‘Surprise field trip,’ Lydia said, brandishing her keys and heading for the adjacent carpark.‘Come on.’
‘My hair’s wet,’ I said, in a weak little protest.
Because the truth was I felt off balance.I’d made peace with the idea of being just friends at the top of that bloody mountain yesterday.I’d thought I could handle it.Having Lydia as a friend was better than nothing, of course.But being near her again, with her smiling at me like that.Well, it felt as if someone had yanked the ground out from under me.
You know why, you arse.
Lydia rolled her eyes.‘You and your hair.Dry it in the car.We’re going to be late!’
She trotted to the car and I had no choice but to follow, dumbfounded, and trying not to notice how peachy her bum looked.
I climbed in, still slightly damp and confused.‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll see.’
About 30 minutes and several winding Snowdonia roads later, the satnav chirped, and Lydia turned down a gravel path marked by a carved slate sign: Glynmere Farm.Despite the isolated location, the path broke into a carpark full of families with SUVs and couples strolling hand in hand.She pulled into the carpark and came to a stop.
She turned to me, an expectant smile on her face.‘I wanted to show you that your idea for Everly Heath Farm isn’t mad.Places are making this work, and Glynmere Farm is just one of them.We’re meeting Bethan and Gareth, the couple who’ve run this place for thirty years.’
I followed her eyeline to find a couple waiting at the entrance.A woman in a yellow fleece and wellies, and a tall man with grey-streaked hair, wearing a gilet.
I looked around at the bustling farm, busy with families and couples, even on a weekday.I was… speechless.
‘You’re making me nervous.’ Lydia gave a stuttered laugh.
I stared at her.‘You did this… for me?’
The words barely made it past my throat.Not even my own brother believed in me – not really.Yet this woman sitting in front of me – who could barely say my name a couple of weeks ago – went out of her way to bring me here.To a shining, beautiful, andrealexample of what I wanted to make happen.A farm converted into a bustling, lively place full of people, laughter, and food and drink.I hadn’t felt this seen by someone… well, ever.
And now I was speechless, like some fumbling idiot, trying to form the words of what this meant to me – and, of course, coming up blank.
Lydia rambled, ‘If it’s too much, we can go.But I thought maybe, maybe, you needed a reminder.And someone to speak to who has actually done it, you know?If you don’t want to, we can go.But… we have a tour booked and they’re waiting.’
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold back the bright, shining feeling spilling from my chest straight towards the woman beside me.If I looked at her right now, I might say something I couldn’t take back.Something that didn’t belong in the little friendship-shaped box we had agreed on.
Finally, I met her gaze.‘No one’s ever done anything like this for me.No one’s ever taken the time to help me dream bigger.To… believe in me.’
She shrugged, her blue eyes shining, ‘Well, their loss.’
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I followed her towards the couple, my heart pounding.
‘Now, it’s not easy, you know.It’s hard work, especially at the beginning,’ Gareth said, his voice low and melodic as we walked through the busy farm, dodging kids with candyfloss.‘Days like today can take their toll.It’s market day.’
‘But we take Mondays off.’ Bethan chided her husband.‘Stop scaring the boy, Gareth.We’re here to help.’
Gareth had greeted us with a firm handshake and an assessing look, while Bethan’s face was smile-lined as she hugged Lydia like an old friend and welcomed us to the farm.We followed them under the wooden archway and Gareth led us down a gravel path to the left with the determination of someone who has toiled the earth all his life.The path opened into a walled courtyard flanked by food huts and market stalls, all buzzing with energy.The scent of roasting meat, sweet waffles, and something floral hung thick in the air.
‘Market days are Wednesdays and Sundays,’ Bethan said.‘We bring in local vendors from across the valley.’
Families wove past us – toddlers with ice cream, couples holding paper cups of cider.A group of teens hovered near a hut selling Welsh rarebit toasties.
Gareth led us down the main stretch with the determination of someone who’d done this walk a thousand times.He nodded at every other person we passed.Bethan explained how they rotated stalls, partnered with small producers, and occasionally hosted themed weekends and a midsummer cider festival that apparently got ‘a bit lively’ last year.I could believe it.The place had that kind of buzz – somewhere between wholesome and slightly chaotic.
Helpful wooden signs pointed to places to visit.FARM SHOP & CAFE,HORSE STABLES,PLAY AREA. The list went on and on.
Everywhere we walked was full of energy – food, drink, laughter.
‘This place is alive,’ I muttered without meaning to.
