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

rides. I’ve been waiting for him to go. Just because my eyes are closed, neither of you should assume I’m asleep, you know.’

He’d obviously overheard mine and Eliot’s every word. I wondered what else he’d been privy to. At least he wasn’t shouting anymore though.

‘If you’re serious about pursuing a career in caring,’ he added, his eyes twinkling, ‘then you should remember that.’

‘I will,’ I nodded, playing along. ‘That’s good to know. Thank you. Duly noted.’

‘And you should always have the kettle on the boil too,’ he said with a sniff. ‘I generally have a cup of tea about now and I wouldn’t mind something to eat to go with it, if that’s all right with you?’

As I boiled a couple of eggs and buttered bread, I tried not to think about what was going to happen next. I was in no way prepared to keep telling lies because that would only cause more problems in the long run, but I wasn’t ready for the conversation about my true identity which seemed to be nudging closer either.

I had no idea what Eliot was going to say when he got back and found I’d been playing out the caring role, but I could hardly have ignored my grandfather’s calls, could I? Eliot would have been far unhappier if I’d left him to find me and he’d taken a tumble.

‘Here we go then, Mr Brown,’ I said, trying to smile as I wobbled my way back into the room with the breakfast tray. ‘How about some boiled eggs to kick your day off?’

I was probably overdoing the upbeat tone, but I was nervous. I hoped I didn’t sound patronising. If I was, my grandfather was thankfully willing to let it pass.

‘Perfect,’ he said, grimacing a little as he shifted himself further up the bed. ‘Just the thing. Thank you very much.’

‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ I said, hastily turning away.

‘No, don’t go,’ he said, deftly slicing the tops off the eggs. ‘Stay and talk. I could do with a bit of different conversation.’

‘I’ll just grab my coffee then,’ I said, my breath tight in my chest.

I took a moment to compose myself and when I went back in, I noticed how stuffy the room felt. With the curtains closed it was dull too. It reflected nothing of the bright and sunny May bank holiday morning that was unfolding outside, and with the added smell of the eggs it made my nose wrinkle.

‘Mr Brown,’ I said. ‘Would you mind if I opened the curtains?’

‘Not at all,’ he keenly replied. ‘And some fresh air wouldn’t hurt. I know Eliot’s been keeping the curtains closed in case I spotted you walking about, and that the window has been shut this morning so I didn’t hear his blasted bike, but as he’s gone now and you’re in here we don’t have to worry about any of that, do we?’

He really did have it all sussed out. I tried not to think about what else he already knew, or at least suspected.

‘I take it you’re not a fan of the Ducati then?’ I said, putting down my mug.

He sounded even more scathing than Alessandro who appreciated the power and beauty of the machine, but was also adamant that Marco would never ride one. Conversely, my grandfather didn’t sound at all in awe of the bike’s esteemed credentials. His tone was a much better match for Nonna’s.

‘No,’ he bluntly said. ‘I’m not.’

I rattled the curtains back along the pole and threw the window open.

‘Ah,’ he said, drawing in a breath of the sweetly fragrant air which rushed in. ‘That’s more like it.’

The atmosphere in the room instantly lifted. No longer a sick room, it felt light and fresh.

‘Can I smell roses?’ I asked, catching the heady scent as the sunlight streamed in.

‘You can,’ he proudly said. ‘The back of the house is covered with climbers and they flower early thanks to the sheltered spot. With the sun on them, they smell like that all day.’

I hadn’t seen them when I made my tour of the farm because I’d avoided the back of the house.

‘They smell wonderful,’ I said, inhaling deeply as he smiled in approval. ‘Oh,’ I added, ‘now we’re in trouble.’

Having spotted an opportunity, the little cat had jumped nimbly through the window and straight up on to the bed.

‘Eliot told me she’s not a house cat,’ I frowned, wondering how she would react if I tried to lift her off the bed or shoo her out. ‘Shall I try and put her out again?’

‘No,’ my grandfather said. ‘She won’t do any harm and to tell you the truth, I’ve missed seeing her. But the lad’s right, she’s not usually one for coming in, so I guess she must have been missing me too.’

It didn’t take him long to finish his breakfast and by the time I returned from clearing up and making more drinks, the cat was curled up on his lap, purring away and looking every bit like the feline who’d got the cream. Louise had told me my grandfather wasn’t really a grumpy old man and the way he fussed and tenderly coddled the cat suggested she was right.

‘Do you think she’s hungry?’ I asked, as he stroked her back, covering the pristine bed linen with a fine layer of cat hair.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. She’s pretty self-sufficient.’

I shuddered at the thought of her rat-catching capabilities.

‘What about you?’ I asked, keen to dismiss the image as I sat in the chair next to the bed. ‘Can I get you anything else, Mr Brown?’

‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m fine. In fact, this is the first time in a while that I’ve felt properly like myself.’

Thankfully he bore absolutely no resemblance to the confused old man I’d seen, shouting and flailing about, the day I arrived. His brow was smooth, his manner relaxed and there was even some colour in his cheeks.

‘You aren’t feeling the cold, are you?’ I asked,