A Home at Honeysuckle Farm: A gorgeous and heartwarming summer read. Christie Barlow
Of course, I knew this wasn’t true but like Connie, I couldn’t bear to think about life without him being there. I was going to cherish every moment I had with him.
‘Let’s hope so,’ she gave my hand a little squeeze. ‘He moved his bedroom to the dining room once he began to find it difficult climbing the stairs. I prepare all his meals and usually he only uses the small sitting room off the kitchen. This place has been his home for over sixty years. Jim’s still here too. Do you remember him?’
It only took me a second to place Jim. ‘Yes … yes of course I do, Jim the gardener with his flat cap and green overalls.’
‘Probably still the same flat cap and the same pair of overalls,’ joked Connie. ‘He still maintains the garden and the general upkeep of the place.’
We walked up the hallway and I hovered near the antique dresser full of framed photographs. ‘Look at this one,’ I said, clutching the silver frame. ‘Mum looks so young and I’m riding Billy. I must have been about five years old.’ I cast my mind back to that day. The sun was shining, and I rode Billy through the field of buttercups. Mum and I sang songs from every musical we could remember, and picnicked in the bottom field. I messed about in the stream while Mum lounged on the red tartan rug reading a book.
‘Happy times.’
On our way towards the kitchen, Connie led me through the vast gallery. Heavy tapestry curtains adorned the huge windows at the far end of the room and the wallpaper of the hunt, with horses and foxes, still hung on the walls.
I glanced towards the stone fireplace and there she was, still watching me with a sparkle in her eye, like she’d done when I was a child. I paused and looked up at the magnificent painting.
‘Grandma’s still here then?’
‘She is, the beautiful Florrie Parker, your grandfather’s one and only true love. I don’t think he ever had another relationship after she passed away.’
‘That’s so heart-breaking … Mum never speaks about her, actually never talks about anything that’s to do with England,’ I said sadly, still staring up at the portrait.
I’d never met my grandmother, she’d passed away before I was born, but Grandie used to say I was just like her, beautiful inside and out and full of character. She reminded me of royalty, the queen of the manor. Her hair was just so, and her skin peachy white. When I’d walked through the room I’d always felt her eyes were twinkling at me.
Connie turned her head to look at me. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘Perfect.’
The kitchen looked just exactly how it did thirteen years ago. Floral curtains framed the windows that looked out over the fields. Pots and pans hung off the old wooden beams that ran across the ceiling. The racing-green Aga gleamed and there were even the same tea and coffee canisters that stood proudly next to the kettle. I paused at the window and peered out. I could see the top of the hill, where Brook Bridge woods met the top of the field. Grey stone walls criss-crossed the land and a tiny stretch of road snaked into the distance. The cattle in the nearby field were grazing, the calves swishing their tails beside their mothers. That view was achingly familiar, a view I’d loved as a child and one I’d missed. Feeling a little emotional, I gave myself a little shake. It was so different to New York City. This place felt like home.
Turning, I sat down at the oversized pine table while Connie made the drinks. Marley nestled close to me.
‘How long will Grandie be in hospital for?’
Connie looked in my direction for a fraction of a second before rummaging in the top cupboard for a couple of mugs.
‘I’m not entirely sure. Hopefully the doctor will be able to update us tomorrow,’ she said, sitting down opposite me.
On the journey home, Connie had told me about Grandie’s fall. She’d been watching him from the window of the annexe. One minute he’d been there and the next he was gone, toppling down the steps that led to the patio. She’d found him within seconds, but he’d banged the side of his head on the corner of the stone wall and had felt dazed. The doctors had stitched him up and decided to keep him in for observation.
Finally, the kettle whistled and Connie stood up and made us both a cup of tea.
‘Thank you, Connie,’ I said. ‘I really appreciate everything you do for him.’ Being back here, I could see for myself that the upkeep of the farmhouse would be a struggle for anyone on their own, never mind an elderly person like Grandie.
‘You don’t need to thank me. Your grandfather gave me a job when I was at the lowest point of my life and I’ll always be grateful.’ She sat back down and slid the mug across the table towards me.
‘I couldn’t have carried on being married to Paul. It was a big decision to go it alone with a child but he’d stripped me of my self-confidence and self-worth and something had to change.’
‘What happened between you two? Did he have an affair?’
‘That’s an understatement,’ she rolled her eyes, ‘but I’m over it now and I haven’t set eyes on him since the day he left.’
‘What about Grace?’
‘She’s not seen him either. He’s never been in touch, disappeared off the face of the earth. I withdrew from relationships for a while and concentrated on making a happy life for me and Grace.’
I gave her a tentative smile. ‘And now?’ I said, raising an eyebrow.
‘Life twists and turns in many ways,’ she answered, cupping her mug of tea. ‘Jim …’ she paused, ‘me and Jim are together. We’ve been lucky to have been friends for years. When I first moved into the annexe, I’d discover fresh food parcels on the doorstep every morning.’
‘How romantic,’ I smiled, thinking how lovely it was that their friendship had blossomed over the years …
Connie blushed and suddenly Marley woofed, sat up and began thumping his tail on the floor.
‘Brought together by asparagus and strawberries,’ another voice suddenly chipped into the conversation.
Immediately, we both spun round to see a teary-eyed Grace beaming back at us.
‘Oh my life … Alice Parker, you’re home!’ she shrieked.
Huge happy tears threatened to break loose at any second. Grace squealed, then I squealed, scraping my chair backwards as she rushed towards me with her arms flung wide, then clamped them around me.
We bounced up and down like kids on pogo sticks. ‘I can’t believe you’re actually here … Alice Parker, look at you, even more gorgeous in real life, you haven’t changed a bit!… Except for that dodgy-sounding accent!’ she exclaimed breathlessly.
I loved the way she’d said my full name in an English accent.
‘What’s wrong with my accent?’ I laughed, emphasising it even more. ‘And after that many hours on a plane I wouldn’t class myself as gorgeous. My make-up slid off several hours ago!’
‘Who needs make-up?’ She took a step back and looked me over again. ‘You’re real, you’re actually here. We’ve got so much catching up to do!’
Connie watched us with amusement. ‘How did you know we were here?’
Grace turned towards her mum and kissed her on her cheek. ‘You weren’t at mine and you kind of live here, which is a bit of a giveaway. So, I thought I’d come over. I couldn’t wait any longer to see Alice,’ she said, swinging back towards me.
‘Grab a seat, I’ll make you a drink,’ Connie said, standing up to boil the kettle once again.
‘How’re you feeling? Tired?’ asked Grace, slipping into her mum’s seat, grabbing my hands across the table and clasping them tight. ‘The jetlag will kick in soon. I still can’t believe