Rachel’s Pudding Pantry
Rachel’s Pudding Pantry
Caroline Roberts
Step into Rachel’s farmhouse pudding pantry – where there’s always love, laughter, scrumptious puddings, and a hearty slice of romance!Pre-order the gorgeous new novel from Caroline Roberts, the Kindle bestselling author of the ‘Cosy Teashop’ series.
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2019
Copyright © Caroline Roberts 2019
Cover design by Holly MacDonald © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover illustrations © Hannah George/Meiklejohn
Caroline Roberts asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008327651
Ebook Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008327668
Version: 2019-04-30
Contents
Cover (#ueea00565-833d-5c7a-8baa-9f181253c915)
Title Page (#uf82aad91-74f0-56fc-98a1-20db45805f03)
Copyright (#u0d79dc7d-65dd-5907-88a6-88f1a60aa062)
Dedication (#u9ac912e2-8445-5065-99a7-0725d1366f49)
Epigraph (#ua98d34cc-3171-54e0-8037-efb5d1c87a17)
Chapter 1. Coming Home to Chocolate Pudding (#uba10e0cf-7a47-51c3-a60e-5f7ddae5f213)
Chapter 2. Troubled Times and Midnight Pudding (#u79cdd2e6-76c1-56f5-90dd-5d0b61c7b9ef)
Chapter 3. Sticky Toffee Pudding at Dawn (#u9eafcf10-c85f-55a0-ad28-45810c2f4b1e)
Chapter 4. Pet Lamb Patrol (#u12e9123f-e71d-5464-873c-323ea8145c7f)
Chapter 5. Bread and Butter Pudding and Sunday Dinner (#u46cbefa9-6126-5765-a541-9ff9205fb0b0)
Chapter 6. Puddings and Plans (#u83e45f64-b14e-5c93-805c-0d7bfb75d743)
Chapter 7. Unicorns and Cupcakes (#ua7ee7ac7-eeb7-5d8a-88d7-e7e38ad72f76)
Chapter 8. Birthday Treats, Tears and Chocolate Pudding (#uc4110cef-fb3c-5731-984a-e786bae20893)
Chapter 9. Coffee, Chat and Chocolate Brownies (#u16d8412d-6704-5782-a697-49a71b46c9c8)
Chapter 10. Coffee, Brownies and Chat (#u3faa45fa-3415-54f4-9dc3-531337c4f0e9)
Chapter 11. Full Steam Ahead (#u84e3fef8-6268-503e-b534-0325c9fbea69)
Chapter 12. It’s a Wrap (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13. A Very Gorgeous Apple Crumble (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14. A Pudding Production Line (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15. Thirty-Nine Puddings and a Pantry (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16. Grandmas and Ginger Puddings (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17. The Cattle are Lowing (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18. Prosecco, Plans and Mini Meringues (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19. Renovations and Roulade (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20. A Disastrous Date Pudding (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21. Hay and Delay (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22. Memories and Muffins (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23. A Pudding Picnic (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24. Puddings Galore (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25. Pudding Preparations (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26. A Proper Pudding Party (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27. Be Careful What You Wish For (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28. A Conflab Over a Cuppa (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29. A Brave New Day (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30. Daddy Daycare (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31. A Snake in the Grass (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32. To Kiss or not to Kiss (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33. Aching All Over (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34. A Sky Full of Stars (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 35. Harvest Supper (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 36. Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 37. Wise Words and Lemon Meringue Pie (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 38. A Pudding Stall (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 39. Best in Show (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 40. Summer Storms and Searching (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 41. Pancakes and PJs (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 42. The Best Apple Crumble Ever (#litres_trial_promo)
A Letter from Caroline (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Turn the Page to Discover Delicious Recipes to Try at Home – Only the Pudding Pantry Favourites Will Do! (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Caroline Roberts (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#ulink_e1d25ce3-5ef9-5cc0-a020-589d3d9ee39b)
For Alfie – my firstgrandchild
Epigraph (#ulink_f0826953-2f78-5a91-a989-855b2cd6cb30)
The proof of the pudding is in the eating
Old English Proverb
She is the perfect
example of grace
because she is a
butterfly
with bullet holes
in her wings
that never regretted
learning to fly
J.M. Storm
Chapter 1 (#ulink_4998b5e0-271c-5faf-bdb1-545e92393be7)
COMING HOME TO CHOCOLATE PUDDING (#ulink_4998b5e0-271c-5faf-bdb1-545e92393be7)
Heading back down the grassy slope, Rachel caught a glimpse of golden light ablaze over the vista of the Cheviot Hills, the sky above filled with cloudy trails of mauve, grey and orange – the sun set early here in Northumberland in March. Though she’d lived here in this valley all her life, every now and again this landscape with its vast, dramatic beauty simply took her breath away.
Rachel was on the farm’s quad bike, with Moss her faithful border collie on the back, having checked the fields were secure and ready for the new lambs and ewes. Earlier that afternoon, and working with the tractor, she’d put out some hay and bales of straw in large rectangular stacks to provide some shelter for the animals.
She paused for a few seconds looking towards those high hills that rose steadily from the valley where Primrose Farm nestled. Down here at the lower levels, there was grassy pastureland that led to brooks and streams, which ran cold and fresh from the moorland peaks above.
Despite this stunning panorama, there was a biting chill to the wind this evening, especially when you were on the back of the quad. Rachel’s fingerless gloves were no match for the nippy spring weather, and as the sun dipped the temperature cooled even further. It was six o’clock and time to head home to the farm.
She could see the farm’s outbuildings down in the valley; the lights were on in the lambing shed where Simon, their farmhand, would be settling down to work for the night. Beyond that, there was the old barn, which they used mostly for storage nowadays, and a warm welcoming glow came from the honeyed-stone traditional farmhouse where she knew her mum, Jill, and young daughter, Maisy, would be waiting for her.
Rachel couldn’t wait to arrive back and get cosy. She drove down the grassy bank, pausing to close the gate to the farmyard, parked the quad securely for the night, and walked towards the farmhouse porch where, even before opening the door, the sweet, warming smells of home cooking greeted her. Ah, bliss, Mum must have been baking. Rachel wondered what delights awaited her. Jill was a fabulous baker, mostly of the old-school-pudding-and-cake style, and boy were they good. They certainly cheered both stomach and soul, and were just what Rachel needed after a cold day out on the farm.
She took off her green wellington boots in the porch, and then opened the door to the kitchen where the rich chocolatey aromas were truly mouth-watering.
‘Mumm-ee.’ Little Maisy flew across to give Rachel a big hug, her blonde wavy hair bouncing as she ran.
‘Hello love, everything right?’ Jill turned from where she was washing up at the old stone sink to greet her daughter with a warm smile. Jill’s dark brown hair, which she wore in a loose bob, was peppered with grey nowadays.
‘Fine, thanks. So, you’ve been baking again, then?’
‘Yes, felt like getting the old mixer back out.’
‘That’s great,’ Rachel smiled. It had been a while since Mum had made any of her puddings and cakes, despite her having loved her baking so much. The kitchen had been the hub of so many sweet and scrumptious creations during the whole of Rachel’s childhood. Coming in from school, Rachel would often wonder what pudding delight might be waiting for her. She used to try and guess by the scents that greeted her at the door. Today’s smelt undeniably of cocoa.
‘Ooh yes, it’s the chocolate one,’ Maisy said, as if reading Rachel’s thoughts. ‘I’ve been helping, haven’t I, Grandma?’
Yes, that was the smell she’d recognised, that rich chocolate sponge and sauce. It was one of Rachel’s favourites.
