A Taste of Home Heidi Swain (book recommendations for teens txt) 📖

‘Yes,’ said Grandad. ‘You can keep that one out if you like.’

‘I’d rather have this one,’ I said, swapping it for another.

It was of him and Nana on their wedding day, standing outside a church in Wynbridge flanked by their respective parents.

‘Look at this one of your mother,’ chuckled Grandad, as he turned a page. ‘It wasn’t even all that cold!’

The snap was of Mum standing in the yard I now knew so well, in the snow. She looked as though she was wrapped in a hundred layers and had the biggest scowl on her face.

‘How old is she there?’ I asked.

‘Seven or eight I reckon,’ Grandad tutted, ‘and she didn’t build that snowman. She just stood there looking miserable and moaning to come back indoors while I did it.’

‘Given her obvious aversion to the cold, it’s no wonder we only ever visited the UK in the summer. For the rest of the year she always opted for far sunnier climes.’

I helped put the albums away and felt another connecting layer adhering itself to the one I’d already established since I arrived. Fenview Farm was truly beginning to feel like my home now, the place where I was the perfect fit, even though until just a few weeks ago, I’d never even heard of it.

‘You’ll have to show me more of the photos on your phone,’ said Grandad, as he pulled me to my feet and I closed the sideboard door. ‘Although, I daresay you haven’t got any pictures of when you were little on it, have you?’

It was then I realised that Grandad had just as many blanks to fill in as I did.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Afraid not, but I have lots of Italy. I’d love to show you those.’

Having looked at the photo Marco had sent, it felt all the more important that I should incorporate the Rossi family into my life at Fenview. In fact, the time to finally make Nonna’s beloved cherry and almond tart felt so close, I could almost taste it.

Having washed my hair the night before so it would be easier to pin up, I had a bubble bath and quick manicure. The new polish went on easily enough as I’d gone for clear because I’d never been any good at painting my nails, and then I put on some make-up.

I’d never mastered the dramatic winged eyeliner technique some of the Rossi cousins favoured, but I managed a pretty enough smoky eye and enough liner to complete the look. Once I had zipped myself into the dress, I added a sweep of red lipstick, and a spritz of perfume for good measure.

I slipped on the shoes and picked up the clutch, then turned one way and then the other in front of the bedroom mirror. Once I was satisfied that I looked, and felt, the best I ever had, I stepped out on to the landing and promptly bumped straight into Grandad. He looked at me for a moment as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

‘My goodness me,’ he gasped. ‘I hardly recognised you, Fliss.’

‘I hardly recognise myself,’ I laughed.

‘You always look beautiful,’ he kindly said, ‘you have the Brown genes, after all, but I’m used to seeing you in your work gear.’

‘I’d better give you a twirl then,’ I said, turning on the spot. ‘This might be the one and only time I look like this.’

‘You look stunning,’ he said, once I’d finished. ‘But there’s something missing. Come with me.’

I followed him into his room where he opened the dressing table drawer and took out a jewellery box. He set it down on the bed and beckoned me over.

‘These,’ he said, presenting me with a small velvet box, ‘belonged to your great-grandmother. Your mum’s gran, that is. They were a ruby wedding present from your great-grandfather. Felicity never wore them,’ he sighed. ‘She was saving them for our ruby wedding, but of course, she sadly wasn’t here for that.’

I sat on the bed, took the box and carefully opened it. Nestled inside, on pale pink silk, were two round ruby studs, surrounded by diamonds.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ I gulped as the overhead light caught them and they sparkled, sending myriad patterns dancing around the walls. ‘They’re exquisite. Are they real?’

‘Of course,’ Grandad smiled. ‘And they’ll go perfectly with your outfit.’

I felt my phone suddenly vibrate in my bag which was on the bed next to me. It was a shock because it had never gone off in the house before, but in view of the conversation Grandad and I were having, I ignored it.

‘They would look amazing,’ I agreed, imagining the look and feel of them as I tried to hand the box back to Grandad, ‘but I can’t possibly wear them.’

‘Of course, you can,’ he insisted, putting his hands behind his back. ‘Besides, they’re yours now and I don’t hold any truck with saving things for best, not anymore, not since I lost your grandmother and now your mum. For all we know, this right now, this very moment, might be the best we’ve been waiting for or that we’ll get.’

His words caused a lump to form in my throat. I looked at the earrings again. Having lost Mum at such a young age, I sadly understood exactly what he meant. One day, I wouldn’t have any more tomorrows, so what was the point in holding out? From now on, if an opportunity presented itself, I was going to take it. Or in this case, wear it.

My phone buzzed again.

‘Almost everything in this box belongs to you now,’ said Grandad, picking up a sophisticated looking watch. ‘That, in part, was what I went to talk to my solicitor about.’

‘I don’t know what to say,’ I swallowed.

‘You don’t have to say anything, but get those earrings on quick,’ he urged. ‘That’s probably your date who keeps making your phone go off. You don’t want to keep him waiting, do you?’

‘No,’ I said, my hands shaking