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

going to Fenview Farm or to Wynbridge. I had no need of another family, even if they were my flesh and blood. My home and my heart were here in Puglia with Nonna, Alessandro and Marco.

‘What have you got there?’ Marco asked.

I shook my head.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s none of my business.’

‘It’s fine,’ I told him, pushing the letter further into my pocket, but not wanting to shut him out. ‘It’s a letter. From Mum.’

‘What does it say?’

‘Nothing important,’ I lied, holding out my hand so he could pull me up.

He stared down at me, his eyes searching mine.

‘It really is nothing,’ I swallowed.

Arm-in-arm, we set off back towards the house.

Even though we were all used to Mum being away for months at a time, there was no deluding ourselves that she was coming back. As much as I would have loved to, I couldn’t erase the memory of the last couple of months any more than I could pretend that her letter wasn’t sitting on the nightstand next to my bed.

I felt her absence everywhere. It was the last thing I thought of before I tried to sleep and the first thing I remembered when I woke from the hours spent tossing, turning and dreaming. As the days slowly passed, and even though I tried not to because my life really didn’t need further disruption, I began to think more about the words she had left behind and the implications they could have if I acted on them.

The internet at the farm was intermittent at best which was frustrating because, as my thoughts strayed more and more often to what this Fenview Farm and Wynbridge looked like, it couldn’t maintain a consistent enough connection to satisfy my curiosity.

I had been adamant the day of Mum’s funeral that the Rossis were all the family I needed, and that I wasn’t going to share with them what she had revealed, but my inquisitiveness had slowly got the better of me. Just as Mum had known it would. What sort of farm was it, I wondered, and more to the point, why did she think that I would be a better fit for it, and her father, than she had been?

Within a fortnight I was fit to burst and couldn’t keep the details of the letter secret any longer. I had made up my mind that I would go. I would take a flight to the UK and find the previously unheard of family and farm for myself. If nothing else, the trip would take me to a place where I wouldn’t constantly be reminded that Mum had left me for good.

‘So,’ I said, carefully laying the letter on the kitchen table after supper one evening. ‘I need to talk to you all. I have something to tell you.’

Grandmother, son and grandson sat in silence but each became increasingly wide-eyed as I read what Mum had written. Their expressions told me that they had absolutely no idea there was a Brown family back in England missing their daughter. When I had finished, I slowly drank my coffee, letting the words settle and sink in.

I knew it would have pained Mum to know that I would have to share her secret. To the Rossis, nothing was more important than family; they were the classic Italian famiglia and she would have worried about lowering herself in their adoring estimation. But she needn’t have. They were shocked, but not unkind.

‘Almost thirty years,’ Alessandro quietly said. ‘She left England almost thirty years ago and she never breathed a word about growing up on a farm or about her family.’

‘I know,’ I nodded.

‘I suppose we all just assumed that she had no one,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘No one who would miss her anyway, but this,’ he said pointing at the letter, ‘suggests otherwise, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘I think it does.’

‘Has she been in touch with them at all in all that time?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I swallowed. ‘I don’t even know if she told them she was pregnant before she left, so they might not even know I exist.’

Alessandro ran a hand through his thick salt-and-pepper curls. Marco chewed his thumb-nail and Nonna stared at the letter.

‘How old would that make your grandparents, Fliss?’ Alessandro frowned.

‘Pretty old,’ Marco haphazardly calculated before I could answer. ‘Perhaps as old as Nonna. What are you going to do, Fliss?’

‘She’s going to go, of course,’ Nonna firmly answered, finally finding her voice.

‘Yes,’ Alessandro added. ‘Fliss, you must.’

They sounded as though they were all set to try and convince me, but I’d already decided.

‘But we’re Fliss’s family,’ Marco cut in. ‘What was Jennifer thinking, dropping this bombshell from beyond the grave? Why did she wait?’

‘Probably so she didn’t have to deal with all this,’ I answered, with a wry smile.

Marco reached across the table for my hand and squeezed it tight.

‘She shouldn’t have said anything at all,’ he frowned.

‘Yes,’ said Nonna. ‘She should.’

‘I’ll come with you then,’ Marco added, having taken a moment to absorb Nonna’s pronouncement.

‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re needed here. And besides, this is one journey I really feel as though I need to make on my own.’

Alessandro and Nonna exchanged a look, clearly relieved that I didn’t need talking around.

‘Are you going to contact your grandparents before you go?’ Marco asked.

‘I wouldn’t know what to say,’ I shrugged, my heart fluttering at the thought of having to find the words.

‘I suppose it would be difficult to explain in a letter or on the telephone,’ said Alessandro, sucking his bottom lip as he looked down at Mum’s spidery words.

‘And I don’t want to overthink it,’ I told them. ‘Now I’ve made up my mind, I just want to go. I’ll think about what I’m going to say when I get there. It’s the only way to make sure I don’t talk myself out of doing it. One step at a time, you know?’

‘One step at a time,’ Marco repeated.

‘When will you leave?’ Nonna asked, her eyes