‘You certainly have,’ Jill answered. ‘You’ve been a great little helper … been sifting the flour for me and all sorts.’
It was lovely to see the friendship and love so apparent between grandmother and granddaughter. And, it was wonderful that Jill was baking again too, returning step by step to the things she once loved to do.
‘Oh my, I don’t think I can wait. It smells divine, Mum. I’m famished.’
‘Well, supper’s not ready for another half hour yet, I’m cooking a stew,’ said Jill.
‘That sounds great … but a whole half hour … I couldn’t have a little taste of that pud just now, could I?’ teased Rachel.
It was sitting there, still warm on the kitchen side by the Aga, tempting her. Moss had sniffed it out too, standing tall with his nose to the air, before he settled down, resigned to snooze beneath it.
‘Why don’t we have pudding before dinner, Grandma?’ Maisy asked cheekily, with a big grin.
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ Jill answered.
Rachel was nodding in time enthusiastically with her daughter now.
‘Pretty please?’ Maisy’s grin widened.
‘You’d have to be sure to eat all your dinner, mind …’ Jill’s resolve was weakening, ‘But well, maybe just this once, why not.’
‘Yay! Yesss!’ they cried out. The three generations of Swinton girls started giggling together. And, it was lovely to hear laughter back in the farmhouse once more.
‘Come on, then.’ Jill organised some dessert bowls and spoons, and dished out three portions for them, pouring over some of the spare dark and glossy chocolate sauce she’d made, with a swirl of double cream to finish. They sat together at the old pine table that had been the focus of many a family meal and celebration over the years – Christmases, birthdays, anniversaries – where they’d shared stories of their days and lives, and of late where they had shared their tears. It was the very same table where Rachel had sat as a little girl herself, and it was very much at the heart of their farmhouse home. Now, watching her young daughter sat next to Mum, digging into the delicious homemade pudding, was the most comforting sight and made Rachel feel all warm inside.
There were soon plenty of ‘Umms’ and ‘Ahhs’ coming from Rachel and Maisy as they tucked in with delight. The pudding melted in the mouth, with rich cocoa-sweet flavours.
‘Thank you, this is wonderful, Mum,’ Rachel said.
It felt like a big move in the right direction for Jill, and for their newly shaped family. For a while now, the laughter had stopped, and her mum had stopped her baking too, saying that it hardly seemed worth it. There had been, still was, this huge, gaping hole in their lives … yet, slowly but surely, they were trying, and beginning, to knit it back together.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_490ba18d-ab87-550a-b6eb-a3b486225e2c)
TROUBLED TIMES AND MIDNIGHT PUDDING (#ulink_490ba18d-ab87-550a-b6eb-a3b486225e2c)
The farmhouse kitchen was lit by the glow of a single lamp at the desk where Rachel sat staring at her laptop. Jill had gone up to bed an hour before and little Maisy was tucked up fast asleep, no doubt hugging her favourite soft-toy lamb, in her lilac-painted room that had been so carefully and lovingly decorated by her grandad. The tug at Rachel’s heart was strong right then, for her father to whom she could no longer go for advice, and for the three of them who were here trying their best to hold the farm together.
The clock ticked away on the kitchen wall. It was already past midnight. However long she looked at those figures, they weren’t going to get any better. Rachel sighed, rested her elbows on the wooden desk and held her forehead in her hands for a few seconds, her dark wavy fringe tumbling down over her fingertips. She wasn’t going to let thisbeat them, no way. Primrose Farm had been in their family for generations. She had to keep it going for the three of them, for their future, and also for their animals – the sheep and cattle they’d reared and cared for over so many years. What they had all been through, two years ago now, could not be in vain.
But every month, when she drew up the farm accounts, it was plain as day that any profits had been squeezed further and their income was down. They lived a frugal enough life as it was. Luckily, they didn’t need fancy clothes or holidays. The only one getting new shoes or clothes was Maisy, as she was growing so fast. Rachel felt the tension knot across her brow. She got up to make herself a cup of tea and, fetching the milk from the fridge, spotted that there was some of Mum’s gorgeous chocolate pudding left. She helped herself to a slice and warmed it in the microwave – a little cocoa magic might help lift her spirits.
Rachel knew the time had come to talk about the farm’s struggling finances with her mother. She’d tried to protect her from this until now – her mum had had enough to cope with – but it was only right that Jill knew what they were facing, and they needed to approach this as a team. If it meant selling a couple of fields for the sake of the farm, Rachel mused, then so be it, except she wasn’t quite sure how Jill would take that news. And, any income from that might only be a drop in the ocean.
There might be other avenues they could explore. Farming friends in the area had started doing bed and breakfast ventures. In fact, traditional farmhouse B&Bs were becoming quite the thing. After all, they lived in the most beautiful Northumbrian valley in the foothills of the Cheviot Hills, but with Maisy so young, Rachel was wary of opening up their home to strangers. There must be other ways to diversify.
For tonight, however, her head was tired and fuzzy, and she was feeling cranky. It was hard to think clearly any more. Time for bed. Tomorrow was for taking things forward. Yet, having to tell her mum the truth about their dire financial situation filled her with a gnawing anxiety. It was one conversation she really wasn’t looking forward to, but it would have to happen soon.
‘Hey, Moss.’ She smoothed the head of the black-and-white sheepdog who was lying down beside her. ‘Come on then, boy.’
It was time for him to go back out to his kennel in the yard. He was meant to live outside, but often sneaked in for the warmth of the Aga and some affection. Rachel liked him there with her, to be honest; he was great company as well as being excellent when working with the sheep, her dad having trained him well. How much they both missed him.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_e6fef51f-7fbf-55e3-9800-8f7091338662)
STICKY TOFFEE PUDDING AT DAWN (#ulink_e6fef51f-7fbf-55e3-9800-8f7091338662)
A week later, and lambing at Primrose Farm was in full flow.
‘Come on then, petal. Let’s get you to bed,’ Rachel said.
‘But Mu-um.’
‘No buts, Maisy. It’s already past your bedtime, and it’s school again tomorrow.’
It was Sunday evening, the weekend was coming to a close, and her almost five-year-old daughter needed her sleep. Oh yes, her little girl’s birthday was fast approaching at the end of the month – yet another thing to think about, party planning – but Rachel was too tired to get her head around the thought of entertaining a host of excitable children just now. With late nights, early starts and a couple of all-nighters completed, the lambing brain-fog had well and truly descended.
‘But who will look after Pete? And how will I know he’s all right?’ Maisy sounded genuinely concerned, a frown forming beneath her pale-blonde fringe. She had been helping Rachel to bottle-feed the pet lamb over the weekend since his mother had rejected him (being a triplet, and the weakest of the trio).
‘Well, that’s easy Maisy, because it’s my turn on night shift tonight, so I’ll be there with him.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yep, I’ll be keeping a very close eye on him,’ she reassured. ‘And all the other sheep and lambs too, of course. So, I’ll let you know how Pete is first thing in the morning when you wake up.’
That seemed to appease Maisy. ‘O-kay.’
‘Come on, then. I’ll come up and read you a bedtime story.’
The little girl got up from the large farmhouse kitchen table at the same time as her mum.
‘Night, Maisy,’ called Jill from across the kitchen. Rachel was both surprised and delighted to see that her mum was baking again this evening.
Maisy dashed over to give her a goodnight kiss. ‘Night, night Grandma … Ooh, are they for me?’ As she was lifted up in her grandma’s arms she caught sight of a batch of vanilla cupcakes that were cooling on the side.
‘They might be. You can have one in your packed lunch for school tomorrow. But now, it’s time to brush your teeth and get to bed.’
