Page 52 of Not Just for Christmas

‘I’m fine,’ I said brightly. ‘Really.’

‘That’s not an answer,’ he chided.

The low rumble of an engine coming up the lane alerted me to the arrival of the milk tanker.

‘I need to go and speak to the driver about Christmas collections,’ I said. This was a lie. Our milk was collected by the dairy every other day, fifty-two weeks a year without exception. ‘If you need another job, I take my coffee—’

‘Extra strong before noon.’ Dylan pretended to salute. ‘Yes, ma’am, coming right up.’

I crossed the yard, grateful for the opportunity to end our conversation.

How could I tell him how I really felt? That I felt trapped in my own home. He’d only worry, and what was the point? He couldn’t do anything to help. The only person who could was me and I had no idea how.

Chapter 24

Dylan was washing up some mugs while he waited for the kettle to boil. The back door opened, letting in a blast of cold air. Pete poked his head inside and laughed when he saw what Dylan was doing. ‘The boss got you trained already?’

‘Just call me Cinderella,’ Dylan grinned. ‘God knows what this is going to do to my manicure.’

‘I’ve got the same problem, lad.’ Pete held up his hands; they were covered in oil, his fingernails etched in black. He wiped them on a rag hanging over his shoulder. ‘You know there’s a dishwasher under the sink?’

‘Too easy,’ he replied. ‘I’m not used to having time on my hands.’

‘You and me both. Not that I ever do, what with working here and looking after the grandkids.’ Pete rubbed a tired hand over his face. ‘Never mind, eh? You haven’t got a spare five minutes, have you?’

‘Not until after I’ve made the boss her coffee,’ Dylan said with a grin. ‘But then I’m all yours.’

‘See you in the big barn then.’ Pete gave him a thumbs-up. ‘Mine’s milky with two, cheers.’

Five minutes later, having handed Lucy her coffee, Dylan wandered across the yard past a row of empty stables to find Pete. There was a pale sun low in the sky, clouds bobbing cheerfully, frost on the distant hedgerows, and the air, although not exactly fragrant, courtesy of a herd of cows, was fresh. It felt like months since he’d had a day without commitments, a day in the outdoors, just being. He breathed it all in, the freedom, the space, and could feel the tension melting from his shoulders.

The sun on your face, the wind in your hair,

love is anywhere and everywhere you are.

Nice line. He said it out loud, then repeated it, this time adding a melody. Not quite right, but he could work on it.

‘Over here,’ Pete shouted, jumping down from the cab of a tractor in the barn.

Dylan went in and delivered Pete his coffee. Wind whistled through the cracks in the walls and a comedy show blared from a small radio hung on a hook by a piece of wire. Stacked straw bales ran along one side of the barn, and a cat sat on one of them, watching them and washing its paws. Farm equipment that Dylan couldn’t begin to identify took up a third of the space and in the centre, was a tractor, hood up, with a toolbox and a set of spanners beside it.

Something skittered past, making him jump, and Pete laugh.

‘One of the cats,’ Pete said. ‘Or a rat. Don’t tell Lucy, she hates rats’

Dylan grimaced; she wasn’t the only one. ‘How’s Lucy doing, in general?’

‘Better than I thought she would. It’s a bloody tough life, being a farmer, especially doing it on your own.’ Pete slurped his coffee and nodded his approval. ‘Good brew.’

‘Does she need anything?’ Dylan wrapped his hands around his own mug, grateful for the warmth. ‘Is there anything that would make her life easier?’

Pete snorted. ‘Being less stubborn, accepting more help? I’ll let you bring that one up.’

The two men exchanged glances.

‘No, thanks,’ Dylan muttered.

‘I remember the day Jack brought Lucy here for the first time, showed her round. Me and Jim took one look at her and nodded. We knew. She loved it right from the off. Never shirked away from anything. It’s hard though. Isolated. I worry about her, stuck out here on her own.’