Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

8

‘Morning, ladies.’

‘Hello, Tom,’ answered Jill from behind the Pantry’s wooden counter.

‘Hi …’ Rachel answered with a slight blush, remembering yesterday’s conversation. He was right on time for his elevenses.

‘Coffee and a bacon roll, is it?’ Jill anticipated.

‘Yes,’ replied Tom with a grin. ‘Though I may well have a little extra something on the side this morning.’ He gave Rachel a very cheeky glance.

‘And what might that be?’ Rachel asked leadingly.

‘Hmm, now then, maybe a … flapjack.’

‘Coming right up,’ Jill replied.

Rachel and Tom then burst into a fit of the giggles, leaving Jill bemused. Shaking her head at the giddy pair, she headed to the fridge for some bacon rashers, saying, ‘What on earth has got into you two?’

They were still grinning like loons, with the odd splutter from Rachel as she tried to focus on making Tom’s coffee, barista-style.

‘Ah, young love,’ Jill muttered at the griddle pan.

Tom leaned across the counter to whisper in Rachel’s ear, ‘I might even have a little crumble waiting for you later on, if I can tempt you away from your chores.’

‘Oh, but my paperwork mountain awaits,’ replied Rachel matter-of-factly, vowing to keep her promise to herself to get the farm’s piling admin sorted, though her body was telling her to ditch it – feeling tinglingly aroused.

‘Crikey, my charm must be failing fast – I’ve never been rejected for a pile of paperwork before.’

‘Sorry … soon, okay,’ she whispered. ‘Hang in there.’

‘I’ll try.’ He pulled a hang-dog face.

With that, Frank’s tut-tutting car could be heard coming up the lane, and the old gentleman was shortly making his way through the barn door.

‘Morning, Frank,’ greeted Tom first, as the two ladies then chorused, ‘Hello, Frank.’

‘How are you doing, pet?’ asked Jill.

‘Not too bad at all, thank you. All the better for seeing your smiling faces.’

That made the women’s smiles even wider.

‘And morning, young Tom. Farming going well?’

‘Yes thanks, Frank. Bit quieter at this time of year, now the harvest’s all in, and the cattle haven’t yet been brought in for the winter. Can’t complain.’

‘More time to see this lovely young lady, then,’ added Frank with a wink. The news had been out for a while around the village that they were formally an item.

‘So you’d think,’ answered Tom with a wry smile, followed by a meaningful glance at Rachel. ‘She’s one busy lady.’

Jill handed Tom his warm bacon roll. He opened the bap, and added a dollop of Brown Sauce on top of the bacon, then tucked in hungrily. ‘It’s been a long while since breakfast.’

‘What can we get for you today, Frank? Coffee, as per usual?’ asked Jill. ‘Oh, and I’ve just made a blackberry and cream roulade this morning, you might want to try a slice of that.’

‘That sounds just grand, and coffee it is. I’ll just settle myself at my usual table.’ He liked the one beside the arch-shaped window that looked out across the valley.

‘Yes do, and we’ll bring it all across in two ticks for you,’ added Rachel.

Frank liked to read the weekly local paper – of which Rachel kept a copy for the Pantry guests – and he often brought in his own copy of The Times to peruse over his hot drink and cake.

‘Right, I’d better be on my way,’ announced Tom, soon afterwards. ‘We’ve got some cattle tags to put back in today; they keep losing them out in the fields, so I need to get the cattle herded down to the yard to meet up with my farmhand, Jack.’

‘Well, have a good day,’ said Rachel.

‘Will do.’ His tone was ironic. ‘It won’t be nearly as exciting as your paperwork mountain.’

‘Nearly, but not quite.’ Rachel pulled a wry face.

‘Hah, I might even have to have a look at my own paperwork tonight. Seeing as there’s nothing else happening …’

‘Well, you know what they say, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’

He shook his head, yet still managing a small smile. ‘Thanks, Jill. See you soon, folks. Take care, Frank.’