‘Aw, not fair!’ The little girl gave a cheeky, hopeful smile.
‘Tomorrow,’ Jill said kindly but firmly, smiling back, as she ruffled her granddaughter’s soft wavy blonde hair.
Maisy slid down and scampered back to Rachel. ‘Can we have the Floss story please, Mummy?’
‘I should think so.’
Her daughter loved the countryside tale with its lovely illustrations of the sheepdog and his new family.
They were soon settled upstairs in Maisy’s small but prettily painted room. Maisy was tucked up in her bed under her unicorn print duvet with her cuddly lamb toy that she’d had from being a baby. Rachel began reading, her voice rhythmic, soothing. Both mother and daughter enjoyed the farmyard tales. The books they had read over and over were familiar and reassuring, with a sense that everything would be all right in the end. After all they had been through in the last two years, they really needed to believe in that.
Maisy’s eyelids were getting heavy by the last page. Unfortunately, so were Rachel’s – she could so climb under that duvet with her daughter and curl up, but there’d be no sleep for her tonight. Nature and the farm wouldn’t wait. The ewes and lambs needed her care.
Simon, their trusted farmhand, had already worked all last night and most of this afternoon, snatching only a few hours’ kip in between. This was her shout. She didn’t mind really. The lambing night shift was often peaceful, out in the barn with just the sounds of the sheep baaing and the hoots and calls of nature at night-time from outside. She had done this for many years now, each springtime, learning alongside her father. She wanted to make him proud and show him she could do well, that she would carry on and do her best by Primrose Farm and the livestock there. After all, it wasn’t just the animals that were relying on her now, her mum and her daughter needed her to make sure the farm kept going too. It was their home as well as their livelihood.
She shifted carefully off the bed and leaned over to give her little girl a gentle kiss on the forehead, trying not to disturb her. ‘Night, petal.’
‘Night, Mummy,’ came a whisper, Maisy’s eyelids already closing.
‘Time for a quick cuppa before you head out?’ Jill asked, as Rachel came back downstairs to the farmhouse kitchen.
Rachel glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Nah, I think I’d better get across to the shed. I told Simon I’d let him go at seven.’
‘Well, give me a minute and I’ll make up a flask for you. You can’t go out without some food for the night. There are some ham sandwiches ready in the fridge wrapped in foil. Oh, and I’ve also made some sticky toffee pudding … there’s an individual portion I’ve put aside just for you.’
‘Oh, great, thanks Mum. I love that stuff.’ It was wonderful to see her mum with a little of her old spark back, slowly coming back round to the things she used to love.
‘I know. Got to keep the troops fed, and your energy levels up.’
‘Definitely. I’ll not argue with sticky toffee pudding. And, it’s great to see you baking again, Mum.’
‘And you’ve got your phone?’ Jill neatly bypassed the comment.
‘Yes, of course. And …’ Rachel went to the coat peg in the porch and checked everything else she needed was in her old Barbour waxed-jacket pocket: a pen-knife which had been her dad’s, string, her lambing cord which was sometimes necessary with a difficult birth. ‘Yep, got all my kit.’
‘Well, have a good night out there. Hope it stays nice and calm for you.’
‘Me too.’
Jill packed her off with her bundle of food, a large flask of tea and a tin mug in a well-worn rucksack.
‘Come on, Moss. You can come too.’ Rachel whistled at the sheepdog who was settled by the Aga, having snuck in with her earlier. He leapt up, eager to help.
Rachel walked across the yard, headed round the corner of the old stone barn and down a short track to the lambing shed. Dusk was moving in with its long shadows and cooler air. The light was fading softly from its grey-peach glow, diffusing into the indigo of night. She heard the peeping call of an oystercatcher, spotting a pair of them – a dart of bold black and white – overhead, with their distinctive long orange bills.
She soon reached the lambing shed – a large, steel-framed structure. It was more modern than the other buildings on the farm. The lights were bright in there and the smell as she entered was earthy, of straw and sheep.
‘Hey, Simon. All been okay?’
Their middle-aged farmhand looked up. He had dark hair that was greying at the temples and a rugged but friendly face, lined from years of working outdoors. ‘Aye, grand. Just keep an eye on number 98 over there. She’s got twins but one of her teats isn’t working, so she’s struggling to feed them both for now. You might have to supplement them a bit when you’re feeding the pet lambs.’
‘Okay, thanks for the heads up, and how’s Pete? That’s the pet lamb from Friday. Maisy’s named him.’
‘Aye, he’s grand. A little fighter, that one.’
‘Phew, that’s good, Maisy’ll be distraught if anything happens to him.’
Life and death were normal processes at the farm, but it was hard at times not to get attached to individual creatures, especially when they were cute little lambs and you were only going on five years old. In fact, it was still pretty hard at twenty-four, Rachel mused. Her dad used to say she was far too soft back when she was a little girl herself, and that she shouldn’t name the animals, but Rachel couldn’t help her caring nature. She’d try her utmost to keep her animals alive and well, even in the most forlorn of cases. Her dad had reminded her that sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind.
‘Aye, well, we’ll do our best by him,’ said Simon, bringing her back to the here and now.
‘Naturally.’
‘Everything else has been pretty steady. A few of the ewes and their lambs have gone back out into the fields from yesterday. They all seem fine.’
‘Right, well, I’ll let you get away.’
‘Thanks, lass. I must say I’m ready for some kip.’
‘Oh, hang on, Mum’s sent over a couple of cupcakes for you.’ Rachel dug a small package from her bag.
‘They’ll be grand with a cup of coffee when I get in. Thank Jill, won’t you?’
‘Will do and you’re welcome.’
Simon set off leaving Rachel alone with Moss and the sheep. She switched off the radio that Simon had left playing. In the daytime she liked the chat and the music, but at nightfall it was nice to appreciate the peace, interrupted now and again with the sounds of the baaing of the new lambs and the ewes.
Rachel toured the shed, making a check of the livestock. The ewes waiting to lamb were penned together in a large section and the majority seemed fine just now. There were mostly Cheviot Sheep on the farm – a hardy breed ideal for the hilly landscape. One Cheviot was showing signs of being close to giving birth. Also, one of the Texels – a larger, stocky breed of sheep that they only had a few of – was circling in a separate pen and seemed restless. Rachel would keep a close eye on those two.
The new mums and lambs in their individual pens seemed happy as Rachel made her way around the shed. She checked the teats of number 98 – there was still no milk coming on the one side. She’d make up the evening feed soon and help these two new lambs out, as well as bottle-feed the three smaller pet lambs – including the famous Pete – then she’d need to fill the teat trough for the four others that were bigger.
After doing the feeds and a further check of the sheep, Rachel settled down on a straw bale with a warming mug of tea from her flask. There was a sense of calm in the lambing shed, especially as night began to fall, when you were the only person there. Moss settled himself at her feet. She could mull over her day, think of her plans for the coming weeks, her sketchy ideas for the farm still prominent in her mind, or try to grab a few precious moments of stillness. It had been a lovely sunny day and the evening felt mild. Spring had definitely sprung in Northumberland, which was good news for the lambing – the ewes and lambs suffered in the wet and cold, especially if the bad weather was prolonged. Memories of a recent winter that had lasted far too long came bleakly to mind, and she gave an involuntary shiver. Sometimes, in Rachel’s heart, it felt as cold as ice looking back to that time. Spring, though uplifting, could also be a bittersweet time for Rachel.
She swiftly shifted her thoughts back to the here and now and pulled out a paperback from her pocket. She settled to read for a while, losing herself in a world of tearooms and tangled love affairs. It was a pleasant escape in a world of troubles.
