Chapter 32
Christmas Eve
The farmhouse kitchen is full of the smell of cawl, shepherd’s pie and spicy hogget curry, just like it was when Nan was here, cooking up a storm. It feels like she’s right here with me, Gramps too.
‘Looks like we’re all set, Dad,’ I say to him. He’s wearing an elf’s hat with large pink pointed ears. ‘Let’s just hope word has spread, the tractors turn out, and plenty of people.’
‘I’m sure they will, love. You’ve done so well, telling everyone about it.’
I open the computer. ‘A quick look at the GoFundMe page before we go.’ It’s become something of an obsession, watching the figures mount up and reading the good-luck messages, saying what a good idea it is and how more communities should do it. ‘Loads of people have got behind the idea!’ I smile.
‘It’s great, love. Really proud of you.’ And Dad drops a kiss on the top of my head. ‘Following your heart is always the best option,’ he says. ‘That and remembering there’s always hope.’
‘You could remember that too,’ I say.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You and Myfanwy.’ I grin. ‘Maybe you should tell her … you like her.’
I wait for him to say something jokey, to tell me they’re too old for that kind of thing, but he doesn’t.
Instead he pats my shoulder and turns away.
‘Maybe I should. Or maybe she’ll just laugh at me and I’ll be making a complete fool of myself, thinking I could have another chance at finding someone. ’
At the cattle market, Deborah Atkins is looking as if someone has stolen her Christmas turkey. Neither of her dogs is in sight.
‘Just make sure you’re out of here by midnight,’ she says. ‘It’s a one-off.’
‘Thank you for the opportunity,’ I say politely.
‘I didn’t have much choice. Just have your party and I can close the deal on this place in the new year.’
‘But you agreed to give us first refusal,’ I say firmly, slipping into business mode.
‘Yes,’ she says, as she rolls her eyes. ‘But I really can’t see that happening, can you? A few hot dogs and Welsh cakes? You’ll have to sell an awful lot of cups of tea and jacket potatoes to raise the money to secure this place.’
‘We are,’ I agree, with a smile. ‘And I think that’s exactly what we’re going to do.’
She sniffs. ‘I have friends coming for Christmas, so I need to get off.’
‘You not joining us, then, Deborah?’ I ask, with my best difficult-customer hospitality smile. The sort they can’t help but respond to although underneath it says, ‘I want to throttle you!’
‘No. It’s really not my thing,’ she says.
‘I thought I saw you last time we were here. My mistake.’
‘We have a hamper from Harrods,’ she says quickly. ‘Brought it with us. I like to know where my food comes from.’
And that, I think, is an argument for another day. Today, Christmas Eve, is about celebrating those who are here and want to be a part of this, with home-reared food, and spend time with friends, neighbours and family. We’ve done it. We’re here, and it feels great.
The market is already a hive of activity. Owen is guiding the trucks into position, creating a horseshoe shape. ‘Saved your space for you!’ he calls up to me, in the cab of the lorry, and directs me to where we pitched before.
‘Wouldn’t it be great, Owen, if we could make this work and get the lease?’
He chuckles. ‘You’d need a site manager I’m thinking.’
‘We certainly would! Know anyone?’
‘I think I do …’ He beams, and it’s lovely to see the old Owen back, with those dancing eyes. Evie might have something to do with that.
I park and go to the back of the lorry to drop the ramp down.
‘Hi, are you, Jem?’ I hear, just as I’m lowering it. I turn to see a woman with a bicycle, but not just any old bicycle. ‘The Social Shepherdess? I recognized you from your post the other day.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I am.’
‘I’ve been following you on social media. You’re great. I’m Beca and these are my boys. We live over the mountain at Ty Mawr. We have a gelato business. Milk from our cows.’
‘I know your gelato! And I remember your grandparents’ ice-cream parlour. It’s great to have you.’
‘Here. The price of my pitch.’ She holds out an envelope.
‘Thank you so much,’ I say, taking the envelope. ‘I hope you sell out. Gelato would be perfect with Christmas pudding.’
‘Actually, we have mince-pie-flavoured gelato, and Christmas pudding.’
‘It’s got brandy and raisins in it,’ says the younger man with her.
‘It sounds delicious. Save me a pot,’ I say. ‘I’ll pick it up later.’
He takes out a pad from his rucksack, makes a note, and Beca looks on with pride.
‘I love the bicycle,’ I say, gesturing at the big freezer compartment at the front.
‘It’s like the one Beca’s grandfather had before they opened the ice-cream café,’ he tells me, and the slightly older young man smiles at his brother.
‘It looks fantastically festive,’ I say. It’s decorated with fairy lights and tinsel and pride is beaming off the three proprietors.
