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

approved of my straw spreading technique, Grandad ambled back to the house to see to the laundry.

I tackled the task slowly and methodically, knowing there was nothing to be gained from trying to rush. I would only tire all the sooner and with dry days at my disposal there was no need to throw my back out on the first day.

That said, when faced with the field packed full of long rows of plants, it did still feel like a daunting task. I broke the straw bales into around two-kilogram biscuits and then pulled it all into place, ensuring it was deep and wide enough to do the job it was intended for.

Even though I was pacing myself, it was a back-breaking chore and some would argue unnecessary, but with the occasional skylark shooting up out of the leaves and singing overhead to distract me from their nests, I was content enough. I let my mind wander as I worked my way up and down the long, straight rows and the sun appeared over the Fenland horizon. It then rose quickly, taking the temperature with it.

I mulled over the conversation I’d had with Jake and the extremely ambitious idea which had taken hold as a result. I had been considering asking at the pub about bar work to supplement the farm income as I had some experience, or even waitressing at the Cherry Tree with Bec, but if I could get this idea to hatch then I wouldn’t need to.

Grandad and I weren’t too tight for money (assuming he’d let me spend some of mine) and, if I could convince him to give this project a go before we were, then we might end up far better off. I couldn’t help thinking that it felt almost like an answer to a prayer. I’d been wishing for a big idea to land and now it most definitely had.

‘Fliss!’

I stood and shielded my eyes from the sun to see Grandad pointing at his wrist. It was time for a break. I hopped over to the next row, which was still straw free and went to join him.

‘Doesn’t that look grand,’ he said, smiling broadly.

I looked at the finished rows and found my smile matching his. I could see the odd bright red berry shining in the sun and knew I would have to start picking properly soon.

‘Picture perfect,’ I said. ‘In fact, I think I’ll take a picture on my phone. I want to record every aspect of my first season here on the farm.’ I hoped he noted the emphasis I put on first. ‘I’ll take some of the hens too.’

Along with the arrival of the grand plan, I’d been thinking about setting up an Instagram account to show off the farm’s seasonal highlights. If my ambitious idea did come to fruition (pun intended), then it would be good to have an already established social media presence.

‘I hope you’ve got something delicious for elevenses,’ I said, as I snapped away and my empty tummy rumbled. ‘I’m starving.’

By three o’clock, I’d had enough of work and was ready for a muscle unclenching soak. Over half the field was finished, which was really good going, but I wasn’t sure I’d get it all done the next day. Progress would definitely be slower after the initial effort I’d put in, and my back would be groaning when it realised it would have to go through the same exertion again.

‘Put a few drops of this in your bath,’ said Grandad, handing me a small brown bottle before I went up to the bathroom. ‘And some Epsom salts too. They’re in the bathroom cupboard. They’ll see you right.’

‘What is this?’ I asked, unscrewing the bottle lid and taking a tentative sniff.

It was surprisingly pleasant. There were hints of lavender and peppermint and possibly some subtle chamomile too.

‘It’s from Annie,’ said Grandad. ‘I swear by it.’

‘Have you tried the salve that she sent yesterday?’ I asked, only just remembering.

‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘I’d been using it for a while, but I’d run out. It’s very good. All of her tinctures and tonics are.’

With such a lofty endorsement, I willingly lowered my aching body into the warm, salt and remedy enhanced bath and let the water gently lap over me. Had it not been for the sound of voices a while later, I might have ended up staying there all night. The water was quite cool as I came to and I realised, I must have drifted off.

‘Hello Felicity,’ said Louise, when I went back down barefooted, in my bathrobe and pyjamas and with my hair piled up on top of my head.

I was feeling more than a bit blissed out.

‘Hello,’ I yawned, before quickly covering my mouth. ‘Oh, sorry. I’ve been strawing up the field today and I’m ready for my bed.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘Bill’s been telling us. He said you’ve done a fantastic job.’

‘It’s going well so far, but there’s still about half left to do. Fingers crossed I’ll break the back of it tomorrow.’

‘If it doesn’t break yours first,’ Louise sagely said.

‘Mm,’ I agreed. ‘Did you say us? Have you got Bec with you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and Eliot. Bill’s taken the pair of them to meet the hens and admire your handiwork too, I shouldn’t wonder.’

I sniffed the air.

‘Can I smell fish and chips? Or am I hungry enough again to be hallucinating?’

It didn’t seem to matter if I was in Puglia or Wynbridge, the fresh country air in both places gave me a consistently healthy appetite.

‘It’s fish and chips,’ Louise confirmed. ‘Bec came back with them when she finished at the café and as she’d got enough to feed an army, we thought it would be nice to all eat together.’

I didn’t bother getting dressed again, but pushed my feet into my sandals and gave her a hand to set up outside, adding a few bottles of Skylark cider to the tray of cutlery, vinegar, salt and ketchup. Once we’d finished, I pulled