In the early hours of the morning, the Cheviot ewe she’d spotted earlier began to give birth; the sac was showing and the lamb presenting. Rachel watched closely. It was straightforward and the mother sheep managed well on her own – the second lamb appearing a short while after the first, and the ewe licking them clean. Both lambs were up on their legs within minutes, and soon began suckling. Nature was an amazing thing. It was still a mini miracle to Rachel every single time – watching new life blossom.
Rachel was well aware that farmers could sometimes be viewed as hard, but it was more a case of having to be practical. She cared for every single animal at the farm and its livelihood. Yes, the farm was a business, of course, and financially at times a very tough one – the animals were reared to be sold on at the end of the day – but farming was so much more than that. These sheep, their predecessors, and the small herd of cows they kept, had been here with them for many years. She was guardian of the land too. From being a little girl, this farm and its valley had a huge piece of her heart.
Rachel felt her tummy rumble as she did another tour of the animals. One Texel was still up and down and circling a bit, but nothing seemed imminent, so Rachel decided to have her sandwiches and some more hot tea. It was beginning to get chillier now, she could see her breath misting, but with her thermal layers, double socks, woollen jumper and coat, she stayed warm. She unwrapped the foil package her mum had made for her. The ham was thick and tasty and the fresh wholemeal bread was spread with a touch of honey-grain mustard. Delicious. She gave Moss a crust and sipped her tea. An owl hooted outside, then all was quiet again. The brightness of the shed a beacon in the still of the night.
An hour or so later, the Texel was beginning to show properly. She seemed agitated, not wanting to lie down for long. Rachel perched on some bales nearer to the Texel’s pen – there were just twelve of them on the farm. Two had already lambed successfully a couple of days ago and were already out in the field. Within another half hour, all the signs were pointing to an imminent birth, but she seemed to be struggling, and a panicked sheep running around with a lamb about to be born was not a good thing. Rachel put her sheep-wrestling technique into action and dived onto the back of the ewe – the Texels were a large, muscular sheep and needed some force to tackle them down to the ground. The ewe could then be turned on her side. It would make it easier for both ewe and lamb.
Damn it, Rachel was on the sheep’s back but the ewe was still fighting it, thrashing her legs about, so Rachel used an old shepherd’s tip handed down from her dad and grandad and pulled off her coat, placing it over the ewe’s head. The creature did settle somewhat, thank heavens, enough that Rachel could check her rear and see the lamb’s nose and feet there. It could well be a large lamb. The birth might just take a while, but Rachel also knew that you couldn’t afford to leave it too long without intervention.
Twenty minutes later, and nothing had changed, so Rachel attached her lambing cord and began trying to help the little creature out, heaving back against the prop of a straw bale. This was like the bloody enormous turnip of Maisy’s bedtime stories; nothing was giving, and the ewe was trying to get up again, panting and bleating. Rachel knew that the situation would soon be life-threatening for both sheep and lamb. She needed to call someone right now, someone experienced and stronger than herself. Think, think. Simon lived over fifteen minutes’ drive away. Next door was Tom’s farm – he’d no doubt be busy with his own sheep, but as he had a bigger farm she knew he had two farmhands, so one of them might well be on duty with him. With no time to waste, she pulled her mobile phone from her pocket, still trying to keep the ewe wedged to the ground as she made the call.
The dialling tone rang four or five times, then – finally – he picked up.
‘Tom.’
‘Rachel, is that you … is everything okay?’ He sounded rather bleary, he must have been sleeping.
‘Not really, I’ve a Texel in trouble. The lamb seems to be stuck.’
‘Right.’ Instantly, he sounded alert. ‘I’ll come straight over.’ They both knew the seriousness of the situation.
Rachel put her phone back in her pocket and stayed with the ewe, trying her best to keep the creature calm and grounded.
The welcome sounds of a quad rolling up outside came a short while after. Tom arrived with a brief ‘Hi’ and then went straight into action. Rachel stayed at the ewe’s head, whilst Tom got to work below, having to use the cords himself. He was tall and strong, but even then, he had to heave with his back set against the straw bales. At last, after much effort, the lamb came free. It was large, with a mass of mucus around it … and it didn’t move. Tom carefully wiped the mucus away from its mouth and gave its body a firm rub. Still no movement – the poor thing seemed lifeless. He blew into its mouth, once, twice.
‘Come on lad, you can do it.’
And there was a flicker of life, a twitch of a leg initially, then it lifted its damp woolly head, raised itself to a tentative stand and shook itself down – shocked at its arrival into the world. The mother sheep shifted across instinctively to lick it.
‘Thank you, Tom.’ Rachel found herself feeling a little emotional. Fatigue and the stress of the situation suddenly crashed in.
‘Hey, you’re welcome. Good call getting me out.’ Tom smiled.
‘I know. I was struggling. I need some stronger muscles.’ It was frustrating at times not having the physical strength that was required for the more challenging jobs on the farm.
‘Hah, now we don’t want you looking like the Hulk or anything,’ Tom joked, his dark brown eyes shining.
‘Hi, little chap.’ Rachel moved across to see the new-born lamb, who thankfully seemed fine after his ordeal coming into the world. She’d let him and his mum settle for a few minutes together and then she’d do her checks on the lamb. But just now, they all needed a breather.
‘Would you like a tea, Tom? And … I’ve got some of Mum’s sticky toffee pudding here.’
‘Now you’re talking. Well, that’s certainly worth getting up at 3 a.m. for.’ He grinned.
Rachel poured out his drink from the flask, passing over the now communal tin mug. Tom took it, his forearm smeared with muck and blood, but neither were worried about dirt and grime; it was par for the course in the lambing shed.
They sat together side by side on a straw bale.
‘God, I really appreciate you coming over.’ The relief began flooding through Rachel.
‘No worries. You know I’m here to help … any time. I’ve always said that.’ He gave her an earnest look.
‘Thanks. You’ve been so good to us.’ He was such a great family friend – had helped see them through the toughest of times. In fact, sometimes she worried he’d think they were a bit of a pain – the women from the farm next door. They tried not to pester too much, doing their best to remain self-sufficient at Primrose Farm, but tonight really had been an emergency situation.
Tom was a little older in his mid-thirties. They had known each other since childhood, though Tom had been a teenager, whizzing up and down the lane on his quad bike, when Rachel was just a small girl. He’d lived on the family farm next door virtually all his life, except when he’d got married and moved away. Then, when his father’s arthritis hit hard several years ago, his parents had moved out to a bungalow in Kirkton, allowing Tom to take over the main farmhouse and the running of the farm with his then-wife, Caitlin. They’d divorced three years ago – pretty acrimoniously, so Rachel heard – and he’d been living there as a single man ever since. They saw a lot of each other on the road and out and about, being neighbours.
‘So, how long are you on till?’ Tom asked.
‘Ah, Simon’s back at seven. A twelve-hour shift for me. I’ll see Maisy for breakfast time and then I’ll get my head down for a few hours’ sleep once she’s gone off to school.’
‘Ah, a few hours of blessed kip.’
‘Then, I’m back on again tonight.’
‘Relentless, isn’t it – lambing time. Feels never-ending. It’s only around three weeks overall and it seems like a bloody year.’
‘We’ll get there. Same every year. Like a horrid hangover, you come out of it threatening never to rear any more sheep, and then by market time you’ve forgotten how bloody awful it is and you’re tricked back into it again.’
‘Hah, yeah.’
Rachel began rummaging in the rucksack for Jill’s pudding and poured herself another mug of tea.
