Page 6 of Not Just for Christmas

Dylan, this is urgent. Please call me as soon as you get this message. Lucy x

Text from Dylan

My darling Lucy, I’m sitting here reeling in shock after talking to you. I can’t believe he’s gone. He was a good man and although I didn’t see as much of him as I’d have liked, I was proud to call him a friend and I’m really going to miss him. My grief will be nothing compared to yours, you two were such a good team. He loved you and Sam with all his heart, and I know he’ll always be watching over you. If there’s anything I can do, anything you need, please ask. I’m here for you. Stay strong and give Sam a big cuddle from me.

With love, Dylan x

Chapter 3

‘OK, OK, ladies,’ I said, nudging two curious cows away with my broom. ‘I know I’m not normally here at this time of day, but give me a break, all right?’

It was a cold afternoon in early December at Merrydown Farm on the North Devon coast – one hundred acres of glorious hills and valleys overlooking the picturesque village of Craggy Bay.

The farmhouse had all the quirks and charm you’d expect of a fifteenth-century building. The stone flags in the kitchen, pitted oak floorboards, wonky walls and rattling window frames. The décor was heavy on shabby and light chic, but one day, I’d been telling myself for the last decade, it was going to get the makeover it deserved.

In the meantime, it was home to my seven-year-old son, Sam, and me, and although I loved it, today I had lurched from one unfortunate incident to another, and bedtime could not come soon enough.

Before I’d even got Sam up for school, I was outside, defrosting the pipes with a hairdryer, while Pete, my farmhand, ferried buckets of water from the kitchen sink to the troughs for the animals.

Jack had always put the farm first. It was the only major bone of contention between us and it had got worse once Sam had come along. Deep down I knew he loved us fiercely, but sometimes it hadn’t felt that way. I wanted Sam to feel that I was his mum first and a farmer second, but now, as I scraped out the cubicles at three o’clock when I should have been collecting him from school, I wondered if I was fooling myself.

I’d had to rope in my mother-in-law to fetch him and I hated not being there myself.

I raised my eyes to check on Pete’s whereabouts. He’d been on our small tractor a few minutes ago, but now the chug of the diesel engine had gone quiet.

Finally, the tractor started up again and Pete drove it across the yard towards me.

‘This buggering thing is buggered,’ he shouted, jumping down from the cab. ‘It’ll be the bloody death of me.’

In his late sixties, Pete was tall, wide and hairy; his language was colourful and a great source of entertainment to my impressionable son. Jack had rated him highly, and I relied on him completely.

‘Don’t say that.’ I brushed my forearm over my face to dislodge a piece of straw stuck in my hair. I hated any mention of death, even in jest.

‘Sorry, love.’ Pete scratched at his beard. ‘Right. The good news is, I’ve bedded the heifers down.’

I groaned. ‘Please don’t tell me there’s more bad news today?’

He winced. ‘Yep. My daughter’s slipped on ice and buggered her ankle.’

‘Not Beth?’ She was eight months pregnant and already mum to a toddler.

‘Beth,’ he confirmed with a nod. ‘I’m going to have to leave work early and go over there to help out. And there’s still the calves to clean out.’

‘Bugger,’ I said, borrowing Pete’s favourite word, and mentally adding that job to the list too.

Pete had only been gone ten minutes when a buzzing from the depths of my coat alerted me to a phonecall. I reached inside my pocket and stepped out of the shed. First rule of dairy farming: do not take out your phone when up to your ankles in cow shit. It would never end well.

‘Hi Mum!’ I said, seeing my parents’ number flash up on screen. ‘This is a nice surprise, it must be late in Adelaide.’

It could have been Dad calling, obviously, but in the twenty years they’d lived in Australia, I could count on one hand the number of times he’d called me.

‘Hello love.’ Mum sounded a little flat. ‘It is late. We’ve had a busy day, haven’t had chance to catch our breath.’

‘I’m going to make sure you have a proper rest when you get here. Only three weeks to go!’ I said, a warm sense of relief flooding through me.

One of the cows pushed her head through the bars of the feed barrier, her nose nuzzling the sleeve of my coat. I held out my free hand and let her lick me, her rough tongue tickling my palm. Another cow did the same and soon they were barging each other out of the way, vying for attention.

I smiled, thinking how much my dad always wanted to help with the farm chores but was so scared of the herd that he ended up darting from place to place to keep his distance, which only made the cows more intent on following him.