‘You okay?’ I must have had a mortified look on my face when I heard a voice and looked up to see a friendly airport official smiling back at me.
‘I’m not sure. I’ve no idea where I’m going.’ My ticket and passport were tightly clutched in my hand like my life depended on them.
‘It’s not as difficult as it looks,’ he said. ‘Let me help you.’ He nodded his head, ‘You can check in at the machines over there.’
I looked over to where he was pointing. There was a red-faced businessman banging one of the machines and a mother at the next one cradling a crying baby whilst looking in confusion at the screen.
Oh God.
‘Here, I’ll help,’ he said kindly, leading me towards the machines. ‘They don’t bite, and are quite straightforward.’
None of this seemed straightforward to me. Public transport didn’t bother me, I used the subway on a daily basis, hailed taxis and pounded the sidewalks of New York, but this looked like another planet, everything seemed so alien.
‘Thank you, Lewis, you’re so kind,’ I said, glancing at the shiny name badge attached to his jacket, relieved he’d offered to help.
We waited our turn and I watched him 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.
O
ver 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 smiled, leaning back against the headrest, remembering all the times I’d pulled on my Wellington boots and splashed through the puddles on a Saturday morning on the way to the dance school.
With one last glance towards Manhattan, I lowered my oversized shades on to the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. My mind drifted towards the farm, my childhood home, a place of outstanding beauty. I could still remember my bedroom, a large room situated at the rear of the annexe. The window overlooked the amazing view across the valley. In spring, I’d been mesmerised by the white, cotton-wool clouds bobbing along and in winter by the angry, dark clouds that were pushed by the sharp gusts of wind.
Every morning, Grandie used to wander across the courtyard towards the annexe clutching a mug of steaming tea for Mum and without fail he would kiss me goodbye before school. I was his girl, and we’d been so close back then. I started to worry again, how it was going to be when I saw him. What would I say? What would I do? And the question burned inside me, how would he feel about me? It must have broken his heart when we’d left, and I felt sad and angry that I’d had to miss out on the last thirteen years. I’d missed the place and I was only just beginning to realise how much.
Before I knew it, I was being shaken gently. ‘Wake up.’
I opened my eyes and soon realised, I’d slept for the whole of the flight.
‘Welcome to Manchester, England where the local time is 6:45 a.m.,’ the purser announced over the intercom.
‘I told you,’ Hetty grinned, tipping her head towards the window. ‘See, it’s raining in Manchester.’
Immediately, I sat upright. ‘Gosh, how did I sleep for the whole of this time?’ I couldn’t quite believe it, stretching out my legs in the cramped leg space as best I could.
‘You’re very lucky. I’ve been plotting his murder for nearly seven hours.’
‘Huh?’ I answered, puzzled.
She raised her eyebrows towards the man sat on the opposite side of the aisle. ‘He’s snored for the whole time,’ she rolled her eyes. ‘It’s driven me insane.’
‘Oh no, I hope …’
‘I never heard a peep out of you,’ she confirmed with a sparkle in her eye.
The pilot steered the plane towards the terminal and cut the engines. As soon as the aircraft came to a standstill the clicking of seatbelts echoed around the cabin, followed by the clunking of the overhead compartments being opened.
It didn’t take long to get through passport control, collect my luggage from the carousel and make my way through customs. I pulled my case behind me and encountered a sea of faces staring back at me, people holding up signs eagerly waiting to meet their loved ones.
I’d arranged to meet Connie outside the terminal building and Grace’s message had instructed me to stand still, and she would find me. I hadn’t seen Connie for such a long time and wondered if she’d even recognise me.
Hetty had been right, the blue sky I’d left behind was nowhere to be seen and instead there was an army of black angry-looking clouds marching above, being hurried along by a sharp wind. The rain was belting down and the puddles splashed under my feet as I pulled up my hood and snuggled deep down inside my hoodie, waiting outside for Connie.
The nerves were kicking in as I waited, flicking a glance at all the cars pulling up and others whizzing by.
Then I heard a voice: ‘Oh my goodness! Look at you, Alice Parker, you’re all grown up!’ I spun round to see a white-haired woman dashing towards me.
‘Connie!’ I exclaimed, feeling relieved that her arms were open wide and her smile was very welcoming.
‘Welcome home!’ she shouted, pulling me into a suffocating hug. ‘It’s good to have you back.’
The hug was heartfelt and tears welled up in my eyes. ‘Thank you!’ I gasped, taking in a lungful of air the second she let go of me. All my nerves disappeared in an instant.
She stood back and took a proper look at me. ‘My word, you look just like your grandfather.’
