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

if you did gang up on me a bit. I had a feeling the pair of you would shake down well.’

We might have shaken down even better if he hadn’t mentioned Anthony, but there was no point dwelling on that now. Eliot and I were still trying to keep a lid on things, so it was most likely for the best that he thought I’d got romantic ambitions elsewhere, even if I had denied them when he’d asked.

‘So,’ said Grandad, pushing away his empty plate, ‘what do you want me to do this morning? Stay out of the way or get stuck in?’

‘You can help me make the chocolate dipped strawberries if you like.’

‘They sound wonderful.’

‘And they taste amazing,’ I proudly said. ‘I’m going to go and pick the biggest and the best and then we’ll get started.’

I’d found excellent quality bars of milk, white and plain chocolate in the Wynbridge deli and I made each sauce separately, letting the glossy, melted mixture cool a little so it thickened slightly before we dipped the strawberries.

‘Oh no,’ Grandad tutted, on more than one occasion, quickly popping the chocolate heavy berry into his mouth before I had time to check it. ‘That one was dipped too deep.’

‘I’m really not sure you should be in charge of quality control,’ I told him, looking at his chocolate stained lips.

Between us we decided the dark ones were our favourite. The bitterness of the chocolate balanced the sweetness of the strawberries perfectly, but the ones I’d added a light sprinkling of sea salt to were very good too.

Once they had all completely cooled, I applied a drizzle and put them in the fridge. The dark and milk chocolate berries had a white drizzle and the white ones a milk or dark. It took a while but I was delighted with the results, and the additional smears of chocolate across Grandad’s face were proof enough that he was happy too.

‘I’m not sure they count as one of your five a day,’ he said, taking the sheet of damp kitchen towel I offered him, ‘but they should.’

‘They’re not exactly cutting edge in cooking either,’ I pointed out, ‘but they are delicious and I think they’ll be a nice way to end the evening.’

‘Definitely,’ he agreed. ‘Perhaps with a lovely glass of champagne.’

I’d rather gone off champagne. My last two experiences with it hadn’t been much cause for celebration.

‘Maybe,’ I said, wondering if third time really might be a charm.

After lunch, I cut the flowers – a mix of Nanna’s roses, peonies and frothy Alchemilla mollis – and arranged them in the glass jars along the hessian runners. With a tea light in a jar in-between, and the simple place settings laid out, the tables looked lovely. Simple and rustic but with an elegant twist. No one would ever need know there were cheap and basic pasting tables underneath. They weren’t going to be a long-term solution, but for kicking things off, they were ideal.

‘Mason jars as promised,’ said Louise when she turned up a little later. ‘And hopefully they’ll be fully charged by the end of the day, thanks to the upturn in the weather.’

As well as the jars, she also had two large terracotta tubs filled with bedding plants in the back of her car. They were a riot of bright orange and purple petunias, red geraniums and frothy blue lobelia which trailed artfully over the sides.

‘I saw them for sale on the market and thought they might look nice either side of the door,’ she said, as I helped her manoeuvre them into place. ‘Consider them my contribution to the evening.’

‘They’re beautiful,’ I said, giving her the hug she usually managed to get in first. ‘They’re the perfect welcome to the barn. Thank you so much.’

‘You’re more than welcome,’ she said. She looked well pleased by my reaction. ‘And I’ll be back later to help carry the food from the house.’

Once she’d gone, I thought about the logistics of using the farm kitchen as a holding area for future events. It would be fine in the short-term, as would letting people pop into the house to use the loo, but the sooner we got the building work done the better. Assuming the club proved popular of course.

If it was all systems go by the end of the year, I hoped the money I had squirrelled away would be enough to cover what needed doing. My ‘saving for things as I went along’ philosophy was much like my Brown ancestors’, but then, if what I had wasn’t enough and borrowing was the only way to move things forward then needs must.

Chapter 24

‘I can hear a car!’ Grandad called from his room to mine, when I was getting changed.

My fingers fumbled to do up the final button on the floral-patterned tea dress which, out of the few things I had in my wardrobe, seemed to fit the evening best. Teamed with my old but comfy Converse All Star plimsolls, the ensemble felt pretty but practical.

‘But it’s too early!’ I called back as I swept my hair into a ponytail.

‘I know, do you want me to go and see who it is?’

‘No,’ I said, taking one last look in the mirror, ‘I’m dressed, so I’ll go. Given the time, I’m pretty certain it won’t be any of the guests.’

But it was.

‘Anthony,’ I said, rushing into the kitchen and finding him already there. ‘You’re very early.’

The sight of him caused a rush of both relief and exasperation. Relief because I would now have the chance to set him straight about Eliot, but exasperation because it really was ridiculously early.

‘I know,’ he said, moving away from the dresser and presenting me with a huge bouquet which he had somehow hidden behind his back, ‘but I wanted to give you these and wish you luck before everyone else arrived.’

‘They’re lovely,’ I said, taking the cellophane-wrapped bunch. ‘Thank you so much. I’ll pop them in a jug for now and