‘A dairy farm in Lancashire.’
‘Ah. Now I recognise the accent.’
‘It’s had the edges knocked off it over the years. I’ve been down south since I left university and moved to London to work. I’ve lived round here for a while now, though.’ He looks around him. ‘Yet I had no idea that this place existed.’
‘Well, it’s our pleasure to welcome you to Hope Farm. Can I give you a tour?’
‘I’d like that.’
Just as I’m about to introduce the mayor to our atrociously behaved alpacas, Bev comes bustling over.
‘Hiya! Hiya!’ She’s slightly breathless and flustered. ‘Got caught up with making lunch. I only just found out you were here. I’m Bev. Pleased to meet you.’
I’ll swear she does a little curtsy. It reminds me of the time when Shelby first arrived at Hope Farm and Bev went completely ga-ga and turned into a teenager again. Then it makes me feel a little bit sad that things aren’t quite as they were.
The mayor smiles again. ‘Thanks for inviting me, Bev. This looks like a great place. Molly’s just about to give me a tour.’
‘She is?’ Bev looks at me, slightly stunned.
Yeah. Look at me being all friendly and not remotely traumatised by having to deal with a figure of authority.
‘You could join us for lunch too, if you like,’ I offer. ‘It will give you a chance to meet some of our regular students. They’re not doing outdoor activities today due to the cold. They’d normally be out in the barns or the fields, helping with the animals. Instead, we’ve got them all tucked up in our nice warm tea room making bunting for the open day.’
He checks his watch. ‘I’m not pushed for time so that would be great. Thanks.’
‘I’ll be serving up in about half an hour,’ Bev says.
‘Perfect. We’d better get a move on, then.’
‘Right,’ Bev says. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
As the mayor turns away, Bev gives me the double thumbs-up behind his back. HOT STUFF! she mouths.
And I have to say that I think she’s probably right.
Chapter Sixteen
The mayor and I lean on the gate of the pen. Tina Turner, Rod Stewart and Johnny Rotten all look quite frisky today. Always worrying. I point them out as appropriate.
The alpacas come over to the gate, hoping there will be food. Tina flutters her long eyelashes at Matt Eastman.
‘Hey,’ he says and softly strokes her muzzle. Pushover.
‘Don’t let their cute looks fool you, they’re in disgrace at the moment.’ I scratch Rod’s neck which he just about tolerates. ‘Aren’t you?’
They hum in unison and give us their collective butter-wouldn’t-melt looks.
Pah.
‘Tina is definitely our diva. She gives great selfies and likes Abba music. Rod, the one with skinny white legs, will back-kick you whenever he gets the chance. Johnny Rotten is our bad boy of the alpaca world and likes nothing better than making mischief. But they’re all a handful.’
‘Aren’t you all lovely,’ Matt says.
‘Because of their looks, people think that alpacas are cute. They, quite categorically, are not. They are feisty buggers, one and all, with a nose for trouble. They don’t like to be handled, touched too much and, if you are foolish enough to go near their fancy hair on their heads, they will bite you.’
And we take them into care homes! This was Bev’s idea.
‘Duly warned.’ The mayor takes a step backwards.
‘Let me show you some of our other residents.’
‘Are they any better behaved?’
I laugh. ‘Not necessarily. Bad behaviour seems to be our speciality – animals and humans. Most of the animals here, if not all, have been rescued from difficult circumstances. We tend to be quite lenient with them.’
Little Dog appears and grins at our visitor, who instantly falls in love with him. ‘You’re a fine fellow.’ Matt ruffles his ears confirming mutual adoration. Always happens.
‘Ready for our cuddle corner?’
‘Animals or people?’ he quips and ensures that I blush once more.
‘Therapy bunnies.’ We stroll along to the cuddle corner with Little Dog at our heels. ‘If the kids are distressed they can come and sit on the straw in here to chill out. It’s not usually very long before an obliging bunny hops onto their laps. Though the Flemish giant bunnies, Ant and Dec, are a tad big for that. They’d squash some of our youngsters.’
‘They’re whoppers,’ he agrees.
