A Taste of Home

by Heidi Swain

  ‘So, tell me then, Fliss,’ he further said. ‘What exactly have you got planned to get done around here when this rain finally stops falling?’

  I made us tea and we pored over the list I had made. I was a bit nervous about Grandad reading it. It felt like he was a prospective employer scanning my job application. What I’d written would demonstrate whether or not I knew my stuff and was up to taking on the role of caretaker of Fenview Farm. I hoped I passed the test.

  ‘Looks to me like you’ve got everything covered,’ he eventually said and I felt relieved. ‘I’ve been meaning to wash and straighten the sign on the road and fix the cages since the end of last year, but what with the old trick hip, I didn’t dare venture up the ladder.’

  I was surprised Eliot hadn’t stepped in and sorted the sign at least, but then he was always busy and I could tell Grandad was a proud man and as such, asking for help wouldn’t have come naturally, even if he was surrounded by people who were willing.

  ‘I would be out there now if it wasn’t so wet underfoot,’ I said, looking out of the window and Grandad nodded. ‘When the harvest is over,’ I carried on, ‘replacing all of the nets will be a priority. It wouldn’t hurt to leave the cages bare for a while either, so the birds can clear up anything that’s left.’

  ‘It’s certainly been a while since they were done,’ Grandad mused. ‘And you’re right, the soil could do with a good clearing and cleansing. We used to have a few chickens who were willing to help with that.’

  ‘Perhaps you should think about getting some again?’ I suggested.

  ‘I might,’ he smiled. ‘If you were willing to help look after them.’

  His comment seemed to me a way of finding out if I was planning on staying beyond the harvest without having to actually ask the question. I thought about my role with the Rossis; how I was accepted there and how I fitted in, and then my thoughts shifted and I realised that I now had the chance to create something as family orientated for myself.

  I had always felt a part of the farm in Puglia, but at Fenview Farm my ties were that much stronger because they were bound by blood. It would be a wrench to leave my Italian home for good, but hadn’t I felt, when I left for Wynbridge, that I might be going back there in a different guise and under changed circumstances?

  ‘I haven’t got much experience with poultry,’ I therefore said to Grandad, feeling my attachment to the place and to him deepen, ‘but I’m always willing to learn.’

  ‘Explain to me what else you’ve got in mind to get on with then,’ he grinned, giving me a nudge.

  Clearly my answer was the one he wanted to hear and I knew I would soon have to break the news to Marco that I wouldn’t be back to organise the season after all.

  ‘The strawberries,’ I said, tapping the paper and elaborating on the words I’d written. ‘They’re the priority. I’m worried they haven’t got the straw on yet. They’re going to need it soon, if they aren’t going to spoil, especially after all this rain.’

  Ideally it should have been down before the downturn in the weather.

  ‘I’ll give my friend Jake a ring,’ said Grandad. ‘He owns Skylark Farm and that’s where the straw will come from. He helps sell the strawberries and he keeps a few hens too. He might even have a couple going spare and if we could patch up the old henhouse that would save us some money.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  ‘So,’ said Grandad, once we had finished going through the list and adding a few more jobs to it. ‘How come you know so much about fruit farming? I know it’s in your blood, but that doesn’t account for your obvious knowledge and understanding. Your mother never showed much interest here, so you haven’t picked it up from her.’

  ‘She had skills though,’ I told him. ‘She used to work on farms to fund her travels.’

  ‘They were just a means to end though, weren’t they?’ he sighed. ‘Somewhere to tide her over, not somewhere to properly settle.’

  ‘There was nowhere on earth capable of making her do that,’ I truthfully told him.

  ‘And don’t I know it,’ he tutted, before making us more tea while I gave him a potted history of my love affair with fruit farming.

  ‘Obviously, it began for me with the cherry and olive harvest in Puglia, but my love for British fruit farming came from the pick-your-own places where Mum and I used to work when we were roaming about a bit.’