Rachel came out from behind the counter to give Tom a peck on the cheek. ‘Sorry,’ was all she could say, sensing his frustration behind the smile.

‘No worries. See you soon, Rach.’

She’d far rather have a carefree flirty evening with Tom than working away yet again, but there were reports to make, records to complete, government checks to fulfil – and no one else was able to do it for her. Why did life have to be so bloody exasperating?

After their lunchtime customers – all six of them – had left, Rachel mooted, ‘So, Mum, how do you think we can best go forward with the Pudding Club idea?’ She was impatient to move things on quickly, if Jill was in support.

‘Well, I do think we should at least give it a try. I have to say, it’s been whirring around in my head since you mentioned it – a sign of a good idea in my book. It’ll not cost us much to set up, just more of our time. I imagine it’ll be something we’ll need to hold of an evening?’

Yet another night that Rachel would be tied up and would have to think of childcare. But if it had to be done, so be it. ‘Yes, I think that’d work best.’

‘So, what do you think we’d need to charge for this Pudding Club?’

‘I don’t think we should make it too expensive; let’s keep it attractive and inclusive, but of course we’ll need to make a little bit of money out of doing it, or else there’s no point. I’m thinking there are young mums who might want a night out, older people wanting some company, and anyone interested in baking, really. What do you think, say £5 per session? That’d cover a tea or coffee, the puds to taste, and we should come away with a bit of profit for the business too.’

‘Yes, that sounds reasonable. Do we hold a club night fortnightly up until Christmas and see how it goes?’ suggested Jill.

‘So, you’re definitely in?’ Rachel couldn’t help but grin.

‘Of course, I’m in. Sounds a lovely idea.’

‘Really? I thought you seemed a little cool on it at first.’

‘No, I just wanted us both to think it through properly.’

‘Aw, thanks, Mum. You’re the best, you know that? It will mean another evening of work for us, though.’

‘Yes, I realise that, but it does sounds quite sociable. I think we might enjoy it too!’

‘We might have to take turns with who hosts it, or ask Granny Ruth across to help with little Maisy.’

‘Yes, we can organise that, and I’m sure Ruth would enjoy getting involved. In fact, I’ve asked her across for supper later, so we can mention it to her then.’

‘That’s great. Mind you, I have promised Maisy she can come to the first night if the Pudding Club went ahead,’ added Rachel.

‘So, what date shall we start, and what’s the first pudding theme to be?’ Jill was sounding quite animated now.

‘Sooner rather than later. We may as well get going quickly, to hopefully pick up some new customers. So, what’s coming up soon and what puddings can we tie that in with?’ Rachel paused and suddenly thought of Bonfire Night and Jill’s scrumptious crumble. Ooh, yes, something around November Fifth would be ideal. ‘This might work – Guy Fawkes, fireworks, and your …’

‘Toffee Apple Crumble,’ Jill finished the sentence for her, with a smile.

‘Hah! We could make our first Pudding Club go off with a real bang!’ Rachel announced with a huge grin.

Later that day, another autumn beauty with soft sunshine and just a gentle nip of cold, Rachel reached the small row of honeyed-stone cottages where her Granny Ruth had lived since leaving the farmhouse at Primrose Farm herself, when Rachel and her family had moved in, following the long-standing family tradition that the eldest son would eventually take over. She pulled up outside, and walked up the neat front garden path, ready to collect Granny to take her back to the farm for supper with them. The last blooms of a pale-pink rose that climbed the wall beside the cottage door were holding on in the autumn chill. There was a pot of bold deep-purple and yellow winter pansies on the front step to greet any guests. Granny loved her gardening, even though she struggled with arthritis that was particularly bad in her knees.

Rachel knocked on the door and then went on in, knowing that the house would be unlocked and that she was always welcome. ‘Only me, Granny,’ she called.

There was an intense smell of warm sugary fruits as Rachel entered the kitchen. There was Granny, standing stirring the contents of a large steel pan with a wooden spoon. ‘Oh, sorry pet – is that the time? I’m not quite ready for you.’