‘Gentle giants.’ We move on and then stop at the sheep pen. ‘I daren’t count how many sheep we have. Despite Bev telling me not to, I take on more orphans every year. We have quite a flock now. This is Anthony our anti-social sheep. He has to be kept in his own pen as he likes to charge humans and other sheep alike. Never turn your back on him,’ I caution. ‘We love him dearly, but the feeling isn’t mutual.’
Anthony stares down the mayor.
‘I’ll try not to get on the wrong side of him,’ Matt says.
‘Wise move.’ I take him further into the barn. ‘I don’t know what happened to Anthony before we got him, but some of our animals prove too much of a handful for anyone else, some have been maltreated, some are here simply because they’ve outgrown their cuteness. All of these things could apply to our students too.’
‘I’m looking to get involved in a local community project,’ Matt tells me. ‘Both while I’m mayor and then afterwards when my term ends too. This would be ideal.’
‘We’d love to have you on board.’ I gesture at our buildings, our animals. ‘All this costs a lot to keep. We get some funding for the students and Bev manages to pick up a few grants here and there, but we’re largely on our own for the rest of it.’
‘You have a board of trustees?’
‘Yes. My partner and a group of businessmen own the land. They’ve granted us the lease here for ten years at a modest rent, but we’ll have to do a lot of fundraising. More than we currently do.’ I smile at him. ‘As you’ve probably gathered, that takes me well out of my comfort zone.’
‘I’d like to be able to help.’
‘We’d be grateful for any input.’ I take him past our two spotted Kunekune pigs, Salt and Pepper, who always look so smiley even though Pepper is a hen-pecked husband. We head towards Teacup’s stall. ‘Does that mean you’ll come and turn our lights on at the open day?’
‘Of course. It would be my pleasure. Not just that. I want to get my hands dirty too,’ he says. ‘I realise how much I’ve missed this. My sister runs the family farm now. She has a fairly big dairy herd. I opted for a career that’s nothing to do with agriculture and just being here makes me feel how much I miss farming and how much it’s still in my blood.’
‘That’s music to my ears.’ If I could change one thing about Shelby it would be that he enjoyed the animals here as much as I do. I know that he tries, but he’s not comfortable covered in mud or handling the working ends of livestock. Sometimes he’s not even sure which end is which. Despite saying he hates celebrity parties, he’s actually much happier chit-chatting with a glass of champagne in his hand than attempting to bottle-feed a lamb.
‘I mean it,’ Matt reiterates.
‘And I’ll take any help you can give.’ We cross the yard and stop at the next pen. ‘Here’s Teacup, our giant “miniature” pig.’ Teacup hauls himself to his feet and comes to greet us with some grunts. Fifty is right beside him.
‘This is Fifty, our pet sheep. He couldn’t stand up when he was born, but Bev and I nursed him night and day. And now here he is.’ Another one of our little successes. ‘We could walk Teacup up to our new piggy hollow, if you like. Before the weather turned too cold, the students spent a few weeks digging it out and putting some fencing round it.’
Let’s see what this mayor is really made of, I think, as I let our lovely pig and Fifty out of the pen. I give the mayor a bucket of pig nuts which will ensure that Teacup follows us. Fifty runs ahead wit
h his awkward gait while Teacup totters after us – or, more accurately, after the pig nuts – as we walk along the track up to the muddy wallowing hole. I need to get some more pigs, I think. A curly tail corner would make everyone’s heart glad.
The mayor proves himself a natural with our porcine friend and Little Dog has already attached himself to Matt – and I think my dog is, generally, a very good judge of character. I think it will be a great addition to have the mayor around the farm. Look at the size of him for a start. He’s a man who could manage our massive Shire horses or sort out a stroppy sheep. It amazes me how comfortable I already feel with him, as that almost never happens.
When Teacup is settled in the wallow – literally as happy as a pig in muck – I take the mayor on a walk across the fields. Fifty turns and heads back towards the yard, clearly worried that he might miss something. We climb the stile and head towards the big field.
‘You’ve certainly got a beautiful piece of land here,’ he says. ‘No wonder you’re so happy.’