  Grandad didn’t look all that impressed with the idea of me missing out on my education, even if it was to pick fruit.

  ‘There were a couple that we worked at fairly regularly,’ I carried on, ‘and I learned loads at those. Mum was happy just to do what was asked, but I used to trail around after the managers, asking questions and picking things up.’

  Grandad’s disapproval quickly changed to pride.

  ‘You’ll get far in life with an enquiring mind,’ he told me.

  Well,’ I said. ‘I loved learning how it all worked and I was never happier than when I was sunburnt or filthy, or both, and stuffed full of fresh fruit.’

  Grandad laughed, his gaze drifting off as he pictured how I must have looked.

  ‘What I remember most,’ I carried on, ‘is the taste of those first strawberries of the year, plucked fresh from the plant and greedily eaten before they made their way anywhere near the punnets I was supposed to be filling for the farm shop. They were so sweet and delicious and I always ate my fill before the end of the day.’

  ‘There’s nothing quite like fruit eaten straight from the plant, is there?’ said Grandad. ‘How anyone can enjoy stuff out of season that’s been refrigerated and travelled halfway across the globe is beyond me.’

  ‘I know,’ I keenly agreed. ‘But that’s the way of the world now, isn’t it? We expect to have access to anything and everything whenever we want it.’

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘You’re right. Did you do anything else on these farms besides eat the profits and ask questions?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘I often helped with the orders and admin and things. As soon as I was old enough I was helping to run one of them throughout the summer so the owner could take some holiday and I loved it.’

  ‘What did your mum make of that?’

  ‘Oh, she wasn’t with me by then. She’d found somewhere else to work by that point but I went back for a few years, before deciding to stay put in Puglia.’

  ‘What prompted you to stay?’

  ‘It was Mum, actually. She loved working on different farms, but she also enjoyed immersing herself in the life and culture of the places she visited and we decided to set something up at the Rossis’ which would give travellers the opportunity to stop for a few weeks and have a similar experience.’

  ‘Like a working holiday you mean?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Exactly that. The visitors work all day, then we eat together and, in the evenings and at weekends, I take them on organised trips to the less well-known sights in the area.’

  ‘It sounds busy.’

  ‘It is from May to December. The winter is very quiet. And cold too.’

  ‘I’m not sure Fenview Farm can compete with all that,’ Grandad sighed. ‘There aren’t many sights to see around here.’

  ‘Oh yes it can,’ I said reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. ‘This place can definitely compete. It’s got you for a start!’

  Grandad laughed.

  ‘And that’s a good thing, is it?’

  ‘It sure is.’

  We were quiet for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts.

  ‘So, if you’re going to be staying here,’ Grandad then asked, ‘who will be doing your job in Puglia?’

  ‘That’s probably going to fall to Marco, the farm owner’s grandson,’ I explained. ‘I’m not sure how he’s going to feel about that, but I hope he’ll cope. He lives with his nonna who owns the farm and his dad, Nonna’s son, Alessandro.’

  ‘They keep it in the family over there then?’

  ‘Very much so and
they always made me and Mum feel like family too.’

  Grandad nodded.

  ‘Mum never spoke ill of you to them, Grandad. I want you to know that.’

  ‘She never spoke of me at all, did she?’

  I couldn’t deny that.

  ‘You know,’ I said, squeezing his hand again. ‘They lost someone close to them too. Alessandro’s wife died when Marco was just a boy. You should get to know them. I’m certain you’d get on well and they could tell you loads about Mum.’

  ‘But I can’t speak Italian,’ he ruefully smiled.

  ‘That’s as maybe, but they can all speak English.’

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it sooner. It would be wonderful to connect my two families.

  ‘I don’t suppose you have Wi-Fi here, do you Grandad?’

  ‘Why, what?’ he frowned.

  ‘An internet connection?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen the point, although Eliot has mentioned it.’

