Sweet Home Summer: A heartwarming romcom perfect for curling up with. Michelle Vernal

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       Chapter 5

      Isla followed her nose to the kitchen, feeling like that child who’d popped in on her way home from school all over again. She called over the top of the radio talkback discussion being broadcast on the old transistor radio on the kitchen windowsill, ‘Gran, it’s me. And I haven’t come empty-handed. I bring you the last of the carrots from Dad’s garden.’

      The old woman’s back was to her as she busied herself up at the bench buttering the scones. Isla could see steam rising and blobs of golden butter melting into them, and her stomach involuntarily rumbled, despite not long having had lunch.

      ‘We don’t have any of that plastic rubbish they call spread in this house,’ Bridget was fond of saying. Now, she stopped what she was doing and, turning around, wiped her hands on her apron. The Union Jack was emblazoned on the front of it, a Christmas present from Isla’s first year in London. It looked at odds with her blouse and slacks.

      Looking at the lovely, lived-in face, Isla couldn’t stop the smarting of tears or herself from dropping the bag of carrots and rushing forward. She nearly knocked Bridget down as she threw her arms around her. ‘Oh, Gran! I’ve missed you so much.’ The surprisingly fit figure yielded to the hug and patted her on the back.

      ‘Me, or my baking?’ She disentangled herself from the embrace. ‘Enough of that carry on now, go and sit down before these get cold.’ She turned away but not before Isla saw that she too was blinking back tears. Isla picked the plate up off the bench, and carried it over to the table that had been laid for afternoon tea. It would fetch a pretty penny these days that table, she thought as she rubbed her hand over its lemon-yellow top. Formica was classed as retro, and therefore it was cool.

      Bridget pushed the plate towards her and not needing to be offered twice, Isla reached forward and took a scone. The butter dripped down her chin as she took a bite and Bridget got up to fetch the roll of paper towel. ‘Still a messy Miss I see.’ She ripped a piece of the towel off and handed it to her granddaughter, pleased to see her baking being enjoyed.

      ‘Gran you make the best scones in the world.’

      Bridget sat up a little straighter and helped herself to one before adding, ‘Isla don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s the secret ingredient that makes them so light. Margaret’s always on at me to tell her what it is.’

      It was over the second cup of tea that Bridget cut to the chase, ‘Right, enough of the pussy-footing around. What is it that has brought you home?’

      Isla’s hand froze with the half-eaten scone midway to her mouth. She’d never been able to pull the wool over Gran’s eyes. ‘I’m home because I’ve missed getting the third degree from you.’

      ‘Humph, well your mother said that after you had broken up with that Tim you went off to America and had some sort of epiphany that you wanted to come home. I told her she needed to stop reading those self-help books she’s addicted to and talk sense.’

      Gosh, she had a way with words, Isla thought, her mouth twitching. ‘To be fair Gran, Mum was right in a way. My time in California helped me realize that I had no work-life balance in London. I’d gone as far as I could go in my career over there, I’m single again and what’s that saying?’ She frowned casting around for it. ‘Oh, you know – you can take a girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of a girl.’ Isla wiped the crumbs from her mouth; she was quite pleased with that analogy. ‘So, ta-dah! Here I am.’

      ‘Who do you think you are? Dolly Parton,’ Bridget said with a snort helping herself to another scone. ‘They’re lonely places, big cities.’

      How her gran would know, given she’d never been out of New Zealand, Isla couldn’t fathom, but she did know better than to argue.

      ‘So my girl, what’re you going to do with yourself now that you’re back?’ Bridget was not a woman who’d sit back and rest on her laurels and Isla was well aware there’d be no swanning about in her dressing gown for a few days to get over her jet lag. Not while she was living under Gran’s roof.

      ‘I’m not sure. It’s all been a bit of a whirlwind since I decided to come home.’ Isla felt bad for not having given Upscale Developments notice of her intention to leave. Her extended leave of absence had just turned into a permanent leave of absence. Then again, they’d had their pound of flesh from her over the last seven years. Besides, it was such a competitive industry she knew there’d be plenty of fresh, bright young things, chomping at the bit to step into her shoes.

      Sitting there in her gran’s kitchen where she’d always been right at home with a full tummy, she felt like she could breathe properly for the first time in a long while. Of course, knowing she had a nice little nest egg sitting in the bank was a comfort. It meant she didn’t have to panic about what her next step would be. She hadn’t come back from London completely bereft. ‘I was thinking while I was on the plane about setting up an online design business. That way I can base myself here.’

      Bridget’s pleased expression didn’t escape her granddaughter.

      It was seven o’clock that evening when Isla’s second wind began to wane. She wiped the kitchen bench down and hung the tea towel over the oven door before popping her head around the living room door to announce she was done in. Her gran had just settled herself into her recliner for her daily current affairs fix, and Isla kissed her on the cheek goodnight. Her room was still a shrine to the sixties, right down to the orange Candlewick bedspread neatly covering the single bed. It’d been a long time since she’d slept in a single bed, Isla thought, as her eyes settled on what was leaning up against the pillow.

      The sight of Caroline, the pretty porcelain doll she’d itched to get her hands on as a child, made her smile. An ice maiden who’d been out of bounds, she had sat in her yellow crinoline dress СКАЧАТЬ