‘To the hardy Cheviot Hill farmers,’ she said. She raised her tin cup. ‘Cheers.’
She passed Tom a portion of the rich, treacly pudding and a plastic spoon – Mum always thought of everything.
‘And to sticky toffee pudding.’ He smiled, digging a spoon into the sponge. ‘God, this is delicious. Fuel of the hill farmers.’
‘Hah. Absolutely!’
After chatting for a while, Tom headed back to snatch a few more hours’ sleep. As she’d suspected, he had been in bed when she’d called, trying to make the most of a rare night off from the lambing shed. Rachel felt a little guilty for disturbing his night, as he’d have plenty of his own work to do on his farm today.
It wasn’t long until dawn began to break with golden morning light filtering in through the gaps in the shed door. On her own once more, Rachel dealt with another birth – a single healthy lamb who came into the world without a fuss – and soon enough, it was time to head back over to the farmhouse and her family.
Thank goodness it had all worked out in the end for that little Texel. And, looking at the clear sky above her as she walked back across the yard, thank goodness for another warm dry day. The weather this spring was being kind to them. It hadn’t always been so. She walked past the old stone stable building that was no longer used. Remembering that fateful spring morning two years ago, she felt a shudder run through her.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_26b69252-2c44-5497-9156-0e9ad4d22f69)
PET LAMB PATROL (#ulink_26b69252-2c44-5497-9156-0e9ad4d22f69)
Maisy was already up when Rachel got back to the farmhouse. She and Jill were busy setting out the breakfast things at the large pine kitchen table. Maisy was struggling, carrying two bulky cereal boxes, and dropped them down quickly on the table as her mum appeared.
‘Mumm-eee! How’s Pete?’
‘He’s good, Maisy. He had a great night and is feeding well.’
‘Ooh, can I go feed him?’
‘After school, yes. You’ve got to get ready and have your own breakfast now.’
‘Oh, not fair.’
‘He’s already had his breakfast today, anyhow,’ Rachel added.
‘Cup of tea, love?’ Jill asked, switching the kettle back on, already knowing the answer.
‘Yes, please, I’m desperate for another brew.’
‘Has everything been all right? I thought I heard a vehicle in the early hours?’ Her mum had a frown of concern across her brow.
‘Yeah, I had to call out Tom. One of the Texels was in difficulty.’
‘Oh, did you manage okay?’ As a farmer’s wife, Jill was well aware of the problems you could experience with lambing. She had often helped out herself in the past, but lately shared her time between the lighter farming duties and helping to look after Maisy.
‘The lamb was stuck. It had been going for too long and I was getting a bit worried, so I called Tom in. He did a great job. The ewe and lamb were both fine in the end. It was just a really big lamb.’
‘Ah, well I’m glad everything was okay with the little chap. All’s well that ends well.’
‘Yes, and thank heavens for Tom,’ added Rachel. ‘The poor guy, I think I woke him up. Been trying to catch a few hours’ sleep himself.’
‘Oh, he’s a lovely lad. I’m not sure what we’d do without him next door. He’s been a godsend.’
Lad. It made Rachel smile – he was well into his thirties. Her mum made him sound like he was thirteen. But yes, he had been a great friend to the family and a brilliant support, especially since they’d lost Dad.
‘Can I see Tom, Mummy?’ Maisy piped up, now sat at the table and digging a spoon into a bowl of Rice Krispies.
‘Well, not right now.’ Rachel sat down next to her daughter, cradling her mug of tea. ‘He’s probably either back in bed, or in his own lambing shed. He’s a bit busy just now, Maisy. We’ll give it a week or so, then you can go across and say hello when lambing is over.’
‘Ah, lambing is sooo boring.’
‘What do you mean? You love Pete and the other lambs?’
‘Yeah, but all of the grown-ups are too busy.’
‘Yes, that’s ’cos it’s so important. You’ll just have to be patient, petal. It’s our job.’ And, it’s what pays the bills, Rachel added mentally.
‘Maybe we can ask him across for Sunday dinner this weekend as a thank you?’ chipped in Jill. ‘I’m sure he’d be glad of that. Even if it’s just for an hour or so if he’s got a lot on.’
‘That’s a nice idea. I’ll mention it if we cross paths in the next couple of days,’ said Rachel.
Maisy was nodding animatedly, happy with that idea.
Time was slipping on and the school minibus would be arriving at the end of the farm track at 8:20 a.m. sharp. ‘Right Maisy, time to finish your cereal and go up and brush your teeth. Then it’s shoes on, rucksack at the ready, and I’ll walk you to the bus.’
‘I’ll go if you like, Rachel,’ Jill offered. ‘You might want to get off to bed.’
‘No, it’s fine, Mum. I’d like to go.’ However tired she felt, even at lambing time, she liked to spend some time with Maisy before and after school.
‘Well, are you peckish, pet? You haven’t eaten any breakfast yet. Shall I make you some scrambled eggs for when you get back?’
‘That sounds perfect. Thank you.’
They kept a dozen or so of their own hens, who wandered around the farm, pecking away and fluffing their feathers. They were happily free range by day and settled in their coops at night, which kept them safe from any foxes or other prey. Their eggs were delicious with orange-gold yolks – just perfect served scrambled or poached on thick farmhouse toast.
Ten minutes later, Rachel and Maisy had left the house and were out in the yard.
‘Can I see Petie before I go?’ Maisy gave her mum the cutest of smiles.
‘Maisy, you’re in your smart school clothes and best shoes. You’ll get filthy in the shed.’ Rachel did have her wellies on though. Looking at her daughter’s cheeky grin, she caved. ‘Ah okay, a quick one-minute hello. But just look, no touching, as we haven’t got time to go and wash hands again. Come on, I’ll carry you across.’ She hoisted her up onto her hip and headed across to the lambing shed.
The pet lambs were sectioned off in a pen near the front, so Rachel lifted Maisy to look in at them.
‘Hello, Petie boy! See you later!’ Maisy shouted, waving at the little fella.
He looked up and gave a baa in return, then skipped towards them, hopeful of another feed. The other pet lambs were snuggled together beside a large bale of straw. They all seemed to be doing fine, although one – number 34 – was still a lot smaller than the rest. Rachel would have to keep an extra eye on him, but he seemed lively enough just now, getting up to his feet.
They spotted Simon across in the shed and gave him a wave.
‘Have a good day at school, Maisy,’ he called across.
‘Hello, Simon. I will.’
‘Morning, Simon. Everything been okay since I left?’
‘Just grand, lass.’
‘Right, we’d better go, Maisy. Don’t want you missing the bus.’
The two of them made their way down the farm track, hand in hand. Thankfully, Maisy enjoyed school. She’d only started six months ago but had settled in well at Kirkton’s First School, in the small market town that was just three miles from the farm. Maisy was such a sociable girl, she enjoyed seeing her friends as much as the learning.
The lane down to the road was bordered by grassy banks and spring had arrived with a mass of pale-yellow primroses, that nestled beneath the hawthorn hedges each side. At the roadside verge there were clusters of bold yellow daffodils swaying in the breeze, ready to welcome any visitors to the farm. Rachel made sure she kept the grass each side of the farm gate short and well-tended. Her dad had always insisted the entrance was neat and tidy. ‘First impressions, Rachel. First impressions,’ he’d say in his deep, resonant voice. She took a deep breath, feeling that familiar pang of sorrow.
She spotted her good friend Eve, heading down the lane towards them with her little girl, Amelia – Maisy’s bestie. They had walked down from their nearby cottage. It saved the minibus an awkward turnaround in the narrow lane.
‘Hi Eve. Hello, Amelia.’ Rachel gave a cheery wave.