  ‘Not to worry,’ I said, forcing myself not to linger over thoughts of our absent friend. ‘I’ll try the local library and see if I can send an email from there to Puglia explaining everything. Does Wynbridge have one?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grandad. ‘A very good one, but you’ll need something with the farm as your address on if you want to register.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, biting my lip. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Grandad smiled. ‘I know the library manager. I’ll see if she can help you at least access a computer to tide you over.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I said. ‘That would be a big help.’

  The lack of phone signal at the farm made messaging difficult enough, so sending emails and making video calls would be impossible and I didn’t want to say I wouldn’t be going back in a text. A lengthier explanation was definitely required.

  ‘I have to say,’ Grandad then said, ‘it is a comfort to think that your mother did pick up something of the farming bug while she was living here. Not that she ever let me or her mother know it of course.’

  ‘Was she really not a fan of this place?’

  ‘Goodness me, no,’ he vehemently said. ‘By the time she hit her teens, she was a right sulky madam. She used to open her window to shout, or march downstairs to tell us how much she hated the farm because it stopped us taking holidays like all her friends. She said she couldn’t wait to get away from this place and then she’d flounce off again or slam the window shut. I was grateful we didn’t have near neighbours!’

  ‘She sounds like hard work.’

  ‘Oh, she was, but teenagers mostly are, aren’t they?’

  Thinking back, I knew I’d had my moments and Marco certainly had. There were a few months when he and Alessandro had done nothing but argue. I supposed he would have been about the age Mum was when she left the farm. It was awful to think of her leaving in a temper and never finding the courage or the ability to swallow her pride and come back. I wondered if her decision had impacted on her life and now, I’d never know. It was yet another of those questions that would forever be unanswered.

  ‘Your grandmother and I could appreciate we were a bit off the beaten track here,’ Grandad continued, ‘so we always offered to run her into town if she wanted to get a Saturday job, but Wynbridge wasn’t good enough for her either she said. She had her sights set on bigger places with more thrilling opportunities.’

  She always had.

  ‘I suppose that’s why I can’t imagine her here,’ I quietly said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Ever since I arrived,’ I explained, ‘I’ve been trying to picture her here. First, I tried to imagine her at the market in Wynbridge and then sitting here at the table, but I haven’t been able to conjure up anything. I just can’t see her here at all.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Grandad. There was no malice in his tone, more resignation. ‘She was never the right fit for this place and she went to great lengths to make sure everyone knew it.’

  I wondered if those words had been flung about in an argument. It was ironic that Mum had chosen them when she had written about me being a better fit for the farm than she had been. Or was that more than a coincidence?

  ‘And what about me?’ I asked. ‘Do I fit?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Grandad, ‘you fit Fenview Farm like a Savile Row suit, my love.’

  Chapter 10

  Having explained my fruit farming experience and listened to Grandad describe me as the perfect fit for Fenview Farm, I felt lighter and brighter than I had in ages and I was now entirely convinced that following Mum’s instructions and turning up in Wynbridge had been the right thing to do. My life was set to change, and even though I still mourned her loss, I was grateful that she had gifted me this new opportunity.

  I couldn’t wait to make a start on all the work that needed doing and when the rain finally stopped, I was raring to go. However, a quick look through the storage sheds put paid to my plans and I inwardly cursed that I hadn’t prioritised a stocktake as a wet weather essential.

  ‘I can’t find anything to repair the cages with,’ I told Grandad. ‘And the henhouse roof needs re-covering, but there’s nothing for that either.’

  Grandad looked up from the local newspaper he was reading, a frown etched across his forehead.

  ‘I hadn’t realised things had run so low,’ he said, looking concerned. ‘I was sure I had an end of a roll of roofing felt kicking about here somewhere.’

  ‘There is a bit,’ I conceded, ‘but only enough to patch it. Ideally the whole lot needs to come off and be redone, otherwise you’re just throwing good money after bad.’

  Grandad’s frown cleared and he smiled.

