Lydia nudged me.‘Exactly.’
I gazed at the rolling fields stretched out ahead of the farm, dotted with sheep grazing on the dewy grass, their thick coats making them look like fluffy clouds settled on the hillside.Beyond the pastures, a dense cluster of ancient oak and pine trees framed the land, leading up to the rolling hills in the distance.
Gareth brought us to a stop before a wooden gate.
‘This is the heart of Glynmere.Started as a working sheep farm but we had to adapt.Land alone doesn’t pay the bills these days.So my brilliant wife decided we should open the farm to the public.Twenty-nine years ago now.’
‘He thought I was mad when I suggested it.But he came around eventually.With some persuading.’ Bethan smiled, gazing at her husband, who glanced down.
Lydia nudged my elbow.
‘He’s blushing,’ she whispered under her breath, making me chuckle.
‘The Farm Shop started first, using the products from the sheep and bees and sourcing from other farms who were interested.’
‘Are those yours then?’ I asked, nodding to the sheep grazing in the field.
‘Yes,’ Gareth replied.‘I’ll always have sheep on this farm until I die.It was what my father did and his before that.As much as the diversifying of the business was needed, we think it’s best to stick to our roots.’
Ren faltered now.‘I’d be buying a derelict farm.It’s not a family tradition or anything.’
Gareth clapped a hand on his shoulder.‘Then you create your own roots.’
We moved on, towards the cafe and farm shop – a converted stone barn, softened with ivy and hanging flower baskets.
‘Right,’ Gareth grunted.‘Let’s get this over with before Bethan forces you to taste-test everything in the bleeding shop.’
‘Hey,’ Bethan nudged her husband.‘This shop paid for your new tractor.So shut it.’
Bethan came alive when we walked into the shop, pointing out all the relationships she had built with local farms and vendors.Inside, the air was warm and rich with the smell of coffee and freshly baked bread.
‘Everything here’s either made on site or comes from someone we know by name,’ Bethan said proudly.‘The honey’s ours, the jam’s from my neighbour Rhian, and the mead’s brewed just up the road.’
She opened up jars, giving us tastes of the preserves – strawberry, raspberry, and lemon.All of the tastes danced on my tongue, tart and sweet.
I loaded up my basket, earning a small smile from Bethan.We squeezed past a display with red dragons and alpacas.
‘The tourists love these,’ Bethan said.‘Even if they are a little overpriced.’
I grabbed two and shoved them into my basket, earning a giggle from Lydia.
‘What?’ I said innocently.‘Abi will love this.’
Abi was probably a little old for toys but, if she didn’t want them, then I’d keep them myself.To remember today.
‘Softie,’ Lydia muttered, as I paid for my basket, after waving off Bethan who tried to give us complimentary jars of preserves.
They toiled to make these themselves, so I wouldn’t accept anything other than full price.Working in hospitality for over a decade gave you a respect for how much effort goes into making things by hand and, as a business owner, I knew how fine profit margins can be.
We made our way out of the shop, one hundred pounds lighter, to find Gareth’s smug smile.
‘She’s done it to you too, lad?’ Gareth shook his head, smiling.‘Alpacas and all.’
Gareth and I walked ahead, rounding the corner near the stream, where the wooden cabins overlooked fields for miles and miles.The path was edged with raised flower beds and little solar lights that probably looked magical at night.He was mid-sentence about occupancy rates and seasonal demand for the cabins when I heard it – Lydia’s voice, soft but clear, drifting from just behind us.
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she was saying to Bethan.‘He was… discouraged by his business partner.His brother.Liam reminds me a bit of your Gareth, actually.Strong, silent type.’
Bethan gave a low laugh.‘I wish Gareth was silent.I’d get a bit more peace around here.So this Liam – he doesn’t want to run the farm?’
