Page 23 of Summer at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

At my farmhouse.

Oh … did he imagine she and Maisy would be moving in there with him?

Rachel had assumed he’d move in with them, there at Primrose Farm, and maybe put his farmhouse up for rent or something. Primrose was Maisy’s home; it was all her little girl had ever known. Dammit, it was all Rachel had ever known. It was where she’d grown up with Dad, Mum. It was home. She felt a wrench in her heart just thinking about leaving.

‘Ah … did you mean … you wantus to move in with you?’ She tried to keep the tremble from her voice, reasoning with herself that it was only a mile down the road.

‘Well, yeah. I just thought … with your mum still living at the farm, you’d want to come over to mine, have some privacy. Our own space. Me, you and Maisy. I can do up the spare room for her, let her choose the colours and all that.’

Rachel was still trying to process this. Her mouth an ‘o’ of surprise. Why the hell hadn’t they had this conversation before? She’d just assumed, very naively as it turned out, that they’d be staying put … but then apparently, so had he …

‘Well, you can still carry on looking after Primrose easily from there, and the Pantry and everything’s close by.’

‘Oh, but it’d mean moving Maisy … it might be unsettling for her.’

‘I’m sure she’d be fine, Rach, kids adapt. We needn’t all be crammed under one roof, and it makes sense for Jill to stay put; it’s her home and where she does the baking for the Pantry, after all.’

Rachel opened her mouth to speak but found herself tongue-tied. For Tom it was obviously a done deal. Straightforward, in fact. But, as Rachel looked out of the truck window at the country lanes whizzing by, she was reeling.

10

Rachel had tossed and turned all night, her frazzled mind trying to get to grips with the prospect of living at Tom’s farm once they were married. Primrose Farm was everything to her, and as the only child she would naturally have taken the mantle as the next generation of working farmer. The farm was a place of stories passed down, of memories cherished. From Great-Grandad’s Aberdeen Angus prize bull, Macbeth, winning at the Kirkton Country Show, to Great-Aunt Iris’s oven-bottom muffins lurking unseen in the Aga for six weeks and turning into charcoal – she hadn’t inherited the baking gene, bless her – to Dad making a swing for Rachel out of a tractor tyre on the old apple tree … She knew that memories stayed with you wherever you went, they settled in hearts not bricks and mortar, but sometimes when she sat around the kitchen table at Primrose with her mum, it was like the walls were speaking to her. She could almost hear the voices of the generations gone by. It was her legacy. She knew, practically, she could run the farm fine from next door, but the idea seemed all wrong. Rachel feared she had been burying her head in the sand by not talking through their future living arrangements properly with Tom. But it felt just too painful for her to even contemplate leaving.

She desperately needed a friendly ear, and she also wanted to catch up with Eve to find out how she was getting on at home. Eve’s own dilemma and confession on their weekend away was still fresh in Rachel’s mind, and she wanted to be there for her friend should she need it. Neither issue was a conversation they could have in earshot of anyone else, so Rachel was relieved to see only Eve’s car in the driveway of her cottage when she rolled up on the quad.

She knocked on the white wooden door, and then opened it with a putting-a-brave-face-on-it, ‘Hello.’

‘Hi Rach, come on in. I’m in the dining room, covered in bunting.’

Rachel popped her head around the door to see a table loaded with pretty bolts of materials, the sewing machine on the go, and just-made flags of soft pinks, patterned whites, florals, and spotted sage greens, laid out ready to string together. ‘Guess who these are for?’ she beamed. ‘I take it they are the right colours to match your bouquets and the tipi-tent flowers?’

‘Oh my, Eve, they are just gorgeous. But haven’t you got all your own orders to make up for your customers too?’

‘Yep, it’s okay, I’ve done some of them this morning, rose with the lark I did. But well, I just couldn’t resist. And, I did promise you more of these, so I’d have to make them soon enough anyhow. And, I figured if I put a few pics of these finished ones on my Etsy page, it might create interest in my new wedding range too.’

The Craft Queen of Kirkton looked as though she was in her element.

‘Good thinking.’

‘Okay hun, well that’s another strand finished, so can I get you a coffee?’

‘I’d love one, thank you.’

They vacated to the kitchen where Rachel took up a stool whilst Eve popped the kettle on. ‘So, how’s life at the farm then?’ Eve asked.

The farm that Rachel might soon have to leave.

Rachel couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips.

‘Is everything okay?’ Eve was on it like a car bonnet. ‘Do we need cake?’

‘Definitely cake,’ Rachel raised a small smile.

‘No problem, there’s a couple of spare slices of lemon drizzle left that I made for Ben’s packed lunches this week. He’ll never know.’

The cafetière was filled and the cake plated, a zing of lemon and sugar filling the galley kitchen. ‘So …?’

‘So, I’ve just found out … Tom wants us to live there. At his house. Me and Maisy … after the wedding.’ Rachel looked down at her hands around the coffee mug.