A Taste of Home by Heidi Swain (the beginning after the end read novel TXT) 📕

‘I didn’t mean to,’ Eliot said.

He looked shocked by my outburst and I was mortified to find myself instantly on the verge of tears. Bec looked daggers at her brother again.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to bite your head off.’

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘It’s been one hell of a day. I’m feeling it myself.’ That no doubt accounted for the change in his mood too. ‘You must be exhausted and I could have put that better. I’m the one who should be apologising. I seem to have a habit of putting my foot in it today.’

As relieved as I was that he hadn’t meant to make me feel bad, at the same time, I wanted to tell him not to be nice to me either. Kindness and understanding would tip me completely over the edge, but because I didn’t trust myself not to blub, I didn’t.

‘I think I’ll just freshen up,’ I sniffed. ‘Do I need to go upstairs?’

Eliot succinctly explained that there were four rooms upstairs – three bedrooms and a bathroom – and I rushed off, keen to have a minute to myself. I could hear Eliot and Bec talking in the kitchen below and made a mental note to talk in whispers whenever possible for the next few days in case my grandfather caught the sound of my voice.

The doors to two of the bedrooms were closed but the spare was open and the bed was made with my rucksack sitting next to it. Thanks to the open window, the room was filled with warm spring air and I pushed the curtains further back to take in the far-reaching Fenland view. I pulled out my phone and took a photo. The Rossis would love that. I would send it next time I had enough signal.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting of Fenview Farm, but from what I could make out, it looked to be nowhere as big as the Rossis’ plot. There were a couple of fields full of blossom-heavy trees and I could see a few large cages filled with soft fruit bushes as well as rows and rows of strawberry plants. There was no straw on any of them yet, but I knew that would have to go down soon.

The season would be starting in just a few weeks, sooner if it stayed warm, and if the berries weren’t going to be spoiled, then they’d need that straw buffer between them and the earth. Modern, commercial farms grew the berries off the ground and under cover, but Fenview Farm looked distinctly old-school and I felt my back groan at the thought of bending and filling punnets. I would no doubt be long gone before they ripened, but it didn’t stop my body reacting to the thought of the back-breaking work. I wondered who my grandfather would get to pick them. That was one job his new hip wouldn’t be up to so soon.

I looked back to the orchards. Even from this distance I could make out that they weren’t quite so tidily kept as some I’d seen on my journey from Peterborough, but they weren’t in as poor a state as others I’d glimpsed courtesy of Google. Was it really only a few hours since I’d been in the hotel and looking at these views online? It felt like a lifetime ago.

My stomach growled again and after freshening up I pulled myself together, took a deep breath and went back downstairs to set about preparing my Italian feast.

‘That,’ said Bec, as she wiped her mouth on her napkin, ‘was the best meal I’ve eaten in for ever.’

I was delighted she had enjoyed it. I had soon found my way around the Brown kitchen and had loved preparing the food as much as eating it. Losing myself in the familiarity of it all was exactly what I needed after a stress-filled few hours and insisting that we eat outside on our laps as the weather was so wonderful, had made it all the better.

‘I have to agree with you sis,’ said Eliot, stretching back in his chair and rubbing his hands over his tummy which still looked washboard flat, in spite of all the carbs he’d crammed in. ‘That was phenomenal, Fliss. Where did you learn to cook like that?’

I flushed at the compliment which found its way straight to my heart. I was never happier than when folk were enjoying my food and I knew Nonna would have been proud.

‘Not from her mother, that’s for sure,’ Louise, who had come back to join us, laughed. ‘From what I can remember from cooking at school, Jennifer was as good at burning toast then as I am now.’

Mum and Louise really had gone a long way back then.

‘You’ve got a lot more going for you than being able to find your away around a kitchen, Mum,’ said Eliot, closing his eyes.

‘Just as well,’ she laughed, ‘because I can’t!’

‘And before you think it, Fliss,’ Eliot quickly said, opening his eyes again. ‘That wasn’t me saying that’s all you’ve got going for you. Although even if it was, that’d be no bad thing because that meal was amazing. I mean… I know you can do more than cook… not that it would matter if you…’

‘Eliot,’ Bec squawked.

‘What?’

‘For pity’s sake, shut up.’

‘I learned to cook in Italy,’ I said, answering Bec’s question and pretending I hadn’t noticed that Eliot had got himself in a muddle again, ‘and I had the most amazing teacher.’

A vision of me wearing one of Nonna’s aprons, standing next to her at the old stove and stirring a vast pot of rich tomato sauce, popped into my head and yet another prickle of tears accompanied it. When I’d decided to come and find the farm, I hadn’t taken into account that as well as still missing Mum, I’d be bereft without the Rossis too.

‘Tell us about them,’ said Louise, settling back in her chair.

‘Another day,’ I sniffed,