It took me a moment to place the name, butIsurged forward to shake his hand onceIdid. “Dafydd!”Icried. “Fromthe council!”
He smiled. “Oneand the same.”
“I’mTeddy.”
“Nice to meet you,Teddy.”
“Thank you so much,”Isaid, gesturing toward the warehouse behind me as he dropped my hand. “Thisis all only possible because of that grant.Itmeans a lot to us.”It’sbrought so much to us,Ithought,Chloe’sface in my mind.
“It was my pleasure,” he said, just as another man and a young boy walked up beside him. “Letme get my husband and son inside and dry, but it’s really nice to meet you.Let’stalk more later.”
I nodded after him, then textedJento let her know he was here, watching through the semi-translucent plastic of the polytunnel as her colourful, blurred form emerged a moment later to greet them.
I should have been thrilled;Chloe– and all of us, really – had worked so hard to make the most of the council’s investment.Toshow them that we deserved the funding, and that we were the right place to have awarded it.
But instead, watching them go inside without me,Ifelt a bit useless.LikeIwasn’t necessary to any of that success.Like, ifIdidn’t come back next year after all, things would just carry on without me.Hell, maybe they’d even be better, becauseIwouldn’t be around to get in anyone’s way.Theywould struggle with the beekeeping and the garden planning for a while, butJenmanaged that during the slow season without me.Betweenthe three of them,Iwas sure they could make do.
Jen would be sad, sure.Butthe thingIcared more about than anything else,GwenynenHollowitself, wouldn’t miss me.Itwouldn’t suffer without me.Andthat was what hurt the most.ThatIcould spend so much of my life and my passion pouring into a place only to be…
Inconsequential.
I stood in the rain, unaware thatIwas waiting to park cars that wouldn’t show.Everyonewho was coming was already inside, in the light and warmth, having fun without me.
Chapter34
Chloe
The event was actually, miraculously, running smoothly.
Well, not completely smoothly– there were issues cropping up constantly.Maggierunning out of mead behind the bar and needing another few kegs from storage.Alight going out in the portable toilets.Oneof the paints at the children’s art station getting knocked over and creating a spectacular purple puddle.We’dset up a blind honey tasting activity just like the one we’d posted online so people could win a free bottle of mead, but we’d run out of sample spoons.
Every problem was easily fixed; somethingIcould handle.Thekind of problem that made me feel competent rather than overwhelmed.Itwas likeIwas collecting little achievements throughout the day, each successfully resolved crisis making me stronger and more confident.And, more importantly, everyone around me seemed to be having a genuinely great time.
DidIget post-coital flashbacks every timeIlooked at the fairy lights twinkling overhead?Suredid.ButIwas pretty sureIwas hiding it well.
The only truly annoying thing was that my parents had come.Iwasn’t sure how they’d even known about the event– they were both absolute luddites where social media was concerned– but they were here now, soIdid my best to dodge them, keeping them in my field of vision at all times soIcould position myself on the other side of a food stall, or amidst a tight group of people.Ifound myself irritated that they looked to be having a nice time, wandering arm-in-arm, perusing the art and sampling the food.Mumlooked a bit out of place in her pristine coat and careful make-up amongst the festivalgoers in their wellies and rain jackets, but she was smiling, and so wasDad.WasMum’slife really so miserable?Andif not, why wouldn’t she want that for me?Whydid she judge me so hard for wanting it for myself?
ThoughIsupposedI’dnever exactly told herIwanted it.Ihadn’t spoken to her properly sinceI’dfigured that out for myself.Icould already imagine the disappointment etched across her face whenItold her, though.So, yes, better to keep away from them.
More excitingly than my parents, my friends were having an absolute blast.Ispotted them periodically throughout the afternoon–JackandMorganswaying together near the acoustic stage,Fatimadeep in conversation with one of the local artists about her ceramic work,PhilandAmytrying their hands at the children’s painting lesson, despite being three or four times the age of the other participants.Philwas getting increasingly frustrated, apparently being shown up by a seven-year-old.
“This is rigged,”Iheard him mutter asIpassed by. “There’sno way that kid’s sunflower is better than mine.”
“Maybe if you stopped trying to make yours so detailed,”Amysuggested, not looking up from her own abstract creation.
“Sunflowers have very specific petal arrangements,”Philprotested. “I’mbeing scientifically accurate.”
“You’re being embarrassing,”Amysaid, rolling her eyes. “Thisis such an ick.”
“Me being bad at art?”
“You being competitive with literal children.”
“You know you love me,”Philsaid, leaning over to plant a kiss onAmy’ssmiling cheek.Iwalked past at that exact moment, making a retching noise at theirPDA, eliciting a giggle fromAmy.
I was grinning whenJenappeared at my elbow with three people in tow– two men holding hands, and a young boy who was eyeing the face-painting queue with obvious longing.
“Chloe,”Jensaid, “I’dlike you to meetDafyddChenfrom the council, his husband,Hao, and their son,Oliver.”
