A Home at Honeysuckle Farm: A gorgeous and heartwarming summer read. Christie Barlow
there was only me out of the old gang that wasn’t in the least bit successful. For the past twelve months, I knew I’d been stuck in a rut, unable to see my way out of it all. Every day it had been a struggle, the same old same old, and there had even been days when I didn’t want to climb out of bed and sweep the stage of the theatre. I wanted more, and I knew I was capable of more. Things needed to change and hearing about how successful my old school pals were gave me a jolt. Inside a spark of determination ignited, just like the feeling I’d had when I was a little girl dreaming of a life on the stage.
‘Is the dance school still open?’ I looked towards Connie and took a sip of my drink.
She looked up, ‘Afraid not. It closed down the day you left.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘The day we left? Really? That’s so sad,’ I answered, feeling a gush of emotion, but I suppose in all honesty that was what I’d expected to hear.
‘It was very sad, it affected the whole community. All those children and adults suddenly without dance classes. Some had been coming to the school for years. It affected Ted’s mental state in a big way. He felt like he’d let everyone down, so he hid away in the farmhouse for a while. He couldn’t face anyone, the questions …’
‘Was there any chance of him handing it over to anyone else?’ I asked, already knowing the answer and unable to keep the slight note of sadness from my voice.
Connie regretfully shook her head. ‘No, that was Florrie’s school, a family business. He would never have entrusted it to anyone else.’
I pressed my lips together, not knowing what to say.
‘I suppose without the support of Rose he would have found it difficult to manage. He didn’t want to interview new staff,’ added Connie, her eyes blinking sadly at me. ‘It was one of those things … timing.’
‘What happened to the school? Did Grandie sell it?’ I asked, thinking it had probably been bulldozed for houses by now.
‘No, he didn’t sell it. Funnily enough, Jim and I were talking about it only this week. The dance school is still locked up and Jim checks on it on a weekly basis.’
‘Really?’ I asked, amazed. ‘And it hasn’t been used since?’
Connie said sadly, ‘Ted couldn’t bear to part with it … Memories, I suppose.’
I wasn’t sure why but all of a sudden I felt emotional, my eyes prickled with tears and my throat became tight. Even though it hadn’t been my choice to leave back then, a wave of guilt washed over me. The day we left for New York, Grandie had lost everything: us, the dance school and his life within the community. It was so sad to hear.
I slapped the table as a thought occurred to me. ‘I’d love to see it, while I’m here,’ I blurted, hoping that was a possibility. ‘Jim has the keys, you say?’
‘Absolutely,’ replied Connie. ‘And of course you can. I’m sure your grandfather won’t mind at all.’
Delighted by Connie’s enthusiasm, I realised the dance school still held a special place in my heart. That had been my grandfather’s empire, his passion and a huge part of my childhood. How would it feel to step back inside that building? A shiver of excitement ricocheted through my body at the very thought.
We spent the next twenty minutes enjoying our food and chatting about all the people I might remember in the village. The pair of them reeled off a long list of names, mainly from the dance school days, but I couldn’t remember half the people they mentioned.
‘Dessert?’ asked Connie, standing up and collecting the empty plates from the table.
‘Not for me, thank you.’
‘Or me,’ Grace smiled up at her mum. ‘Sit down, I’ll clear away in a moment.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Of course.’
‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to get going, leave you girls to it,’ she said, slipping her arms into her coat and grabbing her bag from the worktop.
‘Thank you for picking me up from the airport,’ I said, smiling up at Connie.
‘You are more than welcome. Shall I collect you around eleven-ish tomorrow and we can visit your grandfather? Would that time suit you?’
‘Perfect,’ I answered with a little apprehension. I was beginning to feel nervous about seeing him again.
Connie must have noticed the look on my face. ‘There’s no need to be nervous, I promise.’
Grace stood up and kissed her mum on the cheek before Connie disappeared out of the cottage.
‘Here, have a look through that while I wash up.’ Grace handed me a programme from the latest production she’d performed in.
‘I’ll help you clear up.’
‘You will do no such thing,’ Grace insisted. ‘Sit and relax, it won’t take long.’
‘I could get used to this.’
Grace began to run the hot water while I browsed through the thick booklet she’d handed me. ‘Wow! Good photo of you there,’ I cooed, incredibly proud of her. ‘Just think where it all started, in a little village dance school.’
‘I know, two superstars from the same community.’ She flashed me a grin, placing the dishes on the drainer.
This was my opportunity to come clean, to tell Grace I’d never made it on to the stage, I’d never passed an audition or even got a call back. My face would never be printed in a programme. But I didn’t tell her. Instead I kept quiet, not wanting anyone’s pity. I didn’t want people to know how badly I’d failed, so I brushed over it once more, hiding the fact that I was a disappointment.
Turning the pages casually, I knew at any second Sam Reid would once again be staring back at me, and there he was on page twelve, making the hairs on the back on my neck stand to attention.
Grace must have noticed I’d gone quiet and glanced over my shoulder.
‘Sam Reid, Birmingham Hippodrome’s favourite heart throb.’ Grace pressed her lips together then whistled softly.
‘Which I’m assuming is undisputed.’ I knew I was staring gormlessly at his picture. ‘It’s a hard job but someone has to do it,’ I murmured, still not able to tear my eyes away from the page.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Will Sam Reid be joining us in the pub tonight?’ I bit down on my lip to stop my smile from escaping.
‘No, afraid not, but I’m sure it’s more than likely you’ll bump into him very soon.’
‘It’s a pity he’s not out tonight.’
‘You’re staring!’
‘His eyes are mesmerising. There’s something about Sam Reid.’
‘Which is?’ Grace quizzed.
‘Very photogenic.’ I paused. ‘What’s the relationship status of this man?’
With a wide grin Grace smiled in my direction, ‘That’ll be single!’
After a quick shower, I hung up my clothes in the wardrobe and chose an unassuming outfit of white skinny jeans, accompanied by a light-blue stripy blouse before sitting at the dressing table. I used a couple of wands of mascara and a dab of nude shiny lip gloss, brushed through my hair, squirted my perfume and declared myself ready.
The jetlag was beginning to kick in now, but if I could manage to keep going for a few more hours, I’d hopefully fall quite