A Home at Honeysuckle Farm: A gorgeous and heartwarming summer read

I swiped her arm playfully. ‘By the time I get to England you’ll find yourself blocked from all my social media!’

‘Such a spoilsport,’ she laughed, rolling her eyes. ‘Sometimes the English are so uptight!’

Chapter 4 (#u617cfc03-939a-5dd5-ac82-9a6531adb4ea)

Taking a deep breath, I paid the taxi driver and climbed out of the cab. I’d arrived at Newark airport wheeling my case behind me with my rucksack slung over my shoulder. The blast of air conditioning inside the terminal building was a welcome relief after the blistering heat outside, but a twinge of sadness hit me as I made my way through the revolving glass doors.

In the pit of my stomach there was an unsettling feeling regarding Mum. I’d looked over my shoulder as I’d climbed into the taxi, hoping to see her, but she wasn’t anywhere to been seen. I’d texted her to let her know I’d left for the airport and slight relief flooded through me when she replied, telling me to have a safe journey and that she loved me.

Shoving my sunglasses high on my head, I glanced at my watch. I’d given myself loads of time and once I’d checked in I’d have enough time to relax and settle my nerves.

Thankfully, according to the departure times on the plasma screen, the flight to Manchester was on time. I’d only travelled once before on a plane and that was when we’d arrived in America, but I’d always kept my passport up to date. Deep down I knew I’d return one day.

Inside the terminal building the white floor tiles gleamed as people hurried over them, pulling suitcases, checking watches and tapping on mobile phones. Everywhere people seemed in a state of mad panic. There were two glass elevators leading to the upper levels and kiosks dotted about manned by harassed-looking cashiers. I chewed on my lip and looked around in bewilderment, everywhere was so busy. My stomach was churning with nerves, I’d no idea where to go or what to do.

‘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.

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.