Page 35 of Summer at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

She plated up a generous portion of ginger pudding, which smelt all tangy-sweet ginger as she spooned into it, serving it with a small jug of double cream on the side. ‘There you go, Frank. Enjoy.’ She delivered it to the gentleman’s favourite spot by the window overlooking the valley, where he was sitting looking very comfy with the local broadsheet set out before him.

‘Thank you, lass. I’m sure I will. It looks delicious.’

Shortly afterwards, two young mums from the village appeared with pushchairs and hungry toddlers in tow, shortly followed by Denise and Christine from the local WI group, who were also regulars at the Pudding Club.

‘Morning,’ said Denise. ‘And how are all the wedding plans going, pet? It’s what … only three-and-a-half weeks to go?’

Not another wedding well-wisher. ‘Yes, not long at all,’ Rachel chirped out a reply, in the hope of sounding cheery, though her heart felt as if it was currently lurking somewhere down near her shoes.

Their wedding was evidently the hot topic of conversation in the village right now. Rachel suppressed a groan, smiled sweetly, and held back the urge to give up and lie down behind the glass-fronted pudding counter or hide behind the coffee machine.

‘And how’s your lovely fiancé? Haven’t seen him about for a while,’ added Christine.

‘Oh fine. All good. Just perfect,’ Rachel lied. Would he turn up for his bacon roll elevenses today, she wondered? And more to the point, would he actually even make it to the church at this rate? A wedding without a groom, now that would be interesting. Her heart felt as though it was sinking.

‘So, ladies, what can I get for you?’ She needed to move on from all this wedding chitchat.

Rachel felt relieved when they ordered, enabling her to tootle off, make their teas, and escape from the verbal firing line for a little while at least. It wasn’t their fault, the villagers were just getting excited about the wedding event to come, which was evidently a highlight on the Kirkton calendar. How were they to know things were rocky between the two of them just now?

Jill arrived with a freshly baked Victoria sponge, sandwiched together with cream and fruit. ‘Ooh, that looks good, Mum,’ commented Rachel, as the smell of sponge and sweet strawberries wafted by.

‘Thanks, love.’

With all the wedding chatter still clamouring in her ears, and Jill back on hand to take the Pantry helm, Rachel saw her chance of escape, even if it was only for a half-hour or so. ‘Is it okay if I nip out for a short while? Everybody’s served and happy just now. It’s just I’ve noticed the milk’s running a bit low and I – er – need to pick up some fresh fruit for Maisy’s packed lunches.’

‘Yes, that’ll be fine, love.’

‘Anything else we need at all?’

‘Hmm, I’m nearly out of baking powder, so perhaps a tub of that.’

‘No problem. I won’t be long.’

Rachel’s idea of getting a little space to clear her head backfired in the queue at the village stores.

‘Oh, hello Rachel. Not long now until you tie the knot. I’m so looking forward to it … even bought a new hat,’ said Susan Davenport, one of her mum’s acquaintances, who had crept up behind her. Blimey, they were even sneaking up on her in the shop.

And then at the till: ‘Hi Rach, how are the wedding plans going? I bet you’re all excited now!’

‘Thrilled,’ she answered on autopilot, passing over her bag of apples, satsumas and a large carton of milk, and feeling distinctly cornered.

She needed a place to go, somewhere quiet, somewhere nearby, just to gather her thoughts. But where? And then it dawned on her … At the same time, she spotted the bucket of fresh flowers placed beside the till. A bunch of cheerful yellow roses called out to her. ‘I’ll take these, too.’

Yellow roses, yes, how fitting. The very same colour that Granny Ruth had chosen for her wedding day.

‘Thank you.’ And off she set on her way.

Dappled sunlight and shade, the soothing twitter of birdsong, the smell of recently mowed grass. Rachel made her way through the churchyard, knowing just where she was headed.

She found the marble headstone and brushed a hand gently along the top of it. It felt cool beneath her touch. ‘Hello, Dad.’

Of course, he wasn’t really here, not any more. If anything, the essence of him was there on the farm still, up high in the hills, lingering in the yard, and in the valley. The places he loved so much … But occasionally she was drawn to come here too; it was always calm, a place to chat unhindered. She tidied the grave, pulling out some tufts of grass that had rooted amongst the granite stones. Then she took the roses from their wrapper and laid them there; immediately they gave the sombre space a splash of colour.

‘Just me,’ she continued softly, ‘Feeling a bit cheesed off really, Dad … if you must know.’ And her thoughts took over: Tom, Eve, Mum and Daniel … oh, that seemed a bit weird thinking of the two of them here. She uttered a silent, ‘Sorry, Dad.’ But she had to face up to all that was happening of late, and for Mum and the others it sometimes felt as though life was moving on, Dad left in the past.

‘Miss you.’ She traced her fingers once more along the cool grey marble, and then sat herself down on the grass beside him. ‘To the moon and back …’ Bedtime stories of Nutbrown Hare filled her mind … her dad sitting beside her on her duvet back home. She found herself fighting back tears, and then she realised she didn’t have to. It was just her and Dad, and a brown and red robin perched on the stone wall a few metres away. The tears began to flow, and then finally to slow again.

It’s all right, our lass … Dad’s voice, strong in her mind. It’s all right to move on, to let yourself be happy.