Christie Barlow - A Home at Honeysuckle Farm

A t ten years of age, Brook Bridge village was all Id ever known. Nestled right in the heart of the countryside on the outskirts of Staffordshire, it was a quaint little village that radiated olde-worlde charm with its narrow streets and timber-framed properties, many of which boasted thatched roofs. It was a close-knit community where everyone was friendly and people looked out for each other. I loved everything about living there.

The summer months were always the busiest, when visitors would flock to admire the old, striking Tudor buildings and explore the nooks and crannies of the shabby-chic shops and historic pubs that lined the cobblestoned high street.

Id look forward to Sunday mornings, my favourite time of the week, when Id stroll with Grandie over the arched stone bridge which led us to a quaint courtyard that was a magnet for painters and photographers. On the corner wed relax outside The Old Tea Shop, hugging our hot chocolate and treating ourselves to one of Mrs Jones scrumptious cakes that were truly delicious.

I lived with my mum on the fringes of the village at Honeysuckle Farm, in the annexe which was attached to Grandies three-storey rustic brick farmhouse. Id felt safe ambling about the barns, riding my bike over the uneven grass and splashing about in the stream. The countryside surrounding the house stretched for miles and in the quilted fields of golden and green squares knitted together by the hedgerows grew potatoes and root vegetables for all those delicious autumn stews that Mum would rustle up. And not forgetting the abundance of fresh eggs laid by the chickens which roamed freely around the farm. It was simply the best place to live.

Beyond the corncribs there was a rickety old wooden bridge that arched over the trickling stream with its rust-coloured willow bushes growing on the banks; this was my favourite spot. Id sit on the huge grey rock at the foot of the maple tree and watch Billy, the chestnut Welsh cob, graze in the field.

Id just broken up for summer, the long school holidays stretched out before me, and I was happily waiting for my friend Grace to come over for a play day. As I jumped and splashed through the shallow waters of the stream in my Wellington boots, I didnt have a care in the world.

Little did I know that my life was about to drastically change

Happily skipping back towards the farmhouse, with the promise of buttery scrambled eggs on homemade granary bread, I flung open the door to the porch that housed an array of boots, coats and umbrellas. Kicking off my muddy wellies outside the back door, I felt slight disappointment that there were no delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen. Marley was curled up in his basket at the foot of the Aga, but the sleepy spaniel never even attempted to open his eyes when I walked into the room.

It was at that moment that I heard raised voices coming from the living room. Barely daring to breathe, I tiptoed down the hallway, my eyes falling towards the gap in the living-room door.

Grandie was standing at the far end of the room, his hands resting on the mantelpiece of the huge stone fireplace, his head bent low. Mum was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, her eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

He let out a long shuddering breath and turned back towards Mum, who shifted her gaze towards him.

Jesus Christ, Rose, he shouted at her, when the hell were you going to tell me?

Mum was now physically shaking but she didnt answer him.

Id no idea what was happening or what Mum was supposed to have done, but a feeling of trepidation rushed through my body. An eerie atmosphere swathed me, one Id never felt before, cocooned in my perfect idyll.

Rooted to the spot, I waited anxiously to see what would happen next.

As Grandies voice continued to boom I felt scared, my heart hammering against my chest. Id never heard Grandie shout before, and Id never heard him and Mum argue. I didnt like it, I didnt like it one little bit.

Everything Ive done for you, and this is how you repay me. Grandies face was flushed.

Mum hung her head once more, unable to look him in the eye.

I thought Id brought you up better than this. How could you betray me like this? Have you no shame? He snorted with disgust. Get out of my sight, I never want to see you again. His face was thunderous, his eyes dark.

Those words jolted Mum.

I held my breath, not daring to move.

W-w-what do you mean? Mum stuttered, her cool faade now slipping and tears beginning to stream down her face.

Exactly that, get out of my sight, his voice boomed again, causing her to spring to her feet.

Are you serious? This time her eyebrows shot up and she dared to hold his gaze.

Deadly serious.

The words hung in the air.

Right then, in that case Ill go and youll be sorry, she spat, storming towards the door. Ill go where you cant find me, and Ill take Alice. Youll never see her again, if thats how you feel.

You are not taking Alice, thundered Grandie.

I will and I am. Im her mother, you cant stop me, she shouted through her frustrated tears.

Her words penetrated my heart. Feeling shocked, my eyes misted with tears.

How can you do this to me? You know how much I love that girl. If you walk out that door with Alice were finished forever. He moved towards the table and thumped his hand down, sending a cup and saucer crashing to the ground.

Mum was about to fling open the door and I was suddenly terrified of being caught standing on the other side. She couldnt discover me listening to their conversation. For a split second, Mum hovered with her hand on the door handle and gave a dismissive shrug. If thats what you want

Sensing my knees were about to crumble, I quickly crouched down at the side of the grandfather clock and held my breath. Her voice trailed off as she flounced past me and disappeared up the stairs. She didnt spot me, much to my relief.