A Home at Honeysuckle Farm: A gorgeous and heartwarming summer read. Christie Barlow
as he scanned my passport into the machine. And as if by magic it came up with my name and my flight number. He asked me a series of questions and then said, ‘Here you go Miss Parker,’ with a broad grin on his face, handing me a luggage tag.
‘Is that it?’ I asked, smiling my thanks but feeling a little daunted, noticing a queue had formed behind me.
‘All done, as easy as that. Wrap the tag around the handle, place your bag on that conveyor belt over there and follow those stairs.’ He pointed to a set of white steps. ‘You’ll go through passport control and then into the departure lounge. You have a safe journey back to England,’ he said, smiling.
I couldn’t thank him enough and twenty minutes later, I was standing in the departure lounge, which looked more like a mini shopping mall to me. There were several large open areas dotted with blue fabric-covered seats that were filled with people reading or scrolling on their phones and children colouring in books. I spotted an empty seat next to the huge windows that looked out over the runways. Inquisitive children stood and watched the planes taking off and landing, their hands pressed against the glass.
For the next couple of hours, I tried to relax but sitting at the airport seemed so surreal. I cast my mind back to thirteen years ago, when we’d left Staffordshire and travelled to Terminal 2 at Manchester Airport. I had just my backpack and my favourite teddy bear tucked safely under my arm. We’d boarded a flight to a brand-new life and I remembered feeling scared. My mum had grasped my hand tightly, as though she was scared to let go. At the time, she’d seemed edgy, always looking over her shoulder. Maybe she was looking for Grandie, but he never came. I’d no idea why she’d chosen New York, no idea at all, but that decision had changed my life.
I took a breath. I was actually going home and couldn’t quite believe it. I’d no idea how Grandie would react to my return and there was no denying that, as much as I wanted to see him again, feelings of trepidation poured through my body.
Surprisingly, time passed quickly and before I knew it my flight was announced over the tannoy.
‘Just boarding,’ I sent a quick text to Molly, feeling a sudden surge of triumph. I was about to board a plane. I was really doing this.
My phone pinged almost immediately: ‘Missing you already, safe flight and don’t forget to message me as soon as you land.’
I then sent one last text to Mum: ‘Just boarding, love you too.’ Switching off the phone and stuffing it into the dark recesses of my rucksack, my stomach was churning. Bravely, I followed the masses down the air-bridge towards the aircraft.
Making my way to seat 39A, I couldn’t believe my luck when I noticed a well-dressed man with excellent cheekbones and a beautiful mouth flicking through the pages of a newspaper in the seat next to mine. Maybe there was a God, and this man had been sent to keep me occupied on my long journey to England. I smiled broadly at him as he looked up and met my gaze. This was his cue to chivalrously offer to hurl my hand luggage into the overhead locker, but that wasn’t to be as I felt a tap on my shoulder.
Spinning around, I met the gaze of an attractive woman. ‘This one’s my seat,’ she smiled. ‘I wouldn’t wish my husband’s grumpy mood on anyone today.’ She acknowledged him with a fleeting nod.
‘Sorry, my mistake,’ I said, feeling disappointment and quickly fumbling for my ticket, a blush rushing to my cheeks. ‘I’m 36A.’
Turning back, I located my seat and, miraculously, the seat next to mine was still empty. I heaved a sigh of relief when I finally settled down into the cramped window seat clutching my Kindle. My bag was stowed and the locker was closed. It wouldn’t be long until we took off and in approximately seven hours I’d be arriving in England.
As a child, I could remember being truly happy running around the farm without a care in the world with Marley the puppy by my side. Happiness to me was the gorgeous smells seeping from the Aga, the smell of home-baked bread, the casseroles bubbling away on top of the stove. I’d loved splashing in the stream, blackberry picking, collecting the eggs from the hens and riding Billy through the long grass in the summer sunshine. And suddenly I missed it all. Maybe, I could have all that again? Maybe I could change Mum’s mind and persuade her to come back with me? Then I felt a sudden burst of jitters. What if everything had changed? What if Brook Bridge village wasn’t how I remembered it and Grandie didn’t welcome me back with open arms? After all, that was a possibility. I’d no idea what I would do then. I shuffled in my seat anxiously, wondering suddenly if actually I was doing the right thing.
‘I think I’m next to you.’
My reverie was broken.
A lady hovered in the aisle and gave me a warm smile, which put me at ease.
My guess was she was mid-sixties and her accent was Mancunian … an accent I hadn’t heard for a long time.
‘Be my guest,’ I smiled back, switching on my Kindle, the arrival back in England still firmly on my mind.
‘An American accent with an English intonation,’ she said, collapsing in the seat next to me.
I nodded. ‘I’m going back home, it’s been a while.’
‘I can relate to that,’ she answered. ‘Work?’
I shook my head, ‘My grandfather is ill.’
Her face turned a little more serious. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, dear,’ she said sadly, pulling out a magazine from her bag and fastening her seatbelt. ‘I hope he’ll be all right,’ she said with genuine concern. ‘Grandparents are precious things. You make sure you spend as much time as possible with him. I’m Hetty, by the way, your new neighbour – well, for this journey anyway.’
‘Alice,’ I smiled, thinking how right she was and that I was doing the right thing travelling back to see Grandie even though a couple of moments earlier I had doubted myself.
Hetty waved the magazine in the air, ‘I don’t know why I read this trash, waste of money. I’ve no idea who half these people are, usually those reality stars, if you can call them stars. Why would anyone want to parade their private life on the screen for everyone to see?’
‘Fame and money, I guess.’
‘Whatever happened to having a proper talent?’ She rolled her eyes, and ripped open a packet of boiled sweets.
‘Take one … for your ears when we take off,’ she offered.
‘Thank you. What’s taking you back to England?’ I asked my new-found friend.
‘This little bundle of joy,’ she said, bursting with pride and showing me a photo of a baby swaddled in a blue woven blanket on the screen of her phone. ‘My very first grandchild, Elvis.’
‘Destined for great things with a name like that,’ I grinned. She glanced down at the phone, ‘I’m not sure he suits the name but who am I to interfere? And I can’t wait to have Granny cuddles.’ She slid the phone away.
Over the course of the next ten minutes, the plane was pushed back and I heard the engines start before the noise increased to a roar. The plane began to roll, slowly at first, but within a few seconds I was being pushed back firmly into my seat and before too long we leapt off the tarmac and were soaring into the sky. My lip had wobbled a little when we’d taken off and my throat was dry. Thoughts of Mum flooded my mind and I felt guilty leaving her behind, but something inside me was telling me to go. I just wished she’d see sense and put the past issues behind her. Grandie was old, he’d dedicated most of his life to us, surely the right thing to do now at a time like this would be to swallow your pride and see him one last time.
I watched the houses and trees get smaller and smaller as the plane climbed into the clouds and within minutes all I could see was the intense blue sky.
‘I hope you’ve brought a coat with you,’ Hetty chuckled. ‘That’ll be the last sunshine you’ll see for a while. It’s always raining in Manchester.’
I