Page 50 of Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

‘Will it be any easier anywhere else? The memories aren’t just here, pet. They’re with you, in your mind, your heart. Can you really imagine living anywhere else?’

‘Well, I see Maisy growing up, doing the things I used to do as a kid, like helping me with the sheep and choosing the Christmas tree today, and you know, I can’t quite picture her anywhere else. But sometimes it’s just so hard and it’s as if we’re paddling in circles just to keep afloat.’

‘Yes, it’s been a difficult few months. You’re worn out, pet. That’s understandable; it’s been such a hectic time and you haven’t stopped. Even with the Pantry being quiet, you’ve still been on the go looking to boost business, starting the Pudding Club and all that.’ Jill said all this with an air of caution, knowing she was riding near to the mark in telling these home-truths to Rachel.

‘Hmm, I suppose,’ her daughter agreed reluctantly.

‘And, as far as the farm is concerned, I think you already know the answer to that, Rachel love.’

They both gazed at the flickering fire for a short while, lost in their own thoughts. The farm was their everything. It was the only place they ever wanted to call home.

‘Well then, I think it might be time to head up to bed.’ Rachel yawned.

The two women stood and gave each other a warm hug. As Jill pulled gently away, she said, ‘Onwards and upwards, pet.’

‘To the moon and back,’ Rachel said, remembering the books about the Nutbrown Hare that her dad used to read to her as a little girl and that she read now with Maisy.

Jill nodded, remembering too. She put an arm around her daughter. ‘Your dad would be proud of you, our lass.’

21

The next two weeks whizzed by and the second Pudding Club night was suddenly upon them. Remarkably, all of the group had returned, bar one of the young mums whose toddler had fallen ill and needed looking after. And there were also two new members, one of whom was Frank. Having heard how well the first meeting had gone, and encouraged by the fact that there were two other gentlemen in the group, he had decided to come along and give it a try; the other was a certain Vanessa Palmer-Pilkington, notorious village gossip, member of the local Women’s Institute, and stirrer-upper extraordinaire.

Rachel had groaned aloud when Jill had told her about taking her booking, but they couldn’t exactly say no. It was an open and friendly group, after all. But there was history there – namely an ongoing battle of the bakes, since Rachel’s carrot cake had pipped Vanessa’s, claiming second prize at the Kirkton Country Show, pushing hers down to third place. The indominable V.P.P. wasn’t one to forget that easily.

As club night started, the excitable group was sitting around the big table once again, making their greetings. Vanessa introduced herself as an experienced baker, longstanding member of the Kirkton village community, and ‘feline entrepreneur’. Jill nearly choked on her tea at that point – she did, in fact, run a small cattery. The two other WI ladies who had come along last time raised their eyebrows exaggeratedly, having heard it all before – many times.

Who she was trying to impress, Rachel wasn’t sure, as most of the people there knew of her anyway. Mind you, she had sat herself very closely beside Daniel, who – to give him credit – was persevering well with his chirpy manner and friendly chat. Oh my goodness, yes, she was actually batting her eyelids at Daniel now, while Frank was taking his turn to introduce himself to the group, admitting that he wasn’t much of a baker but was willing to learn, and was looking forward to the tastings very much.

‘Well, thank you, everyone,’ Rachel addressed the group. ‘That’s great. So, tonight as you know is Treacle Tart Thursday.’

‘Tart week,’ Eve blurted out with a giggle, ‘Sorry, I’ve been waiting to say that all day.’

Rachel grinned, ‘Well, yes, tart week it is. And tonight we’ll be sampling Jill’s Treacle Tart, and I’ve also made a French-style Lemon Tart for you to try.’ She’d been quite pleased with the way it had turned out, actually. She’d never been much of a pastry chef, happier baking cakes and cheesecakes, but with a few tips from Jill, it certainly looked the part. However, the proof of the pudding was in the tasting, as she well knew, and they hadn’t cut into it as yet.

‘Well then, let’s have some teas and coffees first,’ offered Jill, ‘Let me know who’d like what and I’ll get them made. And then it’ll be spoons at the ready!’

‘Can’t wait,’ said Charlotte, eyes bulging at the two delicious-looking tarts Rachel had now set down on the table.

‘They look amazing,’ added Eve.

‘Delightful,’ said Frank. ‘What a way to spend an evening. I’d just be home alone right now, watching something on the television.’

‘I’ll fetch the jug of cream, ready to go with them, for those who like,’ said Rachel.

There were lots of positive comments as Jill’s treacle tart was tasted, even Vanessa reluctantly admitted it was ‘good’. It was served slightly warm so the filling was meltingly sticky and toffee-treacle scrumptious. Rachel handed the recipe sheet out for those who wanted to try and make it themselves at home.

‘Well, I already know how to make a good treacle tart,’ Vanessa pronounced. ‘It’s not exactly rocket science.’

‘Oh well, some others here might be glad of the recipe and some baking tips,’ Jill said, batting the comment away. ‘We’re not all Bake Off contenders,’ she muttered under her breath.

‘Hmph,’ spluttered Vanessa. ‘Oh, by the way, how’s your neighbour, Tom?’ she turned to ask Rachel pointedly.

‘Fine, thanks,’ answered Rachel, certain there was something behind this.

‘Well, you do know his wife Caitlin’s back on the scene.’

What do you mean? burned on Rachel’s tongue, but she knew the old bat would be up to no good with her meddling games. Instead, Rachel interjected coolly with, ‘Ex-wife,’ to clarify.