Wild Flowers

Eight months ago, Daisy' s parents died in a car accident. After an age of social workers, her godmother (Jenny) arrives out of the blue on on her foster mum' s doorstep, turning her life upside down and whisking her away for a life of love, laughter, and wild flowers.

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5. Eggs and bacon

"Wake up! Were here!" jenny's excited voice echoed around my head.

"Where's here?" I groaned. Sleeping with your head on a vibrating window is NOT a good idea.

"Oops, I forgot to tell you. I thought we'd visit Nan, she bakes the best cookies!"

"Oh, OK. You can stop shaking me now, I'm awake, and I've got a banging headache."

"Anyway, you can go in the spare room for tonight, I'm sure Sam won’t mind, and we'll stock up on cake and set off I the morning."

“Erm, whose Sam?"

"Just a friend's lad. Nice boy, but a bit quiet. Although I'm sure you two will get along just fine."

She must have seen the look of horror on my face, as, a second later, she added that we wouldn't see them for another day or two, and I wouldn't have to share a room with him, anyway. PHEW!

Just then, a little old lady rushed out of the cottage at the other end of the gravel drive. She had fluffy white hair, bound up in curlers; a hand knitted cardigan in all the colours of the rainbow draped around her crooked, bony figure, and a floaty tie- dyed silk headscarf to match. She might have looked old, but she was certainly young at heart. Bless.

After a moment or two of hugs and wet kisses, she shooed us into her country kitchen, where we sat at a huge, scrubbed wooden table, and ate freshly baked cookies.

The spare room was tiny. I'd left Jenny to have a catch up over a cuppa, and took my boxes upstairs. I tiptoed over the creaky floor boards and gazed across the little room: I took in the low, sloping ceiling; the white walls; and the flowery curtains, tied back with coloured ribbon. The sun beamed into the room, white summer light reflecting off every surface. I slotted my boxes one on top of the other in the small cupboard that hid behind the open door, dropped my bag onto the flower duvet of my small wooden bed, and sat in the open window. The clouds drifted lazily across the wide blue sky; and the hills, draped with green meadows, framed a glistening river that wound up from the sea. Forestry and small villages surrounded the hills, farmhouses dotted the landscape, and in the distance the sea glittered and danced along the coast. The fields around the home were littered with cattle, sheep and horses, and butterflies fluttered by the open window, delighted by the honeysuckle, lavender, roses, and various other colourful flowers filling Nan's beautiful garden. A dirt track snaked away towards the many little villages; and wild flowers speckled the hedge rows that ran alongside. I wished with all my heart that I could come back here one day. And who knows, maybe I would...

We ate a wonderful candle lit supper of meats, salads, potatoes, cheeses, breads, dips, and some refreshing homemade lemonade, that was followed by some of Nan's famous apple pie, and then I slid into a warm bath and let my thoughts unwind. I thought about my old life, my new one, and what was to come.

That night I slipped into dreams of a boy named Sam, a wacky but wonderful Nan, and summer fields: not a trace of the usual, terrorising sleepover.

I woke happily the next day to the mouth watering smell of bacon and eggs frying.

.

 

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