‘They’re our own recipes. Well, I say ours, but Blake is our recipe creator.’ She waves at him. ‘It’d be great if this could become a regular thing. Keep going!’ she says.
‘We will, thank you.’
As I begin to set up the lorry, with fairy lights, the straw for seating and our table, I’m looking out for Mae, who isn’t here yet.
More and more trucks arrive and start setting up.
There’s a toasted-sandwich van, selling golden, crispy sandwiches with a choice of fillings, a pulled-pork-baps stall and another selling macaroni cheese, made with soft, stringy local cheese and pasta from a trailer, and Pizza on the Hoof in an old horsebox, with the chef and owner in a black bowler hat wearing Italian and Welsh scarves around his neck.
Dad and Myfanwy have found their way into the old auctioneer’s booth and have been testing the microphone with lots of ‘Hello? Hello?’ I wonder if he’ll tell her how he feels, or if it’s just too much of a risk for him.
Christmas music is playing over the Tannoy now, carols, Frank Sinatra and Neil Diamond, clearly a favourite with them both.
Everyone is smiling, snow is falling steadily and the air is filling with the most amazing smells of barbecuing sausages, wood-fired ovens and the spices from my curry.
But there’s still no sign of Mae and I’m worried.
I pull out my phone to see if she’s messaged me.
Where are you? All okay? I ask.
I’m here! I look up and around but still can’t see her – and then I do! She’s waving manically at me from another horsebox, decorated with homemade bunting and paper chains. The kids are there too.
I run down the ramp. ‘Where …’ I’m lost for words in the excitement of it all. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Owen knew someone. Said he was happy it was being used. I’m just borrowing it. We scrubbed it, me and the boys.’
‘Best time ever!’ they chirp.
The other is finishing writing on a chalkboard: ‘Hot potatoes, with cheese, beans and veggie chilli’.
‘We’re calling it the Spud Family,’ says Mae. ‘Even Mum’s come to join us.’ She points to her mother, sitting in the back of the trailer on a camping chair.
‘I’m so happy! This is brilliant! And from the way the crowdfunding is going, there’s a chance this could happen,’ I say. ‘Have you checked the page?’ On my phone I show her how we’re doing, and we let out squeals of excitement and hug.
‘This would never have happened without you,’ Mae says.
‘It wouldn’t have happened without you!’ I tell her. ‘You’re the one who staged the sit-in and made us all realize we needed to see what was important around here.’
‘But you’re the one who made it happen.’
‘Not yet I haven’t. But maybe, fingers crossed, by the end of the night. Best I put something up on social media and let people know we’re here.’
‘Get posting!’ Mae instructs, with a pointed finger.
‘Considering I was the one hiding behind the corporate suit, who would have thought I’d end up being the Social Shepherdess?’ I put up a picture telling everyone where we are, that they should like and share the post.
There’s music playing but I haven’t seen Dad or Myfanwy for some time.
‘Everything okay?’ Mae asks.
‘I’m a bit worried about Dad. He said he’d meet me back here, but I’m not sure where he is. I haven’t seen him since they set up the Tannoy and got the music going. That was quite a while ago.’
Mae looks around. ‘Okay, we’ll keep an eye out for him. And let others know if need be.’
I head back to the lorry and spark up the tea lights in a muffin tray, a little kitchen hack I saw on social media, and put the cawl and curry on to keep warm.
I stand back and feel proud of how I’ve created these dishes, using instinct and memories.
No books or measurements, just what I can remember. As Dad said, I’ve followed my heart.
‘Smells amazing!’ says Evie, poking her head into the back of the lorry. ‘Okay if I put my easy-up tent out here?’ She indicates the side of the ramp.
‘Fine, let me give you a hand,’ I say, going down the ramp into the lightly falling snow. Together we put up the easy-up and she settles herself in a chair. Owen comes over, kisses her and lights a fire in an upside down bin lid, on a circle of stones. ‘Will you be warm enough?’ he asks.
‘I will.’
‘Owen, have you seen Dad?’
He shakes his head. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for him,’ he says, and returns to his big barbecue with a spring in his step and Jess at his side in her Christmas scarf, which has had holly and mistletoe added to it.
‘It’s so good to see the two of you together,’ I say, trying to push any what-might-have-beens with Llew to the back of my mind.
‘It took me by surprise,’ she says, picking up her knitting.
‘I didn’t think I was ever going to feel anything for another man.
But that night we spent in the café, just talking, we understood each other, the hurt, the loss, but also made each other smile.
I don’t feel guilty, though I thought I would.
I know he would be happy for me that I’ve found Owen. ’