration as I study the flock, settling down now.
I can smell the cawl and the bread, and I’m thinking about cheese.
Cheese with the cawl and bread would go well.
Could we make sheep’s-milk cheese once the ewes start to lamb?
I push the thought away. By the time lambing comes round either we’ll have sold out to solar panels or I’ll be looking for a job somewhere.
I nearly said ‘a proper job’ to myself. Isn’t this what I’ve been banging on about on social media, that this is one of the hardest, most proper jobs there is?
People need to understand that if farmers can’t make a living, there’s no food to put on their tables or ours.
Those turkeys and sprouts have to come from somewhere!
And preferably not thousands of miles away when we can produce it all here, on our own land.
I get into the driver’s seat of the Land Rover and slam the door.
No one says a word.
I take a deep breath, put the key into the ignition and turn it on.
The Land Rover’s engine attempts to turn over but doesn’t start.
I squeeze the accelerator. ‘Rrr, rr, r …’ It dies.
‘Damn it!’ I slap the steering wheel. ‘It’s no use, it won’t go.’ I smell petrol fumes and know I’ve flooded the engine.
‘We need to get the cawl delivered somehow,’ Dad says. ‘We can’t let them down. Twm Bach will be wanting his lunch. He doesn’t see anyone if he doesn’t go to the café. And we can’t leave Mae there on her own.’
‘What about a cab?’ says Llew, pulling out his phone.
‘Unlikely. There’s only the one and they won’t come up the drive,’ says Dad.
I look around the yard and an idea springs into my mind. ‘Hang on, wait there.’
‘As long as you’re not going to suggest the quad bike.’ Dad chuckles.
I jump out of the Land Rover, my knees jarring on the frozen ground, hurry back into the house and open the drawer of keys on the old wooden dresser.
Then I run back into the yard to the old cattle lorry.
I open the stiff door and climb into it.
In the old days when Dad was going to market, I’d be travelling in the passenger seat, and when I was older I got my licence and drove it myself.
I put the key into the ignition.
‘Come on, old girl,’ I say, patting the dashboard as I turn the key. Slowly, the lorry lumbers into life, like a big old farm cat woken from a long sleep. Grumpy, slow, creaking at the joints, but stretching out with every forward motion.
‘Yes!’ I shout, and punch the air. I climb down from the cab and wave Dad and Llew over, all of us smiling like we’ve won on the scratch cards.
It may be a little triumph to some, but it’s made everything possible.
And small triumphs add up, I think. I can’t remember when I last felt like this.
When did I punch the air with sheer joy in my last job?
When was I last so excited, scared, anxious, happy?
This life may be hard, but it’s very real.
I prop my phone on the dashboard and shut the door.
‘We made it!’ I high-five Llew, then Dad, the three of us grinning like Cheshire cats as we chug down the high street towards the café and see the queue already forming there.
‘Yay!’ Dad cheers with me, as I pull up in front of the café, where I see Twm Bach standing first in line. I yank on the handbrake with a crunch.
We all stare at the queue. ‘Clearly we’re doing something people want,’ I say.
‘And your social media must be helping,’ says Dad, with a proud smile
Llew puts a hand on my shoulder, making my insides leap. ‘You’re good at this. This is proof that you’re getting the word out. People are supporting Mae and there’s an appetite for real home-cooked food. You should be proud of yourselves. You’ve certainly opened my eyes.’
I turn to him and there’s a jolt between us. This Llew, in his old rugby shirt, holding a basket of sourdough, is very different from the one who turned up on that first day. I really like this Llew, despite my attempts to resist him.
‘Let’s get the food in and start serving. I was thinking we should bring some Christmas decorations tomorrow, Dad, get the place a bit festive. Do up the window with lights. Fetch some greenery from the farm and we could have a go at wreaths, like we used to.’
‘Good idea!’ he agrees. ‘We’ll get the baubles from the cupboard under the stairs.’
‘Don’t expect they’ve seen the light of day for years,’ I say.
‘Not a lot of point without you here,’ he says, and I feel he’s letting down the wall he’s built, the brave face he’s worn, telling me he was fine and wanted me to go, that he liked Christmas on his own.
‘Well, I’m here now, and I don’t want to go anywhere, Dad. I’m right where I want to be.’
‘If you’re sure,’ he confirms again gently.
‘I am! Come on, let’s get this food in and start serving. We should put on some Christmas songs too.’ I grab my phone and the three of us get out of the truck with our arms full of cawl and freshly baked bread. And I start singing: ‘We three kings of Orient are …’
Dad and Llew join in. ‘“Bearing gifts we travel afar …”’
‘“Field and fountain …”’ Llew booms in a marvellous tenor.
‘I really am seeing a different side to you!’
‘Rugby boys can sing, you know!’
‘“Moor and mountain, following yonder star.”’ We’re going for the chorus when we spot Mae. Only she’s not inside the café. She’s outside. On the street. No longer locked in, by the look of it, and two men with a lock-changing van are working on the door. We stop, stand and stare. My heart plummets.