Page 49 of Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

‘No thanks, lassies. I’m more than happy sitting here watching the proceedings. Let the little ones have the fun decorating.’

‘It’ll look a dream once we’ve finished,’ said Eve, holding Granny Ruth’s slightly battered but beloved angel carefully.

‘It’ll be sooo pretty, I just know it,’ added Maisy, beaming.

Lights and tinsel were now on and glass and glittery baubles were carefully positioned on the outstretched branches, plus a selection of Eve’s handmade, grey-painted wooden stars and hearts. The tree was laden by the time the girls had finished. The ‘less is more’ mantra was not applicable to five-year-olds, with an Aladdin’s cave of Christmas decorations to hand, and hey, why not? This Christmas tree was big and bold and beautiful.

They stood back to admire their handiwork. Then Rachel did the grand lighting-up ceremony, counting down, ‘Three, two, one!’ She was ready at the electric socket and click!

A twinkle of lights, making the baubles and tinsel shimmer even more, were set against the dark green of the pine.

‘Wow-ee! I love it,’ exclaimed Maisy.

‘It’s so pretty,’ gasped Amelia.

‘Hurrah. Fantastic, well done, ladies,’ shouted Frank from his seat.

‘Well, I think that calls for hot chocolates and cookies.’ Jill came across, smiling broadly. ‘It looks lovely, girls.’

Moss was lying down just outside of the barn door, looking in, bless him. He was banned from coming in to the Pantry, and knew the drill. But even he gave an excited ‘woof’ before laying his head back down. He knew if he waited there long enough, Jill might cave in and provide a tasty titbit – a corner of cheese scone was one of his favourites.

There was the tree Maisy had chosen, twinkling away in the far corner of the Pudding Pantry, giving a soft glow to the old stone walls of the barn. Eve brought in more of her crafts from the car and filled the wooden dressers with festive gifts: handmade cards, wooden plaques and coasters, stylish Christmas decorations in silvers, whites and greys, cute felt animals, her knits – chunky jumpers with Rudolph and funny-faced farm animals with Santa hats on. The barn had come alive today in a gorgeously festive way and looked truly wonderful. There was a happy glow amongst the customers there too, as well as the friends who now sat together with their special marshmallow-melted hot chocolates and melt-in-the-mouth choc-chip cookies.

Later that evening, once Rachel had finally managed to settle Maisy – who was back to chattering on about Daddy Jake and Chelsea his friend – Rachel crashed on the sofa next to the roaring fire in the living room. Jill was nestled in the cosy armchair beside her. Combined with the turmoil of Jake’s arrival, today’s decorating festivities – though lovely – had brought back so many childhood memories, and Rachel was feeling that familiar ache of loss inside.

‘You all right, love?’ asked Jill.

Rachel gave a small heartfelt sigh. ‘I’ve just been thinking a lot about Dad again, today,’ she admitted, ‘what with getting the tree and everything. I used to go and do that with Dad. Oh, Mum, he should still be here with us all. See Maisy growing up …’

‘I know, love. And yes, of course all those traditions bring back lots of memories, don’t they? Watching you go out and get the tree and Maisy’s little face so excited about it … it caught my heart too. There’s not a day goes by that I don’t think about your father.’

‘I miss him so much, Mum. And – and I feel cross with him too. If only he could have talked to us back then, been able to share the load.’

‘I know, pet. But we can’t go back and change the past or what happened.’

‘No, but it’s such a shame and a bloody waste. He was a good farmer, a good man. A really good dad. Argh, when I see that waste of space, Jake, who’s meant to be a father, it’s so obvious my dad was a great dad, up until his last crazy decision. I just want to be able to reach out and hug him.’ Rachel brushed away a tear from her cheek. ‘Then sometimes I want to shake him and tell him what a silly bugger he was being that day, and ask him what the hell was he thinking? If only we could have told him it’d be all right, that we’d work it out together somehow.’ Her voice softened, the words trailed to a close, as the lump in her throat thickened.

There was a tear in Jill’s eye as she gently said, ‘I know, love, me too.’

‘It’s extra hard at Christmas time, isn’t it?’ said Rachel. ‘Too many memories.’

Jill gave a sniff. ‘Yes, but we need to keep going for Maisy, and make Christmas special for her too. It’s very hard, I know that, and we’ve had two tough Christmases already, but let’s put our energies into the here and now, pet. What’s done is done. We go forward from here, yeah?’

‘Yes, of course. It just gets you sometimes; something happens, or there’s a smell, a trigger, and it all comes crashing back down on you.’

‘I know, love … Hey, do you remember that time when Dad had to dress up as Santa for the kids at the First School and the suit was too tight?’

‘Oh yes, I do.’ Rachel couldn’t help the grin that was quickly spreading across her face. ‘Yes, I was there helping out that day. He’d put on a bit of weight since he’d last had that suit on, and when he bent down to get a gift from the bran tub there was loud rip and his underpants were on show.’

‘Yes, and I’d kept telling him to throw that old greying pair away too, and guess which ones he was wearing that day?!’

‘Well, I remember Mrs Peters looking mortified, bless her, and the children were all giggling. I seem to remember she had to try and fix it with safety pins.’

‘Now that could have been a disaster waiting to happen too!’

Mother and daughter now had tears of laughter mixed with their tears of grief.

‘Oh, Dad, you silly man.’ Rachel suddenly became serious again. ‘Oh … are we doing the right thing, Mum, staying here, trying to keep Primrose Farm going? Working all these hours? It doesn’t seem to be getting any easier.’