Chapter 26
We’re in Christmas hats from the supermarket, and Llew has been out to get more fairy lights.
With the lorry lit up like Santa’s grotto and Christmas music playing from my phone, we look at each other, Llew, Dad, Myfanwy, with her Welsh-cake orders on a small table she’s brought from her hallway, Owen, Mae, Evie and me.
‘Ready, everyone?’
They nod. I take a deep breath and lift my phone.
I know what I’m doing. My employers made it very clear that if I didn’t stop there would be no turning back.
They’d withdraw the new job offer and terminate my employment.
But, call it mid-life madness or whatever you like, I can’t stand by and watch big companies swallowing little ones any more.
The independents are trying to make a living, trying to pay their bills, and this is the only way I know how to help. I press ‘live’.
‘Hi, everyone. Just to let you know we’re still selling jacket potatoes and cawl, and we’re here in the lorry on the cattle market for today.
Come and see us and say hi! Give us a wave, a thumbs-up or a share, and the first person here today to see us gets a free meal,’ I say, checking Mae, who nods.
‘Anything you like!’ she shouts.
I put down the phone. We don’t have to wait too long.
The schoolgirls are the first in line, and this time they’ve brought friends.
Twm Bach is there, smiling and chatting on one of the straw bales next to Dad, the pair of them remembering when the cattle market was the place to be and when they were young men growing up, learning, waiting to take over the family farms. But every now and again I see Dad catch Myfanwy’s eye.
He’s holding her notebook and taking down more orders for Welsh cakes, bread and bara brith from a steady stream of customers collecting orders.
Jess lets out a bark of excitement as the queue at the lorry grows. The air is full of Christmas cheer, with the smell of wood burning on the barbecue, and people standing round it with cups of tea and Evie handing out more of Myfanwy’s Welsh cakes to waiting customers.
‘Let Jess out of the truck, Owen,’ I suggest. ‘She’s welcome to lunch too.’
The queue grows and by the end of lunchtime, when the kids have gone back to school, some teachers too, the mother-and-toddler group, and some white-van drivers who have heard about us on social media have left, we’re sold out.
‘That’s the last potato.’
‘And the last of the cawl,’ I say to Mae.
We turn to each other and high-five.
‘That was brilliant,’ says Evie. ‘I’d better get off to my next client. But I’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘We’ll have to make more for tomorrow,’ I say to Mae.
She smiles and nods. ‘Same time, same place?’
‘Think I’ll add shepherd’s pie to the menu. We have plenty of hogget. I could do shepherd’s pies in foil parcels, like little boats.’
‘Good idea!’ says Mae. ‘I’ll add sour cream to my menu and maybe sliced mushrooms.’
‘I’m thinking of doing a hogget curry at some point. A real winter warmer.’
‘Good idea!’ Mae agrees.
And the ideas, like our enthusiasm for the lorry, keep coming.
At home, with the fire lit, Llew out on the quad bike checking the ewes and their feed, I experiment with a shepherd’s pie recipe, carrots and onions, browning the meat.
I season it, stir in some flour, add stock and Worcestershire sauce, then top it with a thick layer of buttery mash and slide it into the oven.
By the time it’s ready, Llew is back, showered and changed, and Dad has found a bottle of red wine he’s been keeping for a special occasion.
‘And this is a special occasion. It was wonderful to be back at the cattle mart today,’ he says.
‘Proper community. Haven’t seen that many people since …
since it closed down. It felt like a celebration,’ he says, as he pulls the cork from the bottle.
At the same time I take the shepherd’s pie from the oven.
Golden crispy mashed potato on the top, with dark brown peaks, the gravy bubbling up at the edges, giving us a hint of the soft, seasoned meat and vegetables below.
I take it to the table, where Llew is pouring the wine. ‘That looks fantastic!’ he says. ‘Honestly, you could serve hot meals if you ran a B-and-B.’
‘But is it a goer for the cattle lorry? We’ve got under three weeks until Christmas to get people out and mixing with friends and family. Is this going to pull them in?’
‘Well, it’s got me hooked. Shall I take a picture for your socials?’ says Llew.
I start to serve, dipping the big spoon into the crunchy crust, scooping it with the dark brown gravy onto a plate and handing it to Dad.
‘The reason they made shepherd’s pie like this was because no one knew when a shepherd would be in, so the potato kept the pie filling hot for whenever they were ready to eat,’ says Dad, tucking in. ‘Well, that’s what my mother told me.’
I put another plate in front of Llew, the aroma of savoury pie rushing up to greet us.
As we sit and eat in the kitchen, there is nowhere I’d rather be … and no one I’d rather be with.
I put my fork into the potato, with golden crunchy bits, and a sprinkling of cheese, then dive into the meat.
‘It’s just like your nan’s,’ says Dad. ‘You didn’t need to follow a recipe, just remember what you loved about it. How it made you feel. That’s all we can do in life, isn’t it? Follow our instincts. Go with what’s in our hearts.’
