Page 42 of Not Just for Christmas

‘He’s an amazing kid,’ Dylan agreed. ‘You’re doing a great job.’

‘Hmm,’ I said, unconvinced. ‘Thank you, but I’m not sure. I’m so busy with the farm that he doesn’t always get the attention he deserves. He’s missing out on so much, I just don’t know what to do about it.’

Dylan studied me for a moment and seemed about to say something, but Miss Cooper wriggled into the middle of us, cradling her sore hand to her chest.

‘This is the best day of my life!’ she said, cheeks flushed pink. ‘The only person I’ve ever shared a piano stool with is my grandad and you’re much better than him. I mean, of course you are, duh.’

‘And Sheila Wheeler said you wrote the score?’ Dylan nodded with appreciation. ‘Hidden talents.’

‘Music is my passion,’ she told him, twirling her hair through her fingers. ‘Me, my sister and a friend are in a band called Shell Shock. We play the local pubs whenever we can, but teaching pays the bills. It’s hard to make a living as a musician around here. Even getting into a recording studio is a nightmare.’

‘It’s hard everywhere. I know how fortunate I was to get my lucky break.’ Dylan touched my arm lightly. ‘And if it hadn’t been for Jack Oakley, I might never have got it.’

‘Really?’ Miss Cooper widened her eyes. ‘Wow.’

‘He was my hero. Still is, I guess,’ he said softly.

My chest tightened. I wished Jack was here to witness this. He’d been so proud to call Dylan a friend, but had sometimes felt as if there was an imbalance between them, the farmer and the rock star.

‘Thanks for choosing Sam to be Joseph,’ I said. ‘I think you made his Christmas.’

‘Gosh, the pleasure is all mine, especially when his famous godfather turns up to the show. You should come and see us play at our next gig, Dylan, it’s in a pub in Barnstaple,’ she gushed. ‘And you, Mrs Oakley, if you wanted to.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, aware that my invitation wasn’t an afterthought.

‘I’d love that, really,’ Dylan enthused. ‘When is it?’

‘Fifth of January,’ she said.

‘I’ll have left by then,’ he said. ‘But good luck.’

Miss Cooper’s face fell. ‘Shame. Maybe look us up instead. And thanks for talking to the children, you were really good with them. You’d make a fantastic teacher. Excuse me, I need to go and rescue the sheep from their costumes.’

‘Well, if music doesn’t work out for you, at least you’ve got something to fall back on,’ I teased when she’d gone.

‘Good to know,’ he grinned. ‘And she may be on to something.’

‘Don’t tell me you’re going into teaching,’ I said with a snort.

‘Not exactly.’ He gave me a wistful smile. ‘I’ve been mentoring a band recently and loved it. If I got the chance to do more of that, I’d jump at it. Step away from the limelight for a while, do something different, you know?’

‘Really?’ I looked at him, unsure whether he was pulling my leg. For as long as I’d known him, Dylan had been totally focused on his music, writing, recording, touring … he never stopped. ‘Like what?’

He huffed out a breath. ‘Honestly? I’m not sure. I know I’m in a privileged position where I am, but I need a change.’

‘Same here,’ I said softly, surprising myself by opening up. ‘Owning the farm is a privilege but I’m not sure it’s for me long term.’

Dylan frowned. ‘You love Merrydown.’

‘I do—’ Before I could finish my sentence, Mrs Wheeler took to the stage once more.

‘Without further ado, let’s draw the raffle. Mr Wilde, where are you?’ Mrs Wheeler scanned the crowd for him.

‘Over here, Miss,’ said Dylan, to the amusement of the crowd.

Caroline reappeared at my side.

Mrs Wheeler cleared her throat. ‘And the first prize of a family surfing lesson goes to …’