‘We were evicted from our previous farm to make way for HS2. Thankfully, my partner helped to save us.’ And I mustn’t ever forget how much Shelby has done for us. If he hadn’t stepped in we could have so easily gone under.
‘Does he live here too? I take it that’s your caravan I saw as I came in.’
‘Shelby has a home nearby,’ I say. ‘He works long hours so he’s not here as often as he’d like.’ Or, more accurately, as often as I’d like. ‘I live in the caravan with his son, Lucas. He came initially as a student and now works here. That’s how his father and I met.’ I see him frown. ‘It’s complicated, but somehow it works.’
‘Relationships seem to be these days,’ he agrees. ‘That’s why, at my grand age, I’m still free and single.’
As I said, I’d put him at less than forty, but you know what my judgement is like. Bev will find out. ‘You’ve never been married?’
‘No. Came close once, but I think I dodged a bullet there.’ There’s a sadness in his eyes when he says, ‘It didn’t feel like it at the time.’
‘I came to love late in life,’ I admit.
‘You’re lucky to have found it.’
‘I am. I was in very grave danger of turning into a mad old recluse who only had conversations with her dogs.’ Now look at me, chatting away on a very personal level with a complete stranger. Go me!
Our fields slope gently and I find the highest viewing point so that we can look over the land. ‘This is us,’ I say.
‘I love it.’ Matt Eastman is a little out of puff after the exertion. Perhaps he spends too much time behind a desk. ‘I’d give my right arm for a place like this.’
‘You’re welcome here any time you like,’ I tell him, earnestly. ‘Are you DBS checked?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s great.’ He’s had a screening so that means he can be around our vulnerable kids. ‘We are always grateful for a willing pair of hands.’
He grins. ‘You won’t be able to get rid of me now that I’ve found you.’
‘Good.’ I like the sound of that.
‘Thanks for taking the time to show me round.’ The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. He has a genuine, open face. I like him. And you know that I’m not all that keen on people as a rule.
‘My pleasure. But we should get back. Bev will be dishing out lunch and she doesn’t take kindly to latecomers.’
‘I’ll race you,’ says the mayor and I’m so surprised at his challenge that he’s already taken off by the time I respond. So I chase after him and, with Little Dog barking excitedly, we run all the way back to the farmyard.
Chapter Seventeen
We’re still laughing when we burst through the door of the tea room and everyone turns around to look at us. I must also say at this point that I was the victor by the narrowest of margins.
‘Well done,’ the mayor says, panting.
‘I think you might have let me win there.’ I’m equally breathless.
‘Not at all,’ he insists. ‘You won fair and square.’ But I still think he’s fibbing.
We pull ourselves up short when we realise that everyone is staring at us and try to regain some decorum. Even Bev looks startled by our entrance.
‘Hi, everyone.’ I address the students who are sitting at the big table waiting for lunch. ‘This is Mr Eastman; he’s the mayor of our local town and he’s here today to have a look at what we do. He’s also very kindly agreed to come and turn on the Christmas lights at our open day.’
Some of our students clap excitedly and are as thrilled as if we had a pop star in the house. The rest are, of course, seriously underwhelmed. It would take an actual pop star in the house to get them interested – and not just a minor one, probably ‘like’ the whole of One Direction or Little Mix.
The tea room is warm and welcoming and there’s the appetising scent of Bev’s jacket potatoes in the air. We spend a lot of time in here with the students and want it to feel like a safe space, so we try to make it as comfortable as possible. Today, it looks especially pretty as the bunting the students have been making has been hung around the walls. It features pictures mostly taken by Tamara of the animals, students and farm activities. Surprisingly, it brings a lump to my throat to look at it. We do well here, I think. The smiling faces reflected back at me say that we’re making a difference. Some of these kids wouldn’t even talk when they arrived.
‘Do sit down,’ I say to the mayor. ‘This is Lucas, who I told you about.’
Lucas regards him with deep suspicion. If the mayor notices it, then he pretends not to and chats amiably to Lucas about what he’s seen on the farm. I think if anyone has the ability to relate to Lucas and grind him down then Matt does.
I take the chance to go and help Bev and Jack with serving.