‘Hiya, Rachel. You okay? Surviving lambing?’ Eve asked, pulling a grimace. It was well known in country circles that lambing was the most exhausting time of the farming year.
‘Yes, we’re getting there. Bit of a tense time last night though …’
The bus then arrived, pulling up beside them, and the girls got on with their school bags and packed-lunch-filled rucksacks swinging. The adults hopped on too, saying a quick hello to Ted, the driver, and checking that the girls had everything with them and that their seatbelts were done up. After a kiss and a ‘Have a good day’ each, they got off again, waving as the bus set away.
‘So, you were saying? An eventful night?’ Eve asked.
‘Oh yes … life in the lambing shed. A Texel was in trouble, the lamb stuck. But thank heavens it was all fine in the end … with a bit of early-morning help from Tom.’
‘Ah, the delectable Tom. Your dishy next-door farmer.’ There was no hiding that Eve, despite being happily married to Ben, had had a bit of a crush on Tom for several years now, which always amused Rachel. Eve hadn’t batted an eyelid when their childhood friend Tom had moved away to the city – largely under influence, or so Rachel heard, from his new wife Caitlin – but ever since he’d arrived back at the farm, newly single, Eve had seen him with new eyes. ‘I still haven’t worked out how he hasn’t been snapped up,’ she continued dreamily. ‘His divorce was ages ago.’
‘Hmm, maybe once bitten twice shy.’ Rachel knew that feeling well. ‘Anyway, I don’t know why you’re gushing on – you’re already taken. And, he’s at least ten years older than us pair.’ The two girlfriends had been a year apart at school, Eve being the older, but they had always lived nearby and been good friends, sharing the ups and downs of their teenage years. They were now the grand old age of twenty-four and twenty-five respectively – though after ten days of lambing and hardly any sleep Rachel felt about sixty-four.
‘Eight years older than me, actually. He’s thirty-three.’
‘Is he now, and how do you know that?’
‘It was his birthday a few weeks ago. He happened to mention it to Ben down in the pub.’
Tom was a nice-looking chap, Rachel supposed, but he’d always been a family friend. She’d known him as a neighbour from being a little girl. However much Eve had a crush on him, Rachel found she couldn’t even begin to contemplate him in that way.
‘So, what are you up to today?’ Rachel asked, happy to change the subject.
‘Well, I have a new project actually. I’m quite excited about it. You know how I love making things …’
Eve was the most talented craftsperson Rachel knew, making the most gorgeous felt soft-toy animals, and her knits were fabulous – her cute tractor design jumpers were a triumph – as well as bootees, children’s cardigans, hats and scarfs. At Christmas and birthdays, she usually turned up with a lovely handmade present. She also turned her hand to making gift cards, doing woodwork, needlecraft, you name it. Rachel had named her the bunting queen of the valley after she’d made a gorgeous strand for Maisy’s birthday party last year. It was so pretty, with flags of pastel spots and stripes and vintage roses.
‘Yes … come on, tell me all about it then.’
‘I’m looking into starting a little craft business and joining Etsy,’ Eve continued. ‘So I can start selling some of my stuff online. As always, we could do with a bit more cash in the household, but it’s hard finding a job that fits around school hours and isn’t too far away. But the best thing is, I can do all this from home, other than nipping to the post office for organising the postage. So, what do you think?’
‘That sounds a brilliant idea. I imagine you’ve done your research and looked into everything, and yeah why not. It looks a great platform. I’ve bought the odd thing from there myself. Hey, good for you.’ Rachel then had to stifle a yawn. ‘Sorry, that’s nothing to do with your project. I haven’t slept since yesterday afternoon, and even then, it was only for a couple of hours.’
‘Oh crikey, hun. Well you’d better get yourself off to bed. Is it night shift again tonight for you?’
‘Yep, no rest for the wicked.’
‘Or farmers.’
‘Too true. And, hey, good luck with the crafting, Eve. Once the lambing’s over I will resurface and join the real world again, I promise. We’ll have to have a coffee and a proper catch-up.’
‘We will, indeed. Or maybe a drink in the pub. I’m missing my mate. Bye, Rach.’
‘See you, Eve.’
‘Sweet dreams, hun.’
‘Thanks.’
Walking back up the road, Rachel thought how great it was that Eve was starting her own business. Little seeds had also been sown in Rachel’s mind. They really needed to think of something else they could do at the farm. A new direction. Diversification. Something that fitted in with their farming lives, and with Maisy of course, that had the potential to improve their income. But what, was the million-dollar question.
Oh yesss, the bliss as her head hit the pillows. Rachel snuggled down under a soft duvet with the bedroom curtains closed against the brightness of the early spring day. The sounds of the birds tweeting away outside soon began to fade as Rachel drifted into much-needed sleep.
When she came to, a tractor was droning in the distance and the birds were still singing. A glance at her wristwatch told Rachel it was almost 2 p.m. Goodness, she’d been asleep for nearly five hours. It felt like five minutes! She yawned and stretched. She’d better get up, give her mum a hand, and then go and see how Simon was getting on. Crikey, it was only another hour until the school minibus would be making its way back up the lane and Maisy would be home.
Rachel pulled on some tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt, popping an old fleece over the top. The farmhouse was never that warm, except in the kitchen by the Aga, as the thick stone walls kept it cool. Her father had been born within these walls. And, being brought up here as a little girl, Rachel remembered seeking out the kitchen and its warmth, standing on a little stool and watching Jill press out a batch of scones that would bake with the most enticing aroma, ready to dollop with jam and cream later, or helping to stir a batter mix for lemon and sugar sprinkled pancakes which would sizzle in the pan.
‘Hello love, welcome back to the land of the living,’ Jill greeted her as she came through into the kitchen. ‘There’s some soup on the stove, and some crusty bread I’ve been baking.’
‘Oh, thanks Mum, excellent.’ Rachel lifted the lid on the pan – leek and potato – yum, her favourite. It was steaming away, hot and ready. Her mum must have kept it simmering for her. Jill was a star, like the cogs in the wheel, keeping the family fed and watered, as well as taking an active role in the farm. Rachel counted her blessings for having such a supportive parent. She admired how Jill had kept going so stoically, especially considering the circumstances; the three of them often struggling to find their way in this new uncharted landscape. Maybe keeping busy was the only way to keep afloat.
‘Oh, I popped out to the shops for a few essentials while you were sleeping, happened to see Tom on my way back, so I’ve asked him across for Sunday lunch. He seemed delighted. Goodness knows what he cooks for himself, a man there on his own all the time.’
‘Hah, I’m sure he can cook, Mum. It’s not the dark ages. And I bet he pops across to Jim and Barbara’s often too.’ His parents only lived a few miles away, after all.
‘Yes, but still, I’m sure he’ll enjoy being looked after. It’s a busy enough time on the farm. And, you don’t tend to cook a roast dinner for one, do you now.’
‘No, I suppose not. Thanks for asking him.’ It would be a lovely way of thanking him for his help and support last night, not to mention the past months.
‘Be nice to have some company here, too,’ Jill added.
It was true that farm life could be quite isolating at times, especially out in rural North Northumberland. Yes, it was beautiful and quiet and such a special place, but that also meant you were quite some way from towns, cities, cinemas, airports. Mostly you didn’t think about it, just got on with it. But often it was just the three of them there: Rachel, Jill and Maisy. Sometimes, Granny Ruth, her dad’s mother and Rachel’s last surviving grandparent, would visit as she lived not far away on the far side of Kirkton, but other than her, Simon, Eve and the bus driver, it could be days before she saw anyone else – in fact weeks at lambing time.
