Page 20

It wasn’t until I met Paddy that I finally settled down. I’d been studying art and textiles at college, but really partying more than studying. Paddy was an agricultural student. We were like chalk and cheese, but it worked. We partied together and started to find our way in life together. After he took over his parents’ farm, we turned over most of the land to Christmas trees. It took them a long time to get over the shock of that – they thought it was a madcap idea I’d put into his head. They told me that until he’d met me, Paddy had been ‘a sensible lad’.

But it worked. We still kept some sheep, but milking had become so hard and barely paid, so the herd had to go. I taught art at the adult education centre, and that brought in a little money too. And eventually the trees started to earn their keep. People wanted the experience of coming and cutting down their own trees. They wanted to be in the countryside, in nature, getting mud on their boots. It really was going well until Paddy became ill.

I’m not sure the same business model would do as well today. Customers seem to want more. They really seem to like what Christmas Tree World on the main road is giving them, judging by the amount of cars I see lining up there throughout the season. I did think about keeping it all going, doing another year after Paddy died; but once Christmas Tree World had set up, there didn’t seem much point in trying to compete with them. Customers liked the ease of their set-up, the bright lights and inflatable swaying Santas. I’m not sure how many people would be interested in what our farm used to offer – peace and quiet, a walk in the forest and hot chocolate at a hut amongst the trees. It’s probably a thing of the past now, that simple, authentic experience.

‘Come on, Will, eat up,’ says Horse, bringing my attention back to the here and now. Willow takes a mouthful of pasta, then another, but that’s all.

‘Well, I really should be going now and leave you people to it. I’m staying with some friends locally,’ Horse says. ‘I’d better get back before it’s too late.’

‘And me,’ says Lara. ‘Have a good evening. And we’ll talk again tomorrow,’ she adds to me, reminding me that there are real questions I still need to think about: about my plans, the house move and Willow. And I need some answers about exactly what will happen if I get a sale on the farm.

But that’s for tomorrow. Right now, I’m just enjoying watching as Willow hugs Horse tightly and Horse promises he’ll come back to visit soon. I find myself really hoping he keeps his promise, for Willow’s sake.

‘I’ll be back, I promise – if that’s okay with Gwen. I’ll be happy to keep an eye on how you’re doing.’

‘Of course it’s okay.’ I smile.

This has been a lovely evening. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any grown-up company around my dinner table, other than Gareth. I hope Horse comes back soon too.

Chapter 9

A trip to the local supermarket a few days later seems like a good idea.

‘See if there’s anything you fancy for dinner this evening,’ I tell Willow, hoping to pique his interest. Since Horse left last Friday evening, he seems to have disappeared back into his shell. He hasn’t looked at any of the books Lara dropped over, or the pens and paper I’ve left on the kitchen table in case he might want to draw or write. Perhaps finding something he really likes to eat will bring him out of himself a bit.

We drive down to the main road, past the setting up of Christmas Tree World – which has Willow’s eyes popping out – and towards town, up the little high street with a cafe, a charity shop, an optician’s and an Indian takeaway. It’s a small place that has been there for years, recently taken over by the owner’s son and his wife. Willow looks out the window as we pass.

We park up at the supermarket on the edge of town. I get a trolley and rummage around in my bag to find a pound coin languishing at the bottom along with a dog biscuit, a torn tissue and various old receipts.

‘Okay, let’s see what we can find for you,’ I say with a smile. Willow walks beside me as I push the trolley, looking around with wide eyes.

I decide to just wander a bit, let him lead me to what he might like. But the problem with going to the supermarket and wandering, without a clear mission to fulfil, is that you may meet people you haven’t seen in a while who want to stop and chat. And be nosy.

‘Hello there, stranger,’ says Anne from Stitch and Natter, my knitting group that meets at the garden centre coffee shop every Wednesday afternoon. ‘We haven’t seen you for a while!’ Anne is wearing some of her own creations, by the looks of it: a warm bobble hat and a sleeveless cardigan to match.

‘Ah, Anne – no. Had a lot on. What with . . .’ I’m about to say the move, but I don’t want Willow to hear that. Right now, he needs to feel that he’s standing still. ‘Sorting out the house,’ I finish. I’m keeping one eye on Willow, anxiously waiting to see if he’s interested in anything.

‘And who’s this . . .?’

‘Willow is staying with me. He’s . . . family,’ I say finally.

She raises her brown-pencilled eyebrows.

‘And he’s staying with you on his own?’

‘He is,’ I say firmly, not giving any more information away.

‘Are you enjoying your holiday?’ she asks Willow. He looks confused.

‘Willow isn’t here on holiday,’ I say, finding my feet. ‘He’s living with me at Christmas Tree Farm. For now.’

Her eyebrows shoot up higher. I already know that this information will be round the Stitch and Natter group by this afternoon.

‘Well, how . . .’

‘We have to be going now,’ I say, raising a hand to stop the conversation going any further. ‘Nice to see you, Anne. Give my best to the others.’ I steer my trolley around her and onwards. Willow looks puzzled.

But the questions keep coming.