I felt a sudden surge of happiness being compared to him, even though I had no idea what he looked like now.
‘How is he?’
‘Frail, but he has all his faculties and talks about you all the time.’
‘Does he? Does he really? Does he know I’m coming?’
Connie shook her head. ‘We didn’t say anything, just in case your plans fell through. We didn’t want to raise his hopes. No Rose?’
I shook my head, ‘Afraid not.’
‘Such a shame. Anyway, let’s get you home. We can chat on the way. Grace can’t wait to see you!’
We hurried towards the car, splashing in rainwater, and once my suitcase was loaded into the boot, we began the journey back to Brook Bridge Village.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Connie, once she’d carefully manoeuvred the car from the busy slip road on to the inside lane of the motorway.
The second the plane had landed there was no denying I’d felt apprehensive, even a little panicky, not knowing what was waiting for me. What if … what if I’d made the wrong decision coming back? What if Grandie didn’t want to see me? But once my feet were firmly back on English soil, all my apprehensions dissipated and I couldn’t help but recognise that comforting feeling, the smells and the familiarity that swathed me as a child, feeling safe and happy.
‘I’m glad to be home.’ I replied, meaning every word.
Chapter 5
Connie slowed the car and changed gear before driving around the roundabout and up the cobbled High Street that I’d walked along so many times as a child. I was back in the village for the first time in thirteen years and I felt a tingling of excitement along my spine.
My eyes were wide, staring out of the passenger window, taking everything in. It felt like time had stood still and I’d never been away. Opposite the village pub stood a row of cottages, painted in different colours, facing on to the main street. I smiled to myself. Grandie and I used to take a stroll most evenings after school, which was basically code for going to the pub where Grandie sneaked a crafty pint and I was treated to a packet of salt and vinegar crisps. We’d sit on the benches outside and he would test me on the colour of the houses, for educational purposes, he said. Of course, I knew my colours at that age, but it was just our little bit of fun together. These were happy childhood memories. Apart from the new housing development that had sprung up on the outskirts of the village, everything appeared exactly the same.
‘There’s Mr Cross,’ I exclaimed in amazement, as I saw him disappearing through his front door. He owned the small bookshop on the corner of Bridge Lane in the heart of the village. ‘He doesn’t look any different,’ I remarked. He was just as I remembered him, dressed in a green checked wool jacket with brown leather patches on the elbows, over his smart sweater. ‘And does Mrs Berry still own the sweet shop?’ I asked, watching it whizz by.
‘She sure does, the kids still swarm in there after school, like bees around a honey pot.’ Connie smiled at me before turning into the next street.
>
‘What about The Old Teashop? Please tell me that’s still here?’
‘You do have a good memory! Yes, Mrs Jones is still there and over the years she’s won many awards for her delicious cakes.’
‘I must make sure I see her while I’m here. I wonder if she’d recognise me.’
‘I think she might. Looking at you is like looking at your grandfather. Your characteristics and mannerisms are exactly the same, but that accent of yours might cause a stir with the locals. It’s not often you hear an American accent round here.’
Connie flicked on the indicator and turned left into Croft Lane, ‘That’s Grace’s house, the one with the duck-egg-blue door.’ She nodded to a row of three cottages all with pink coloured roses entwined around their stunningly crafted oak beam porches. Each cottage had its own individual swinging garden gate. Colourful blooms drooped from the hanging baskets and the grass was neatly edged and mowed.
‘So pretty, a scene from a countryside magazine.’
‘She’s been there a little over two years now. You do know Grace and Finn have split up, don’t you?’ asked Connie, still staring at the road ahead.
‘I do, but we have a lot of catching up to do,’ I said, knowing how devastated Grace had been when she’d discovered Finn had been having an affair after they’d moved in together.
‘She isn’t going to arrive home for another hour. The show finished last night and she’s out to lunch with some of the cast members who are moving back to London. Do you fancy coming back to the farm and having a look around at the old place before she’s home?’
Gripped by intrigue and excitement, I responded, ‘Do I ever,’ feeling the corners of my mouth lift. Just thinking about the old place sent a tingle through my body. I wondered if it would still be the same as I remembered and how I would feel seeing it again after all this time. It was only a matter of seconds before I’d find out.
‘But what about Grandie?’ I asked, eager to see him.
Connie took a swift glance towards me. ‘I know you are desperate to see him, but he’s got visitors today. Why don’t you freshen up, unpack and settle in. And, we’ll go first thing tomorrow? There will be plenty of time to talk then too.’
A Home at Honeysuckle Farm Page 4