Page 31 of Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

Now she was finishing her dusk checks of the farm and livestock – having to trim a ewe’s foot after she noticed it was limping badly and treating it with her purple spray – and then Rachel rolled in on the quad to park in the yard. She got down, stifling a yawn, and pulled off her green wellingtons in the farmhouse porch. On opening the kitchen door, a familiar smell greeted her – wow, warm toffee, caramelised apple – delicious. Jill was making two large toffee apple crumbles ready for tomorrow, Bonfire Night, and their firework’s party at the farm. It would be a welcome diversion from the stressful escapades of the week.

‘Hi there, Mum.’

‘Hello, Rachel.’

‘Looks like you’ve been busy; those crumbles smell divine.’

Once again, the aroma sent Rachel tumbling down memory lane … In autumn, she used to pick the apples with Dad from the big old gnarled tree in their garden. He’d lift her up in his strong arms so she could reach the fruit, and they’d fill a wicker basket with the large Bramley cooking apples. Mum would keep some to use straight away for her crumbles and apple sauce, the rest they’d lay out on the big kitchen table, the very same table they had now, and wrap them in old newspaper, ready to store in boxes under the bottom shelf in the walk-in larder.

There was another tree with eaters on, and they’d fetch some of those in too. They’d be used to make the toffee apples for Bonfire Night, as well as other sweet treats. Rachel loved eating the sticky toffee apples while watching the glittering display – fingers and toes chilly despite wearing gloves, thick socks and boots. The fireworks thrilled the young Rachel with their fizzes and sparkling trails against the black night sky.

Dad would be away in the field next to the yard setting them off. They weren’t allowed anywhere near him at that point, nor too close to the bonfire that they always lit out in the yard. He’d adopt his serious voice as he warned Rachel about the dangers. She loved the show, but she was always glad when he came back through the gate safely, and she’d thrust her hand into his big warm palm. Then, after a whirl of sparklers, they’d be ready to head on in for warming mugs of soup, followed by toffee apple crumble and custard, all sitting around the Aga. That was the best finale of all.

Rachel would give anything to hold that sturdy hand right now, to be able to head home and tell her dad about her day, to sit and talk about the farm and their plans, and tell him all about the new Pudding Pantry in the barn, to get Dad’s advice, hear his voice. But that could never be.

Her father hadn’t been able to cope; the pressures of the farm and its dwindling finances had become just too hard – life itself had become too much. She could only guess at the full reasons, the depths of his illness, and the depression he’d tried too well to hide from them … he kept it all shut in, until it blew all their worlds apart. His suicide had been unimaginably devastating. It was Rachel who had found him that dark, dark day. It still haunted her.

Memories were like double-edged swords. They’d start off happy, wonderful glimpses of her dad in their good old days, their life together here on the farm and then the cold, stark reality of what had occurred would surface, because the layers of grief were still there smothering her soul. She knew Jill felt it too.

They couldn’t change what had happened, much as they wished that they could. Rachel knew they had to look forward, the other way was just torment. They had to make a future, and that was why, more so than ever, the farm had to work, and the success of the Pudding Pantry was a huge part of that.

‘I think I’ll make a big jug of custard on Thursday to hand around with the crumbles at the Pudding Club, what do you reckon?’ Jill’s voice pulled Rachel back from her memories.

‘Ah, yes, that sounds good.’

Of course, two days after Bonfire Night was the very first Pudding Club night. It was going to be a busy week.

‘These will be another five minutes and then that’s them all done. I’ve made enough for the club night too. I don’t want the tops too dark on those ones, just a nice pale gold, as I’ll reheat them on the night. I just want to be a step ahead because it’ll be a busy few days.’

‘Yes, there’s a lot on, but you’re juggling everything like a hero, Mum.’

‘I’m feeling a bit anxious, wondering how it’ll go,’ Jill confessed. ‘How about you?’

‘Yeah, I suppose I am a bit nervous too. I’ve been wondering what I’ll chat about for all that time, and who’ll turn up. Will the mix of people work? What if they don’t get on?’ Rachel answered honestly. As well as flashbacks to the attempted break-in, the whole lot had been swirling about in her head for the past two days.

‘Well, whoever turns up should have an interest in baking or at least eating the baking! And who wouldn’t be delighted at that idea?’

‘Yeah, that’s true. Ah, it’ll be fine,’ Rachel rallied. ‘I think I’ll make another crumble to compare, maybe a pear and blackberry, and we can chat about everyone’s favourite fillings, that’ll start the ball rolling. And I might just have to give our puds for sale a little mention too, before they go home, of course.’

‘That’s a good ploy, Rachel.’

‘That’ll give us plenty to go with for the first session, surely?’

‘Sounds fine to me. Have you had any more responses to the flyers and posters you’ve put out?’ Jill asked.

Rachel had found even more places to leave her flyers. She’d dropped some in at various B & Bs and Charlotte, her teacher friend, had taken some for her school’s staffroom. They’d also had the leaflets set out on the tables at the Pantry all week and several customers had asked about it. They had five bookings for the Pudding Club night so far, which wasn’t a bad start – admittedly, two of them were Eve and Charlotte, but one was a young mum they knew from the school, and the other two were ladies from the local WI, who were friendly with Jill and keen to see what was going on. It was a small but positive start, and there was still a week to go. With Amanda’s piece in the local Gazette due out tomorrow, that might well bring a few more enquiries in – fingers crossed.

Rachel settled into the comfy old armchair by the Aga, with Moss shifting across to rest his furry chin on her feet. Who needed slippers when you had a dog? Her eyelids began to feel heavy. It had been one hell of a week all in all. There was still so much to do, but for now she might just give in to a little ten-minute nap, surrounded by the smells of delicious apple crumble. Maybe she’d dream up some magic solution to the farm’s troubles …

14

Whizz, fizz and crackle! Fireworks burst into trails of spectacular coloured light across the velvet sky. Maisy and Amelia stood looking up at them in awe and Rachel was enjoying seeing her daughter’s face light up as much as the splendid fireworks.

Of course, five-year-old Maisy wouldn’t remember the last fireworks night they’d had here at Primrose Farm with her grandad; she’d just been a toddler in a pushchair …

Tom and Ben had agreed to go into the empty field next to the farmhouse and set the fireworks off and Rachel, Jill, Eve and Granny Ruth stood wide-eyed in the farmyard with the girls, watching the magical display, all wrapped up in their woolly pom-pom hats, coats, scarves, warm socks and wellies. A smoky tang of gunpowder bursts filled the air and a small bonfire of wood and debris, gathered up from the farm over the past week, burned orange and crackled in the yard.

The crumble was warming in the Aga, and they’d already had a supper of hot dogs with caramelised onions, and mugs of homemade vegetable soup – Jill having made an extra-large batch of soup on purpose at the Pantry that day. They’d cooked the sausages by lantern-light on the BBQ outside, which hadn’t had an outing for a couple of years now, and the coals were still glowing beside them.