‘No worries. What delights are you concocting here?’ Rachel leaned over to take a look at the glossy mixture.

‘Jam – blackberry and apple. I’m using those apples you gave me from your tree last week. Thought it might go nice on a fruit scone with some butter.’

‘Well, it certainly smells delicious.’

‘I’ve finished one batch of blackberry and raspberry, already. Thought that’d go nicely in the next Jam Roly-Poly I make.’

Rachel was impressed. Despite being in her eighties, her grandmother still loved to cook and nurture. Baking was such a strong influence from both sides of Rachel’s family – no wonder she had got the bug.

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Well, next week, I’ll make one of those for you all, too. I know it’s one of Maisy’s favourites.’

‘That’d be lovely, Granny. Just perfect with lashings of creamy custard.’

‘Right, well, this just needs to cool a little and then we can pour it into the jars here.’

A row of squeaky-clean jam jars was waiting on the kitchen side. Beside them were squares of red gingham muslin and thin elastic bands ready to cover the lids.

‘I’ll just nip upstairs and get my things together. I’ll not be long; I’ve already packed an overnight bag.’

‘I’ll help fill these if you like, while you finish getting ready.’

‘Thank you, pet, that’d be grand.’

The old lady came back down just as her granddaughter was placing the material squares over each metal lid.

‘Take some back with you, lass, and you can use them in the Pantry.’

‘Will do, thanks Granny. I’m sure they’ll go down a treat.’

‘So, how are you, pet? And how are things going with that nice young man of yours?’ Ruth was gathering her coat and shoes.

‘Good, thanks …’ Rachel’s voice trailed a little.

‘Rightio – but you sound a little disheartened, lass.’ Granny Ruth could pick up on Rachel’s mood like no one else.

‘Oh, Granny! It’s just life getting in the way. I’m so busy right now, and me and Tom, well, we get on so well, and it’s been lovely, but we don’t get an awful lot of time to see each other really. Well, not on our own. I can’t keep upping and leaving Maisy and Mum and the farm.’

Granny was nodding, listening.

‘I’m worried he might be getting a bit fed up with it all …’

‘Ah, and have you spoken with him about it?’ asked Ruth in a gentle tone.

‘Well, not properly, no. It should be pretty obvious how busy I am, though.’

‘Hmm, well in any relationship, you need to start by being honest with each other. You’ve got to be a team. Me and your granda didn’t always see eye to eye, but we learnt to talk things through, to come to understand each other. And life’s always going to be busy for you with the farm and everything else, Rachel, but if this relationship with Tom is worth it, maybe you need to make some time, don’t you think?’

‘Maybe …’ Rachel breathed out with a small sigh. ‘Thanks, Granny.’

‘He seems a good man, Tom. I like him, and it’s obvious that he cares for you. Nothing like that waste-of-space Jake you paired up with.’

Rachel grimaced; it was no secret that the intuitive Granny Ruth was far from Jake’s biggest fan – not that she’d say anything in front of Maisy.

‘And don’t be afraid to ask for help, pet. Me and your mum are always happy to help out with Maisy, and where we can on the farm. Don’t pile too much on yourself, you’re not Wonder Woman.’

‘Hah,’ Rachel smiled. ‘I rather hoped I might be. It’d mean I could get things done a bit quicker. And she does wear one hell of an outfit,’ Rachel quipped.

‘Well, I’m ready when you are, lass. Shall we head over to the farm?’

‘Of course. Mum’ll be wondering where we’ve got to otherwise.’

‘Right then, I’ll just pop my shoes on. I’ll need a seat for that. Here we go, just give me a second.’ She sat down stiffly on one of her kitchen chairs. Her body might be struggling, but her mind was still sharp as a tack. She was one of the few people who said it how it was. Rachel admired her for it, even if, at times, the truth was a bit too close for comfort.

