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

as I had hoped, the dust had settled and with the addition of a cloth on the makeshift table, rugs and cushions on the bales, and fresh flowers in rinsed out jars, the barn looked a treat. I set out the crockery and cutlery, but left the food for our afternoon tea in the cool box, just in case the cat took a fancy to it, and then went back to the house.

‘Time for a cuppa?’ I asked Grandad, who had just woken up.

‘Is it that time already?’

‘It’s gone half four.’

‘It never is!’

‘It is,’ I laughed at his outraged tone. ‘You had a dig at me for getting up late this morning, but you’ve practically slept the entire afternoon away.’

‘I only meant to have half an hour or so. I’ll get the kettle on.’

‘The tea’s made,’ I told him. ‘But we’re not having it in the house. Come with me.’

My heart was solidly thudding as we walked to the barn and Grandad looked completely confused because he’d assumed we were heading for the apple tree. I’d left the barn doors wide open, a bale holding each back and the light streamed in picking out the few motes which still refused to settle.

‘What’s all this?’ Grandad frowned.

His gaze tracked from the pretty improvised eating area to the makeshift display of some of his collection.

‘What have you been up to, Fliss?’

I led him to his garden chair, which I’d carried inside because I wasn’t sure how he’d cope with perching on a bale, but he didn’t want to sit down.

‘I’ve never seen it all arranged like this before,’ he huskily said, looking over the few bits and pieces from his collection that I’d gathered together. ‘There’s a lot more than I thought. There didn’t look to be anything like this amount when it was all still in boxes.’

‘And this is nowhere near half of it,’ I said, pointing out the rest tucked to one side. ‘There’s all that lot, too.’

While he looked at everything, I set out the food and poured the tea. The occupation stopped me getting ahead of myself and blurting out what it was I had in mind. I knew that if I let my enthusiasm get the better of me, I would forget things, or get in a muddle, and I wanted to give this idea the best possible shot.

‘There’s tea here, Grandad.’

He reluctantly left the collection and sat down, and I handed him a plate filled with finger sandwiches, mini scotch eggs, a slice of quiche and a couple of sausage rolls. It was a technique I’d seen Nonna adopt in the past and to great effect.

Whenever she wanted to speak without interruption, she gave the person who was going to be on the receiving end mountains of food and made sure they’d tucked in before launching forth, and that was what I planned to do.

I waited with bated breath, but Grandad didn’t fall for my cunning plan and simply balanced the plate on his lap. He was supposed to be chewing before I said anything further, but I was out of luck.

‘Come on then,’ he said, his mouth still empty. ‘Out with it. I know you haven’t gone to all this bother just to bring me down here and stuff me full of tea.’

Had I met my match? Nonna would have been mightily amused that Grandad had seen through her ruse, but I felt my fragile confidence and courage crumble a little. Not only had Grandad seen through Nonna’s psychology, but his tone had a defensive edge to it too. I would have much preferred an amused one, something malleable that I could readily bend to my will.

‘Well,’ I said, knowing I would just have to go for it, whether he was chewing or not, ‘I’ve been thinking about the farm and its future and as wonderful as the new Cherry Tree contract is, I don’t think it’s enough. I think we need to have other irons in the fire, beyond Jemma and Chris and Jake, if we want to see the place really thriving again.’

‘I agree,’ said Grandad.

His acquiescence made my heart skip as did watching him finally take a bite of the quiche.

‘Has this got bacon from Skylark Farm in it?’ he asked, once he’d swallowed his first mouthful.

‘Yes, it’s their streaky smoked.’

‘Go on then,’ he said, taking another bite.

I swallowed hard and stood up straighter.

‘And I’ve been listening to what people have been saying about having nowhere local to eat in the evenings.’

‘There’s the pub.’

‘And a couple of restaurants, but nothing else. People want a new local experience and, having listened to Jake too, I think there’s an opportunity for not only offering a different venue, but a rather different dining experience as well.’

Grandad’s eyes roved around the barn.

‘Jemma said she’s not prepared to open in the evenings and Jake mentioned that he would love to sell dishes showcasing the food he can create with the produce he and Amber have perfected at the farm, but they haven’t got the room.’

Grandad’s eyes tracked back to me.

‘What I’m thinking,’ I said, walking over to his collection, ‘is that we could open the barn up as an exclusive supper club. We could invite different growers, farmers, and producers to come and serve dishes here, featuring their own produce. We could keep it local, seasonal, fresh and exciting. We could even have pudding evenings, highlighting the fruit that we grow here.’

Grandad didn’t say anything so I carried on.

‘All the food, other than ours, could be prepared offsite to begin with.’ I had plans to install a catering kitchen in one of the adjoining outhouses if the idea took off, as well as cloakrooms and a wood burner to keep the barn cosy in the winter, but I didn’t want to get into all of that too soon.

‘And it wouldn’t take much to create an authentic rustic ambience which the guests would love because the setting already is rustic. Some twinkling fairy lights, lots of greenery for