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‘I will. Yeah. And sorry, again,’ he says, with a nod to include me in this as well. He puts his hands in the pockets of his tracksuit bottoms and begins to walk back towards the yard, where the young woman in new outdoor clothing is walking around, pointing at my home. She is still being followed by the man with the camera.
I watch them for a moment, frowning, then turn to Lara. ‘Are they not with you, then?’ I ask her.
‘Me? No,’ says Lara. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Thought it might be the other social worker – you know, for the report?’
She shakes her head. ‘No, no – I was dropping in to see you and Willow after you rang, to see if I can help with Willow’s appetite? But I’ve brought some forms with me, because there are some questions we need to ask you. I’ll bring the other social worker along next time to carry out an interview. It won’t be long. These interviews can be quite . . . vigorous, but once it’s done, it’s done. I’ll let you know when. It won’t be a surprise.’
Just then, another car comes down the drive at speed. It must be catching today, I think crossly. The car slows as the driver sees us, then stops, and a woman leans her head out the window – a woman I recognize. The estate agent.
My hands fly to my face.
‘Oh, Lara, I completely forgot – it’s the people coming to see the house! I forgot they were coming today! . . . I’d better go over and speak to them,’ I say apologetically, stepping back hastily towards the Land Rover. Willow is still sitting quietly with Tegan on his lap, stroking her, talking gently into her ear, and she seems to be listening back. I climb in beside him and drive back over to the little group of house viewers: the woman with her expensive long waxed jacket and chestnut-brown boots that match the colour of her long, shiny hair, the tracksuited man and their camera-carrying third wheel.
The estate agent pulls up, jumps out of her car and shakes hands with everyone, apologizing for being a tiny bit late and blaming it on trailers being moved onto a location on the main road. It must be Christmas Tree World getting their site ready for opening, I realize with a sinking feeling.
It takes a huge number of trailers and trucks to move all those light-up figures, stalls and speakers into position every year. And every year it seems to get bigger and louder, so when the wind is blowing in the wrong direction, you can hear it from the farm. Throbbing music, a DJ, endless vehicles coming and going, with the foam fingers saying ‘I’ve been to Christmas Tree World’ and other money-making schemes. It’s more gaudy every year. We even get plastic rubbish blowing up the drive from the main road – bags from cotton candy and wrappers from the food vans. In amongst all of that, there’s no room left for the spirit of Christmas; it seems to have completely disappeared. I pull my eyes away from the direction of the site in the distance and turn back to the viewers and agent.
‘Sorry. I have a guest staying,’ I say. ‘I completely forgot about you. I don’t mean a guest . . .’ I shouldn’t have said guest, I reprimand myself. That makes him sound like he’s only here for the week! And I have no idea how long he’s here for. But I do need to make him feel that this is not just a transient stage . . . even if it is. Oh, God . . . this isn’t easy. I wish Paddy were here. ‘Willow, my – Willow is staying. A family member. And so I completely forgot that you messaged to say you were coming.’
There’s a creak as Willow opens the stiff Land Rover passenger door, which rarely gets used these days. Tegan jumps down and Willow follows. Tegan sniffs around on the grassy edge and immediately relieves herself.
‘She needed a wee,’ Willow says, matter of fact.
‘Hi, Willow!’ says the young man in the tracksuit. ‘I’m Luke.’ He holds a hand up to high-five him, but Willow leaves him hanging, turns and walks away in the direction of the farmhouse with Tegan in tow.
The woman with the chestnut hair tuts at Luke as if embarrassed by his efforts to engage with Willow. Personally, I think it was kind of him.
‘Sorry,’ I say to Luke quietly. ‘Thank you. It’s been a bit . . .’ I try and think what to say about the current situation at the farm with Willow’s arrival. ‘A bit of a busy time for him.’
‘Yeah, no worries,’ says Luke and gives a kind, if very white, smile. He is clearly not troubled by having been blanked by a nine-year-old, and I think I like that about him.
We watch as Willow gets to the farmhouse door, pushes down the handle and lets himself in.
‘Look,’ Luke adds, as if understanding something’s going on, even if he doesn’t know what, ‘if it’s not a good time for you, we can always come back later.’
The woman frowns at him.
‘But we’re here now. And so is Mogs.’ She points at the cameraman. ‘You don’t mind Mogs filming, do you?’ she asks me in her broad Cardiff accent. ‘For the socials,’ she states.
‘Sorry?’ I look at the camera, which appears to be focused on me. ‘The what?’ And I swear I see the woman roll her eyes.
‘Scarlett’s an influencer,’ Luke explains. ‘On TikTok. Big following.’
Scarlett flicks her long hair over her shoulders, clearly not impressed that I haven’t heard of her – or, to be honest, TikTok.
‘Oh, right,’ I say, unsure how else to respond to this information.
‘Actually, please make sure it’s just Scarlett you’re filming,’ Lara jumps in. She turns to me and then back to Luke and Scarlett, seriously, ‘We don’t want Willow in any background shots.’
‘Oh yes, no problem. I’ll make sure of it,’ he says with a firm nod.
‘Scarlett Legend,’ says Lara, now smiling a little. ‘I thought I knew your face. And Luke.’ She nods and gently points, having clearly heard of them.
‘You’ve probably seen I’m on the hunt for a new place. Somewhere bigger for the horses,’ Scarlett says, addressing Lara. ‘It would be good to get a look at the manège area. And where the stables would go, see if the measurements work,’ she adds with another flick of her dark, shiny hair.
‘Oh, I’m afraid there isn’t a manège here,’ I say. ‘Just the milking parlour that could become stables. But lots of trails and tracks through the forest to go hacking.’