  ‘You like to do things properly, don’t you, Fliss?’

  ‘Of course,’ I seriously said. ‘If you don’t do a job properly in the first place, you just end up doing it twice.’

  Our conversation was interrupted by a strange honking on the drive which sent the cat, who had snuck in after me, scrabbling back outside.

  ‘What on earth’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘That’ll be Bec,’ Grandad grinned. ‘Well, that car of hers anyway. It has the oddest horn.’

  ‘That car has the oddest everything,’ I giggled, peering out as she pulled on to the drive.

  It was a bit early in the day for a social call, but as it turned out it wasn’t one.

  ‘I’m just off to work,’ Bec told me after I’d greeted her, ‘and wondered if you needed anything picking up in town.’

  ‘We’re running low on milk and bread,’ I said, thinking of the depleted larder and fridge, as well as all the other things I now needed for the farm repairs. ‘And quite a lot of other stuff actually,’ I added, biting my lip.

  ‘Do you want to make a list?’ she asked, checking her watch. ‘And I’ll go and buy it all on my break and drop it off on my way home.’

  ‘You are a love,’ I told her. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d take me with you instead, is there? I can get a taxi back easily enough. If Grandad doesn’t mind being left on his own for a bit, that is,’ I hastily added.

  ‘Grandad would love to be left on his own for a bit,’ he said. ‘No offence, but it’s been a while since I had the place to myself and I promise I won’t go doing anything I shouldn’t.’

  With that settled, I swapped the work boots I had borrowed from him for my own strappy sandals, grabbed my bag and jobs list and jumped in the passenger seat of the Banana-mobile. There was no time to get changed, so my messy bun, checked shirt and denim cut-offs would have to do. The outfit was a bit Daisy Duke, but the shorts weren’t that short so I thought I’d get away with it.

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ I called to Grandad as Bec swung the car back round to face the road.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, waving us off.

  I had to admit, he did look r
ather happy at the prospect of some time alone. Privacy had no doubt been hard to come by since he’d been in hospital and now, with the added shock of what had happened to Mum to come to terms with, I didn’t think a little solitude would do him any harm at all. I had tried to keep out of the way a bit, but it wasn’t the same as being completely alone. I let out a long breath and watched the windswept verge whizz by.

  ‘He’ll be all right,’ said Bec, sounding stoic. ‘Now, tell me more of what’s on your list and I’ll drop you off closest to where you need to be.’

  I quickly ran through everything and Bec suggested that Andersons, the timber yard and agricultural suppliers would be a good place to start. They opened early, and if the order was big enough, they’d deliver it straight to the farm. That was a blessing as I didn’t fancy carrying a roll of roofing felt around town.

  ‘And before you do your grocery shop,’ Bec said, after she’d given me a few directions, ‘come and find me in the Cherry Tree Café and I’ll treat you to a slice of cake. It’s on the square, so you won’t miss it.’

  I was almost certain I’d seen it already. It had to be the pretty place I’d spotted the day I arrived.

  ‘I take it that’s where you’re working?’ I asked her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m doing a bit of waitressing and helping out with some of the crafting sessions one of the co-owners organises. It’s just until the Royal Academy accepts one of my paintings, of course,’ she added with a mischievous smile. ‘Then I’ll be able to permanently swap cupcakes for canvases.’

  She stopped to let me out and gave another blast on the goose-like horn as I pulled open the door to Andersons and stepped inside. Wandering around an agricultural supply store might not have been everyone’s cup of tea, but I thoroughly enjoyed the time I spent seeking out all the things I needed for the farm, plus a couple of extra bits that caught my eye.

  I negotiated a price for the end of a roll of roofing felt which had more than enough left on it for what I needed and then gave the address for where I wanted everything delivered.

  ‘Fenview Farm on Lady’s Drove?’ questioned the elderly employee who had rung everything up on the till, his bushy grey eyebrows raised.