Rachel was towel-drying Maisy after her bath that evening when her mobile rang. She glanced at the caller ID: Jake. She gave an inward groan. How did he always manage to pick a bad time? She was trying to settle Maisy, ready for bedtime on a school night. But of course, Maisy’s dad would hardly be aware of her routine. Living so far away, he was never really there for her, was he? But, she supposed, at least he was phoning and his promised ‘weekly’ call could be hit and miss at the best of times.

Rachel wrapped the towel tightly around her daughter to keep her warm, then answered with a gritting of her teeth. ‘Hi, Jake.’

‘Hey, there. Where’s my gorgeous girl? Is Maisy about?’

‘Ah, yes, but can you just give us five minutes and I’ll call you back? She’s just out of the bath and I need to dry her and pop her pyjamas on.’

‘Yeah, no worries – although ah, I’m going out in ten, but yeah, if you’re quick.’

Hah, ever the doting father.

‘Daddy?’ Maisy asked, looking excited, bless her. Bloody hell, he did so little, yet Maisy couldn’t help that buzz of excitement at hearing from him. His last visit had been back in July, three months ago now, and there was a promised visit for August that had never materialised, much to Maisy’s disappointment. Just thinking about the consequences of that day still made Rachel mad.

‘Okay, I’ll call back straight away,’ answered Rachel tersely and she put down the phone. ‘Come on then, petal, let’s get those PJs on,’ her voice softened.

In Maisy’s room a few minutes later, with her little girl now dressed in her nightclothes and sat expectantly on the bed, Rachel called Jake back. After saying a brief hello, she passed the phone over to her daughter. Having put the phone on loudspeaker, she sat quietly beside her, monitoring the conversation. Maisy was happily telling him all about school, and her gym club, and about Amelia coming for fireworks night next week with her mummy and daddy for hot dogs. Jake, in turn, said how busy he’d been at work, helping to build people’s houses.

Rachel then heard him say that he was missing her. But hey, it was all too easy to say that from two hundred miles away, and then not bother to come and see her. And all too soon Jake said his goodbyes, with an excuse that he was about to go out.

She watched her little girl’s sunny face begin to fall as the conversation rolled to a close. It was painful to watch.

‘Daddy’s got to go now,’ Maisy explained to Rachel. Her voice had dropped almost to a whisper. She passed the phone back across.

‘Okay, sweetheart.’ Rachel placed the mobile to her own ear. ‘Hi, it’s me.’ Her tone was cool.

‘Yeah, got to dash. Meeting a mate.’

‘Right … and don’t forget to call Maisy again next week. And, a little earlier might help, not right at bedtime; it can be unsettling for her.’

‘Okay. Slapped hands again.’ He still managed to sound like a stroppy teenager.

Rachel didn’t even bother to respond to that comment.

‘See you then, Rach.’

‘Yeah. Bye, Jake.’ Rachel sighed as she switched off her mobile. Then she turned with an encouraging smile to her little girl. She couldn’t let her exasperation show in front of her. ‘Let’s get you all tucked up in bed then, petal. Shall we have a story?’

‘O-kay.’ Maisy sounded reluctant, and a frown had formed across her brow. And, just as Rachel had thought, here was her little girl unsettled and upset for bedtime.

‘Mummy, when’s Daddy coming to see me again?’ Maisy was hugging her soft toy sheep that Grandma Jill had given her several years ago – it was still a favourite.

Rachel knew she could only be honest; false promises and lies would only hurt more in the long-run. ‘I don’t know, petal.’

It broke Rachel’s heart to see the look of disappointment that fell across Maisy’s face. She gave her daughter a hug and a kiss, before going to the pine bookcase to find her Floss book, hoping the sheepdog’s story might help cheer her little girl up.

This unpredictable relationship with her dad was so hard for Maisy, and for Rachel. How she wished she could protect her daughter, wrap her fragile heart up in cotton wool, and keep her safe from disappointment. But sometimes, even the love of a mother couldn’t do that.

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