School bus time soon came around again. Rachel strolled back down the lane to meet Maisy, scanning the fields on the way, checking that the sheep and lambs that had recently been turned out from the lambing shed seemed okay. The minibus was already pulling up at the lane end as she got there, with Maisy skipping down the steps within seconds to give her a big hug. Rachel had a quick chat with Eve and Amelia, and then they were on their way back to the farm.
As they walked together, Rachel asked about her daughter’s day and what she’d been doing. Painting, reading, reallyhard spellings and skipping with ropes at playtime was the answer. As they neared the top of the track Maisy went unusually quiet, then she stopped walking suddenly and looked up at Rachel with a serious expression on her face.
‘Mummy … why haven’t I got a daddy?’ she blurted out.
‘Oh,’ the question floored Rachel momentarily.
‘Well?’ Maisy chanted. ‘Amelia’s got one and Nell’s got one, and even Harry says he has one but he only sees him on Saturdays.’
‘Oh Maisy, of course you have a daddy. Everyone does. It’s just that …’ Rachel knew she had to frame the words carefully, not wanting Maisy to feel unwanted. ‘Well, he’s not here much. He lives a long way away.’
‘Why doesn’t he live here … with us … like Amelia’s daddy? Doesn’t he like me?’
Rachel’s heart went out to her daughter. Because he’s an irresponsible, immature, selfish little git came to mind.
‘Oh petal, of course he does, he loves you. It’s just a bit more complicated for us. Your daddy and mummy aren’t together – a bit like Harry’s, but because your daddy is so far away it’s hard for him to come and see you, even on Saturdays.’ She was trying her best to explain the mess that adults make of their lives and their relationships in simple terms for a young child. ‘He did come and see you a year ago, don’t you remember?’ It was actually a bit more than that, but a year sounded better.
Maisy stood shaking her head, whilst screwing up her little face as though she was trying so hard to remember. Blimey, Rachel realised, thinking about it, it was more like sixteen months ago, just before Christmas. Maisy would only have been three-and-a-half. He’d turned up out of the blue with a Christmas gift for his daughter, and a twenty-pound note to help Rachel out. (Hah – that had gone a long way, not! Did he even realise what a pair of children’s shoes cost?) He’d never managed to pay any formal child support, being mostly unemployed, or so he’d told the authorities. But in a way, for Rachel, it was easier not having him around. They could manage just fine themselves, on a budget of course. They didn’t need his kind of inconsistent and unreliable support. Oh yes, a kiss and a hug for Maisy, empty promises to visit more often, then – poof – he’d be gone again.
‘Remember the monkey toy?’ Rachel asked, trying to help Maisy out.
The little girl nodded.
‘Well, that was your Christmas gift from your daddy.’ It was now sitting on the shelf in Maisy’s bedroom – after being hugged for several months, and with no further appearance from her dad, Monkey had got moved aside in favour of the soft-toy lamb she’d had as a baby from Grandma Jill.
‘Oh,’ was all Maisy said. She went quiet again for a few moments. ‘Well, it is my birthday soon,’ she piped up, her face brightening. ‘He could come to my party.’
Rachel didn’t want to give her daughter any false hope, but yes, she’d send a text to his last known number. She thought she had an email address she could try too. But she wasn’t holding out a lot of hope. ‘Well, I’ll try. We’ll invite him, shall we?’ Maisy was nodding vigorously. ‘But I still think he might have to be at work, a long way away.’
Who knew whether he even had a bloody job?! Or money for a train fare, or a car he could use. Argh, why the hell had she chosen her first love so poorly? She was seventeen when it all happened and so bloody naïve. He’d dipped in and out of her life for the next two years, never able to commit to anything even then. By the time she’d seen past the boyband-style good looks and charm and realised how useless he was, it was too late, she was pregnant with Maisy. But in all honesty, she couldn’t wish it hadn’t happened either, Maisy was far too precious to wish away.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_fff0fae2-1f34-5157-b7db-7886e6f570a2)
BREAD AND BUTTER PUDDING AND SUNDAY DINNER (#ulink_fff0fae2-1f34-5157-b7db-7886e6f570a2)
Sunday rolled around in a blur of lambing late nights and early starts.
When Rachel got up from a few hours’ sleep on the Sunday lunchtime, having done the previous night shift in the lambing shed, the smells that greeted her as she opened the kitchen door were delicious! Jill was preparing a roast beef dinner with all the trimmings. The meat must have been cooking away in the Aga, along with roast potatoes.
‘Wow, that smells divine,’ Rachel commented.
Maisy turned around, perched on her little wooden stool beside her grandma. ‘Mummy, I’m Grandma’s special helper today. We’ve made bread and butter pudding for Tom,’ she said, grinning.
‘That sounds very scrummy.’
‘Hello love,’ Jill added. ‘It’ll be ready in a half hour, so if you want to take a shower first.’
‘I’ll just grab a cup of tea.’ Rachel stifled a yawn. There was never enough sleep nowadays. She ran her fingers through her bed-head hair, finding a strand of straw stuck in it. No wonder her mother was suggesting a shower, she probably looked like that scarecrow character, Worzel Gummidge, right now. She switched on the kettle, asking Maisy about her morning, and listened to her chitter-chatter whilst she sat at the big pine table, cradling her mug. The tea started to work its magic, and Rachel began to feel a little more human. ‘Right, I’ll just whizz upstairs and get ready then.’
‘See you soon, Mummy. Don’t forget Tom is coming so you need to brush your teeth and your hair too,’ said Maisy seriously.
My, she really must have been letting standards slip these past few weeks. Rachel looked down at her grubby jogging bottoms and T-shirt. She certainly hadn’t brushed her hair as yet either. As she moved, she realised there might also be a slight whiff of sweat mixed with odour of sheep about her – nice. Hmm, Maisy might in fact have a point. Rachel shook her head smiling. Nearly-five going on fifteen, that girl!
Tom arrived at one o’clock prompt with a warm smile, a bottle of red wine and a unicorn-themed colouring book for Maisy. He had also ‘made the effort’, and was out of his usual dirty-denim farm gear, dressed smartly in a pale-blue shirt and a pair of beige chinos.
‘Hello, Tom,’ Jill greeted him, whilst stirring the gravy. ‘How’s the lambing going?’
‘Fine. About three-quarters through now. There’s a light at the end of the lambing-shed tunnel.’
‘Yes, we’re getting there too,’ added Rachel. ‘Thanks again for your help the other night.’
‘Ah, you’re welcome. These things happen. It’s all part of the job.’
‘Well, it was really appreciated,’ Rachel confirmed.
Tom then lifted Maisy up in his arms and ruffled her blonde hair. ‘Hi, Maisy. How’s tricks?’
‘Good … Is that for me?’ She’d spotted the colouring book he’d brought in with him and scampered down as he nodded, saying, ‘Aha, it is.’ Delighted with her gift, and after adding a quick ‘Thank you,’ she went off to find her crayon set.
‘Take a seat, Tom,’ Jill said. ‘Make yourself at home. Dinner won’t be long.’
Sat at the table next to Tom a short while afterwards, Maisy piped up, ‘Tom, have you seen Pete, my lamb?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Can we go and see him now, Mummy?’
Rachel was about to carve the joint of beef, as the final stages of the meal were coming together. ‘I’m sure Tom’s seen enough lambs of his own this week …’
‘It’s okay, I don’t mind,’ he said, smiling.
‘Well, maybe after dinner, Maisy. In fact, it’s nearly ready now, so go and wash your hands, and then you can help put some water glasses out on the table and three wine glasses for the grown-ups.’
