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

and I stood back to admire my handiwork. In my mind’s eye, I could see it all properly finished – clean and welcoming, with twinkling fairy lights and Grandad’s much-treasured Fenland collection adding that all important USP.

I could hear the chatter of happy voices, the sound of glasses being raised in a toast, cutlery going to work and music playing quietly in the background. If I could pull my big idea off, our barn could have the potential to not only secure the future of the farm, but also help a few other people pursue their own dreams, and I hoped Grandad had enough imagination to conjure the vision as I could see it.

I knew I was getting carried away, and that the project wouldn’t come together overnight, but what was the point in having dreams if you never pursued them? The contract to supply the Cherry Tree Café was a good one, it meant that there was still value in growing fruit at Fenview Farm. However that, along with supplying Chris on the market and Jake at Skylark Farm, wasn’t enough to guarantee a secure future, but what I imagined creating inside the barn might be. It could be more than enough to keep the bank manager off our backs and the farm in the black.

It was time to take action, just like I had in Puglia when Alessandro told us that there was a hole to plug in the farm’s finances. I had got my thinking cap on then and, inspired by Mum’s meandering across the globe, struck on the ideal opportunity to assist the Rossis. Hopefully what I had in mind for Fenview Farm would be every bit as much of a triumph.

I went back outside, remembering another job which had been playing on my mind. I quickly straightened and washed the grime off the roadside farm sign, then went back to the house feeling content with my morning’s work. I was a bit grubby, but happy, and my hangover was completely forgotten as was everything that Anthony had told me about Eliot.

‘I was just about to ring the gong,’ said Grandad, who had packed away his laptop and was busy at the cooker. ‘It’s well after twelve. You said you’d only be an hour.’

‘I know,’ I said, as I pulled off my boots. ‘I got carried away.’

‘For a change,’ Grandad grinned.

‘What’s for lunch?’ I asked. ‘It smells great.’

‘A lovely bit of brisket and I’m just about to put the Yorkshire puddings in.’

‘Fantastic,’ I said, my tum rumbling in true Pooh Bear fashion. ‘I’m famished.’

Grandad turned from the oven to look at me properly and his face dropped.

‘Oh Fliss,’ he tutted. ‘What have you been doing? You’re filthy.’

I tried to run a hand through my hair but it felt clogged with dust and my arms and legs were covered in a cloying layer. I hadn’t realised I was in such a state.

‘Don’t answer that,’ said Grandad, scolding me as if I was a child who had been making mud pies and stirring puddles with sticks. ‘Just go and get showered.’

‘But what about the puddings?’

‘They’ll be a few minutes yet. You can get done in that time, can’t you?’

With the promise of a fully laden roast, I was washed, dressed in clean clothes and back downstairs in no time. Grandad piled our plates high and as it was a little cooler, we ate inside, but with the back door open.

‘How did you get on with the laptop?’ I asked Grandad as I spooned more broad beans and white sauce on to my plate.

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I think. I wrote a letter using the Word thingy, just for practice, but I’m not sure if I saved it or not.’

‘I didn’t know you could type.’

I realised there were a lot of things I didn’t know about him. I could most likely spend the rest of my life at Fenview Farm and still discover something new every day. It was an exciting, rather than demoralising thought and made me more determined than ever to squeeze the most out of each and every day. I had almost thirty years to make up for, after all.

‘I can’t,’ Grandad laughed. ‘It was a very short letter.’

As he’d prepped and cooked, I cleared, washed and put away. It didn’t take all that long but every extra minute in the house gave the dust more opportunity to settle in the barn. As we’d eaten, I’d had another idea I wanted to complete before the grand reveal, so I mentally rescheduled showing it all to Grandad until teatime.

‘What are you doing this afternoon?’ I asked him, as I threw the damp tea-towel into the washing machine.

‘Finding out what you’ve been up to this morning, I hope,’ he said.

‘I could just do with a few more minutes, if that’s all right?’

‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I’ll shift snoozing in my chair to top of the agenda. I want to be properly rested to help with the harvest. Last year was a disaster for my mental health, having to watch Jake and Chris do all the donkey work, but this year with the new contract and the new hip, I’m feeling more like my old self and looking forward to getting stuck in again.’

‘Oh right,’ I said, pretending to huff, ‘and there was me thinking that my arrival was the reason behind the upturn in your wellbeing.’

Grandad shook his head. ‘You know full well the huge part you’ve already played in that,’ he chuckled. ‘Don’t go fishing for compliments.’

‘Fair enough,’ I grinned.

I hoped the revelation of my big idea was going to send his spirits soaring even higher. If he was onboard, and if he agreed to let me invest my savings in the project, then the farm could be facing a dazzlingly bright future and his mental health would be fully restored. It was a thrilling prospect.

With Grandad softly snoring and the television babbling in the background, I got together everything I needed to complete my presentation.

Just