Rachel’s Pudding Pantry. Caroline Roberts
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swirl of double cream to finish. They sat together at the old pine table that had been the focus of many a family meal and celebration over the years – Christmases, birthdays, anniversaries – where they’d shared stories of their days and lives, and of late where they had shared their tears. It was the very same table where Rachel had sat as a little girl herself, and it was very much at the heart of their farmhouse home. Now, watching her young daughter sat next to Mum, digging into the delicious homemade pudding, was the most comforting sight and made Rachel feel all warm inside.
There were soon plenty of ‘Umms’ and ‘Ahhs’ coming from Rachel and Maisy as they tucked in with delight. The pudding melted in the mouth, with rich cocoa-sweet flavours.
‘Thank you, this is wonderful, Mum,’ Rachel said.
It felt like a big move in the right direction for Jill, and for their newly shaped family. For a while now, the laughter had stopped, and her mum had stopped her baking too, saying that it hardly seemed worth it. There had been, still was, this huge, gaping hole in their lives … yet, slowly but surely, they were trying, and beginning, to knit it back together.
TROUBLED TIMES AND MIDNIGHT PUDDING
The farmhouse kitchen was lit by the glow of a single lamp at the desk where Rachel sat staring at her laptop. Jill had gone up to bed an hour before and little Maisy was tucked up fast asleep, no doubt hugging her favourite soft-toy lamb, in her lilac-painted room that had been so carefully and lovingly decorated by her grandad. The tug at Rachel’s heart was strong right then, for her father to whom she could no longer go for advice, and for the three of them who were here trying their best to hold the farm together.
The clock ticked away on the kitchen wall. It was already past midnight. However long she looked at those figures, they weren’t going to get any better. Rachel sighed, rested her elbows on the wooden desk and held her forehead in her hands for a few seconds, her dark wavy fringe tumbling down over her fingertips. She wasn’t going to let this beat them, no way. Primrose Farm had been in their family for generations. She had to keep it going for the three of them, for their future, and also for their animals – the sheep and cattle they’d reared and cared for over so many years. What they had all been through, two years ago now, could not be in vain.
But every month, when she drew up the farm accounts, it was plain as day that any profits had been squeezed further and their income was down. They lived a frugal enough life as it was. Luckily, they didn’t need fancy clothes or holidays. The only one getting new shoes or clothes was Maisy, as she was growing so fast. Rachel felt the tension knot across her brow. She got up to make herself a cup of tea and, fetching the milk from the fridge, spotted that there was some of Mum’s gorgeous chocolate pudding left. She helped herself to a slice and warmed it in the microwave – a little cocoa magic might help lift her spirits.
Rachel knew the time had come to talk about the farm’s struggling finances with her mother. She’d tried to protect her from this until now – her mum had had enough to cope with – but it was only right that Jill knew what they were facing, and they needed to approach this as a team. If it meant selling a couple of fields for the sake of the farm, Rachel mused, then so be it, except she wasn’t quite sure how Jill would take that news. And, any income from that might only be a drop in the ocean.
There might be other avenues they could explore. Farming friends in the area had started doing bed and breakfast ventures. In fact, traditional farmhouse B&Bs were becoming quite the thing. After all, they lived in the most beautiful Northumbrian valley in the foothills of the Cheviot Hills, but with Maisy so young, Rachel was wary of opening up their home to strangers. There must be other ways to diversify.
For tonight, however, her head was tired and fuzzy, and she was feeling cranky. It was hard to think clearly any more. Time for bed. Tomorrow was for taking things forward. Yet, having to tell her mum the truth about their dire financial situation filled her with a gnawing anxiety. It was one conversation she really wasn’t looking forward to, but it would have to happen soon.
‘Hey, Moss.’ She smoothed the head of the black-and-white sheepdog who was lying down beside her. ‘Come on then, boy.’
It was time for him to go back out to his kennel in the yard. He was meant to live outside, but often sneaked in for the warmth of the Aga and some affection. Rachel liked him there with her, to be honest; he was great company as well as being excellent when working with the sheep, her dad having trained him well. How much they both missed him.
A week later, and lambing at Primrose Farm was in full flow.
‘Come on then, petal. Let’s get you to bed,’ Rachel said.
‘But Mu-um.’
‘No buts, Maisy. It’s already past your bedtime, and it’s school again tomorrow.’
It was Sunday evening, the weekend was coming to a close, and her almost five-year-old daughter needed her sleep. Oh yes, her little girl’s birthday was fast approaching at the end of the month – yet another thing to think about, party planning – but Rachel was too tired to get her head around the thought of entertaining a host of excitable children just now. With late nights, early starts and a couple of all-nighters completed, the lambing brain-fog had well and truly descended.
‘But who will look after Pete? And how will I know he’s all right?’ Maisy sounded genuinely concerned, a frown forming beneath her pale-blonde fringe. She had been helping Rachel to bottle-feed the pet lamb over the weekend since his mother had rejected him (being a triplet, and the weakest of the trio).
‘Well, that’s easy Maisy, because it’s my turn on night shift tonight, so I’ll be there with him.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yep, I’ll be keeping a very close eye on him,’ she reassured. ‘And all the other sheep and lambs too, of course. So, I’ll let you know how Pete is first thing in the morning when you wake up.’
That seemed to appease Maisy. ‘O-kay.’
‘Come on, then. I’ll come up and read you a bedtime story.’
The little girl got up from the large farmhouse kitchen table at the same time as her mum.
‘Night, Maisy,’ called Jill from across the kitchen. Rachel was both surprised and delighted to see that her mum was baking again this evening.
Maisy dashed over to give her a goodnight kiss. ‘Night, night Grandma … Ooh, are they for me?’ As she was lifted up in her grandma’s arms she caught sight of a batch of vanilla cupcakes that were cooling on the side.
‘They might be. You can have one in your packed lunch for school tomorrow. But now, it’s time to brush your teeth and get to bed.’
‘Aw, not fair!’ The little girl gave a cheeky, hopeful smile.
‘Tomorrow,’ Jill said kindly but firmly, smiling back, as she ruffled her granddaughter’s soft wavy blonde hair.
Maisy slid down and scampered back to Rachel. ‘Can we have the Floss story please, Mummy?’
‘I should think so.’
Her daughter loved the countryside tale with its lovely illustrations of the sheepdog and his new family.
They were soon settled upstairs in Maisy’s small but prettily painted room. Maisy was tucked up in her bed under her unicorn