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

looked properly inside the chests and pulled more things out. Some held framed photographs while others were packed with newspapers, which had turned yellow with age. A few of the photographs were of Fen skating, which matched the boots I’d seen before, and others were of wily looking eel catchers in tweed caps and grubby work clothes, a couple holding the same willow traps I’d already identified.

None of the newspapers, I realised, were being used as wrappings or to pad things out, but had been kept because they recorded particularly interesting stories and events. Most were about farming and local agricultural shows, and others recorded births, deaths and marriages in the area. I was interested to see that there were quite a few Browns listed.

A shadow fell across the doorway and I jumped. It was Grandad.

‘I hope you don’t mind me looking,’ I swallowed, thinking that I really should have asked before I rifled through it all. ‘I spotted it all the first time I came in here and again this morning when the order from Andersons arrived and my curiosity got the better of me, I’m afraid.’

‘I daresay you think it’s all a load of rubbish,’ Grandad said.

He stepped further in and I could see he looked more uncomfortable than annoyed, but there was an air of defiance in the way he stuck out his chin.

‘None of it looks like rubbish,’ I quickly said.

‘No?’

‘No, it’s fascinating. An amazing record of life around here. I’ve learned loads just from looking at the newspapers. Some of these should be framed and preserved like the photographs.’

Grandad looked taken aback.

‘And these eel traps are incredible,’ I said, picking one up. ‘I had no idea they were so skilfully woven when I saw them online.’

‘Why were you looking at them online?’

‘I did a bit of research about the area and its history before I came here. I found out a few things, but it’s not the same as seeing them first hand, is it?’

‘You don’t think it should all be put in a heap and burned then?’

‘What? Of course not!’

‘That’s all your mother said it was good for,’ he huskily said. ‘Whenever I found something new, or someone gave me a piece for safekeeping, she’d sneer and tell me how sad I was, being stuck in the past.’

‘But that’s ridiculous. This is a treasure trove of local history and I can promise you Grandad, that’s not what Mum would have said if she could see it all now.’

‘No?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘She would have appreciated this every bit as much as I do.’

‘She obviously changed a lot over the years then, didn’t she?’

‘I think she must have done,’ I agreed. ‘Teenagers often bear little resemblance to the adults they become, in my experience, and it’s such a shame you didn’t have the opportunity to know Mum once she’d got all of that angst out of her system.’

It pained me deeply to know that she’d never come back to Fenview Farm to make amends. I wished with every fibre of my being that Grandad had known the worldly, well-travelled and much-loved woman his daughter had become and that his memories weren’t confined to the argumentative and sulky girl she had been.

‘Some of this looks unique,’ I carried on, steering the conversation back to the collection. ‘It should be treasured, not torched.’

‘It is,’ said Grandad. ‘That’s why I’ve kept if for all these years.’

‘So, what are you going to do with it?’ I asked. ‘What are your plans for it? I can’t imagine that you’ve kept it all just so it can gather dust.’

‘Well, no,’ he said, shifting from one foot to the other. ‘I had thought about finding a way to put it all on display at one time, but nothing ever came of it.’

‘You should do it,’ I said, picking up one of the maps. ‘I’m sure people would be interested, especially if you talked to them about it too. A personal connection is a very powerful thing.’

Grandad gently took the map out of my hand and turned it up the right way. He clearly loved the collection he had so painstakingly put together and I was going to make sure it got the recognition it deserved. Shut away in a dusty old barn wasn’t doing it any good or any justice at all.

‘Promise me you’ll think about it,’ I asked him, but he didn’t have a chance to answer as a car pulled into the yard.

‘Are you expecting anyone?’ I asked.

‘Not as far as I know,’ he shrugged.

I quickly put everything back where I’d found it and closed the barn again.

‘Jemma,’ I smiled, as she climbed out of her car. ‘How lovely to see you. Grandad, this is Jemma from the Cherry Tree Café.’

‘I thought I recognised you,’ he said, also smiling. ‘I was going to give you a call this afternoon.’

‘With good news, I hope,’ she said, reaching back into the car and reappearing with a large cake box. ‘I hope you don’t mind me just turning up out of the blue, but I was so excited after our chat, Fliss, that even though I’d said there was no rush, I couldn’t wait another day to find out what you’d decided, Mr Brown.’

‘In that case, you’d better call me Bill,’ Grandad told her. ‘I like to be on first name terms with anyone I do business with.’

‘That sounds promising.’ Jemma grinned. ‘Bill it is then.’

In the kitchen, she handed over the box which was full of cakes, biscuits and cream-based confectionery.

‘Well now,’ said Grandad. ‘I can see where your talent lies, my dear. These all look delicious.’

Jemma flushed prettily. ‘And I know where yours lies too,’ she said back, ‘and I’m hoping it’s going to enhance mine all the more.’

Grandad nodded approvingly.

‘Why don’t you and I go and have a look around the farm?’ I suggested to her. ‘And then we’ll have tea and cakes while we talk business.’

‘That’s an excellent idea,’ Grandad agreed. ‘I’m all walked out for today, but I can