I couldn’t agree more. The rich gravy sits with the sweet carrots and caramelized onions and clings to the buttery mash. It’s just how I remember it in this kitchen when my grandparents were still here.
‘This is …’
‘Fantastic,’ finishes Llew.
‘Blooming marvellous,’ says Dad. ‘Just like we used to have.’
We sit and eat in silence, enjoying the comfort of the food and the here and now in the soft light over the table.
When we finish, I look at our empty plates.
‘So? Do we think people would like it? Would they buy it? Mamgu’s shepherd’s pie?’
‘Absolutely!’ they chorus, and I have another dish to take to the lorry tomorrow.
‘Any news on your car?’ I ask Llew, as we’re washing up, then wishing I hadn’t: once his car is done, his time here will be up too. I berate myself and wish I hadn’t said anything. ‘Not that I’m pushing you out!’
‘Sure?’ He laughs, and the room feels warm, safe and very cosy.
‘The body parts firm is still waiting for something to come in. But, seriously, if I’m in the way …’
‘Not at all,’ say Dad and I simultaneously.
‘It’s been lovely having you here,’ says Dad, and I don’t need to tell Llew that I feel the same. With no other thoughts about what we’re going to do in the new year to save the farm, it’s lovely to be right here, right now.
The next morning, the weather has taken a turn for the worse. There’s a cold, icy wind. Llew meets me again in the kitchen, handing me tea in a mug.
‘I thought you’d have run a mile by now,’ I say. ‘I mean, you’re the smart country businessman who never gets his boots dirty. Aren’t you desperate to get home?’ I take the hot tea and sip.
‘Maybe I’m beginning to like it around here.’ Then he introduces the elephant in the room. ‘Besides, I still have business, remember?’
I don’t want to talk about it. I want things to stay just like this, without having to think about the blooming solar panels. ‘Not on my watch!’ I turn away from him to the coat rack.
‘Jem,’ he says gently, ‘I know I said I wouldn’t say anything, and I’m not talking as Llew from Solar Panels now.
I’m talking as your friend, I hope. Just …
you know you can’t put it off for ever, don’t you?
Your dad needs to do something to stay on the farm.
And this way you can still graze the sheep around the solar panels. ’
I throw my head back. ‘I know. I just wish it wasn’t like this.’
‘I’m sorry. I promised not to discuss it. But I will try to get the best deal I can for him. But you two need to decide by the end of the month. My office has been on the phone, reminding me that you’ve got until the end of December to sign the contract.’
I look around the kitchen, so cosy with the lights on. If only there was another way of making a living. Of making the farm pay properly. The pop-up is bringing in a bit of money. Mae insists we share anything we make, but it’s not enough to turn down the solar panels. I wish it was.
I nod. ‘I know. It needs to be done.’
At the cattle market, we park in the same place as we did yesterday. Mae is waiting for us. She’s made twice the amount of jacket potatoes.
‘Bore da! Morning,’ she says. She’s wearing a pair of flashing Christmas earrings.
‘Morning, Mae!’
I wish I could feel cheerier, but I’m still thinking about Llew and the solar panels. I slide out of the driver’s cab followed by Llew, who takes a tray of shepherd’s pies from me, our fingers just touching and sending a bolt of electricity around me.
I stop and stare at him. ‘What am I doing here, Llew? Why am I here in a cattle lorry selling homemade shepherd’s pies?
I’m just putting off the inevitable, avoiding what really needs to be done, burying my head in shepherd’s pie and cawl so I don’t have to face the facts.
Maybe’ – I take a deep breath – ‘I should talk to Dad, and we’ll just sign the paperwork.
Agree to the solar panels. Get it over and done with.
I mean, me selling this from the lorry …
it’s not going to make enough money, is it, to turn down the solar panels? ’
‘No, but you want people to understand where the food is coming from. Not from the mega-farms in America. Because it matters. Farmers should be able to make a living from what they produce.’
We hold each other’s gaze.
‘Or maybe I should fall on my sword, tell my bosses it was a moment of madness, and beg them to reconsider and take me back on in some role. At least I could try to raise a loan then, buy us more time, for Dad to stay on the farm.’
‘Is that what you want? Just to buy time? Or are you trying to make a difference here? To do something you believe in?’
I nod slowly.
‘Well, then, you’ve already got me questioning what I’m doing.
Why I’m buying up land for solar panels, or to use as building plots, looking at other options for farmland.
But you’ve taught me that’s not what we should be doing.
We should be looking at how farmers can make a living.
Teaching people to know where food comes from, how to cook, how to eat better. ’
‘But when? After Christmas, in the new year? When everyone goes back to how they were? When Coffi Poeth opens? What then?’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’
‘Me neither,’ I say, but I like having him around and I don’t want this to end.
I know it has to. When his car is ready, he’ll be going back to wherever his home is.
And the only memory of his time here will be row upon row of solar panels.
If only I could tell him how I feel. But with Matthew only just becoming a thing of the past, that would be totally foolish.