Page 66 of Not Just for Christmas

‘Wish that was all it was,’ he said grimly. ‘The milk tanker can’t get to us for another three days.’

Our tanks needed emptying every other day. No collection meant that there’d be no room to store the milk from today, tomorrow or the day after that.

I stared at him open-mouthed. ‘But the tanks are almost full now, our milk won’t last that long. Why?’

‘Driver shortages, bad weather and road closures, apparently.’ He slurped his tea. ‘They can’t get round all the farms so they’re prioritising the bigger ones. The smaller, more remote ones like us are bearing the brunt.’

‘What are we supposed to do with the milk?’ I said, frustration bubbling up inside me.

‘We send it to waste,’ said Pete. ‘It goes into the slurry, or we spread it on the land.’

I rubbed a defeated hand over my face. ‘So basically I’ve been awake half the night delivering calves, up early this morning defrosting pipes, lugging bales of straw, feeding livestock. And for what? To pour thousands of litres of organic milk away.’

Pete nodded glumly. ‘It’s a bugger, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t need this today.’ I shoved my mug back at Pete and stormed off across the yard. ‘I’m officially on strike.’

Chapter 28

Dylan opened the kitchen door to see Lucy storming up the track leading to the fields.

‘Lucy, wait!’ he yelled, but either she was ignoring him or couldn’t hear.

He left Sam sitting at the table working his way through a packet of cookies from the Christmas hamper, pulled on a pair of wellies and set off after her. Her copper hair was flying out behind her as she climbed the track. Man, he needed to get back to the gym, his lungs were aching by the time he drew up alongside her.

She turned at the sound of his footsteps crunching across the frosty grass. He flinched when he saw her face, her bright green eyes, red-rimmed from crying.

‘Hey,’ he said breathlessly, putting an arm round her shoulders. ‘You OK?’

‘Not really.’ Lucy stopped walking and brushed away her tears. ‘Today is not a good day.’

‘I know.’ His whole body felt rigid with frustration. He hated seeing her like this and he hated that there was nothing he could do about it. ‘Pete has filled me in about leaving. And now this thing with the milk collection. It sucks.’

‘That’s not even all.’ She told him about the phonecall she’d had from her folks. ‘Mum and Dad will both be on crutches for Christmas, and I’m stuck here. I’m stuck, Dylan, that’s how it feels.’

‘Come here.’ He held his arms out to her and after a moment’s hesitation, she stepped towards him.

He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her close until he could feel her trembling against him. It wasn’t fair, this beautiful woman, this wonderful soul, did not deserve this.

‘I feel so alone,’ she whispered into his neck.

‘You’re not alone, you have Sam, and you have me.’

‘Sam’s seven,’ she pointed out. ‘And in a few days you’ll be gone.’

He was so, so tempted to say that he’d stay longer. But he couldn’t; the record label had scheduled in studio time for the new album. ‘I’m here now, so how can I help? What can I do?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing. There’s nothing anyone can do. As long as I have the farm, I have to accept that holidays can be nothing more than days snatched here and there.’

‘When was the last time you and Sam had a vacation?’

She puffed her cheeks out. ‘It was when you were playing in Scotland, and we flew up to see you. Pete and Heather looked after the farm for us.’

Dylan’s mouth fell open. ‘But that was three years ago. And you only came for two nights.’

It had been an amazing weekend. The gig had been at some incredible Scottish castle and Janet had organised for the Oakleys to fly up to Edinburgh and then had them collected and flown to the venue by helicopter as a special treat.

‘It was still a holiday for us.’ She gave him a small smile. ‘Sam talked about the helicopter for months afterwards. So did Jack.’