‘How’s Hot Stuff?’ Bev whispers when I’m next to her.
‘He’s very nice,’ I whisper back. ‘Keen to help us and not just with the Christmas lights. He’d like to do something more permanent. Better than that, he’s got a farming background.’
‘Praise the Lord and all that’s holy,’ she says. ‘We need someone else on our board with a bit of clout now that Shelby is more absent than present.’ She raises her eyebrows at me.
‘I’m not sure what else I can do on that front.’
‘We’ll work on it,’ she promises. ‘But, for now, you can get that big spoon and start dishing up beans or we’ll be here all afternoon.’
Immediately, the mayor jumps up and comes to lend a hand, giving out plates to the students and cracking jokes. He has a natural way with him and it’s a wonder that he hasn’t got kids. He’d make a great dad. When he sits down again next to Lucas, he even manages to engage him in conversation and, as you know, that’s no mean feat. At one point he even makes Lucas laugh out loud and both Bev and I exchange a startled glance. I wonder what on earth he’s said to elicit that response.
I take my lunch and go to join them. ‘Isn’t it nice that the mayor has agreed to join us for our open day and turn on the Christmas lights?’
‘I thought you-know-who was doing that?’ Lucas says.
‘Your dad can’t guarantee making it,’ I tell him.
‘Who’s your dad?’ the mayor asks.
Lucas shoots me a filthy look, but he brought it up.
‘My partner, Shelby, is an actor in a soap opera,’ I explain. ‘We have, in the past, tended to rely on him for this kind of thing.’
‘Shelby Dacre?’
‘Yes, you know of him?’
‘Who doesn’t?’ the mayor says. ‘I don’t watch it myself but my mum is a huge fan of Flinton’s Farm.’
‘That is hil-ar-ious,’ Lucas says. ‘My father likes to think his fan base is nubile nineteen-year-olds. Most of his girlfriends have been.’
That stings and, to deflect the direction of the conversation, I interject, ‘Did Lucas tell you that he’s writing some poetry for the nativity?’
‘No,’ the m
ayor says. ‘You’re a poet? What a great talent.’
I get another death-stare for my trouble.
‘He is very talented,’ I add, defiantly. I’m hoping that Lucas will make a start on his contribution soon as that will be one less thing for me to worry about.
‘I’m a big fan of poetry,’ Matt tells us. ‘Who’s your favourite?’
Lucas seems startled by his response. ‘Er . . . you won’t have heard of him . . . Harry Baker.’
‘He’s great,’ Matt says. ‘My favourite is “A Love Poem for Lonely Prime Numbers”.’
‘Seriously? You really know his stuff?’ Lucas, rather grudgingly, looks impressed. ‘I like “The Sunshine Kid” and “Paper People”.’
‘I follow him on YouTube and have listened to his TED Talk a dozen times. I haven’t seen him live, have you?’
‘No, but I’d like to,’ Lucas admits.
‘I think he’s doing a tour next year. I should try to get tickets for us all.’
‘Yeah, well . . .’ Lucas glares at me as if I’m the orchestrator of this unexpected burst of enthusiasm.
It’s sad, but I know that part of his reticence is that he’s been let down too many times in the past. Things that Shelby has promised that he hasn’t delivered, times he’s cancelled due to filming schedules. I can see that Lucas can’t let himself trust Matt’s promises. I understand that.
‘That would be great,’ I say to Matt. ‘You’ll hear some of Lucas’s poetry at Christmas.’
‘If I do it,’ Lucas says, trying to sound uninterested. But I’m not fooled and neither is our mayor. Behind Lucas’s back, I give the thumbs-up to Matt. ‘A’ for effort.
When we’ve finished our lunch, Lucas and our crafts teacher, Anna, take the students out for a brief walk round the yard while we get the room ready for this afternoon’s card-making session. As soon as they’re wrapped up against the cold and out of the way, the mayor helps us to clear up and proves himself a dab hand with a tea towel. Bev’s looking at him in a slightly dreamy way. If she weren’t so smitten with Alan, I think she’d be in deep.
Christmas for Beginners: Fall in love with the ultimate festive read from the Sunday Times bestseller Page 7