‘O-kay.’ Maisy headed reluctantly off to the downstairs bathroom.
‘Tom, maybe you’d open the bottle of red you brought?’ Rachel asked, hunting down the corkscrew in the cutlery drawer. They didn’t generally have wine with their meals. It was considered a bit of a luxury in their squeezed budget of late.
They were soon all sitting down to eat around the farmhouse table. Rachel had served out the plates of roast beef and crispy Yorkshire puddings with a selection of fresh vegetables, golden roast potatoes and Jill’s gorgeous gravy. At Jill’s request, Tom had taken up the seat at the head of the table. Rachel felt herself stiffen seeing him sit there. For a second, she could picture her dad, Robert, in that very place settling down for his Sunday roast. When she was big enough, she’d carefully carry his dinner plate across to him, piled with meat and vegetables and one of Mum’s delicious Yorkshire puds. Dad would give her a wink and a big smile. There were so many memories just waiting to creep up on Rachel. Tom was most welcome, of course, but it was still difficult seeing someone else sat in her father’s place.
The dinner-table conversation flowed as they chatted about their respective farms and Maisy told Tom all about her swimming lessons and the animal paintings she’d done. They ate and talked, and drank the wine. It was a lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon and a real treat after cold nights and long days lambing.
‘This is truly delicious, ladies, thank you. I hardly bother cooking a roast dinner for myself. It just takes too long. I come in starving usually and need something straight away.’
Jill gave Rachel a knowing glance. ‘Don’t beat yourself up Tom, you’ve got your hands full,’ she replied.
‘I do cook, but simpler stuff. Steak, gammon, pasta, pop a pizza in the oven, that kind of thing.’
‘Grandma’s made pudding too!’ Maisy added, gleefully.
‘That sounds good.’ Tom grinned.
‘There’s bread and butter pudding or brownies. I don’t like the nasty currant things in the pudding, so you can have mine,’ the little girl offered Tom.
‘Well, remember you need to finish your dinner first, Maisy,’ her grandma reminded her. ‘Including the broccoli trees.’
‘A-huh. I know.’
‘I can certainly recommend the bread and butter pudding, despite the nasty sultanas,’ added Rachel with a wry smile. ‘It’s divine – the custard’s all light and fluffy and nutmeg-flavoured.’
‘It’s my grandmother’s recipe,’ Jill beamed proudly. The recipe was handwritten in the family’s baking cookbook, which Rachel had nicknamed ‘The Baking Bible’, and though Jill knew the instructions off by heart, she still liked to have the page open at Grandma Alice’s swirly handwriting as she prepared the ingredients. It almost felt like she was there beside her.
It was lovely to see her mother smiling, Rachel thought. Jill had been weighted with grief for far too long.
They were soon tucking into bowls of bread and butter pudding, with its golden crispy top, soft fluffy custard and sultana middle, with a blob of thick cream melting down over it. Maisy was already happily sporting sticky fingers and smudged lips from her chocolate brownie.
‘This is amazing, Jill,’ Tom enthused. ‘Takes me back to visiting my granny in her cottage kitchen years ago. The Aga was always on and there was always something smelling wonderful, ready to come out of the oven just for you. She used to make this pudding too, I remember it well.’
‘The old recipes are often the best, I think. I have a whole book handed down from my mother and her mother before her, with extra recipes I’ve discovered over the years popped in there too. Along with my stalwart Mrs Beeton’s of course, and a few tweaks from Mary and Delia.’
‘Berry and Smith – they’re Mum’s best friends, you know,’ Rachel added with a grin.
‘You know, you could make a business out of selling these, Jill, and that glorious sticky toffee pudding I had the other night. Bet you have more pudding delights up your sleeve too, by the sounds of it. I’d certainly be queuing up to buy some.’
‘Oh, yes, proper old-fashioned puddings,’ Rachel agreed. ‘You might just be on to something there, Tom.’ The seed of an idea that had started in her mind the other evening was finding its first shoot. ‘What do you think, Mum?’
‘Well, I don’t know about that. I’m just a home baker, that’s all.’ Jill batted away the suggestion. ‘Any seconds for anyone?’ she added, spotting that Tom’s dish had been swiftly cleared.
‘Blimey, I’m full as a tick … but you know what, that’s an offer I can’t refuse, so maybe just a spoonful. I have a feeling I’m being fattened up.’ Tom laughed.
‘Definitely.’ Jill grinned.
Rachel looked across at Tom. He was of medium build, but well-muscled, and was around six foot tall. His physical lifestyle meant he was fit and well, and he could no doubt pretty much eat what he liked without putting weight on. He caught her glance and smiled warmly across the table. His eyes were a deep liquid brown – she’d never really noticed quite how dark they were before.
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to move after all this, but I really should be getting back soon to check on my ewes.’
‘You still haven’t seen Pete,’ chanted Maisy.
‘Of course, you can show him to me on my way back,’ said Tom.
‘You’ve surely time for a cup of tea first?’ suggested Jill. ‘Let your meal settle for few minutes at least.’
‘That’d be great, Jill. Just a quick one. And thanks again to you and Rachel. This has been a real treat.’
‘It’s been lovely to have you here,’ Jill added.
Rachel nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, thanks for coming. It’s been really nice.’
Fifteen minutes later, and Rachel, Maisy and Tom were on their way to visit Pete the lamb.
‘Now then, you have to be gentle with Pete as he’s only little.’ Maisy was in full bossy mode, as though Tom had never had anything to do with a sheep in his life.
He and Rachel shared a look of amusement.
‘Of course, Maisy,’ he answered in a serious tone. ‘So, which little guy is he then?’
‘This one.’ She pointed, peering over the metal railing. ‘Come on, Petie boy.’ The little lamb perked up, seeming to know his name, and trotted towards them, followed by the others. ‘Mum, can we feed him?’
‘Yes, I don’t see why not. I’ll make sure Simon knows he’s had his tea, when he comes in.’ She was having a night off tonight herself – oh yes, that would be bliss. A hot bath and cosy bed were calling her name already.
Rachel scooped out the lamb. His short wool was soft and curly-ridged under her hands. ‘I’d better go and mix up some milk feed for him and the others.’ She passed him to Tom, who knelt down so Maisy could stroke Petie. ‘Won’t be a sec.’
When she came back a few minutes later, Maisy and Tom were deep in conversation about the lambs that had been born the night before. He then told her about the Texel he’d had to help out with a few days back, and she was fascinated.
‘You had to use a rope, Mummy?’ Her little girl’s eyes were like saucers now.
‘Hah, suddenly lambing’s not so boring then, Maisy.’
It was lovely seeing them chatting away though. Tom able to bring the drama and the magic of the lambing shed alive for her little girl. It reminded her of times with her own father for a moment, whisking her back to being a little girl on this very farm …
‘Quick, Rachel lass. This one’s about to give birth.’ Her dad grasped her arm firmly but kindly with his strong farmer hands, guiding her towards the pen. ‘We’ll leave her be and just watch from here, quietly now. She’s doing a grand job by herself by the looks of it.’
And they sat together on a straw bale, overlooking the pen. The ewe was panting heavily, as she lay on her side. There was a show of some whitish sticky stuff, and … oh … wow … two little black-and-white hooves pushing through. Then, all of a sudden, out it all came in some weird balloon-looking thing. The mum was soon up and licking her baby … a whole new lamb … a whole new life.
Nearly twenty years ago and Rachel had been allowed to stay up late for a few precious hours with her dad in the lambing shed.
She was just five years old. But she’d never forget that special day – some memories lasted a lifetime.
Rachel was jerked back to the present as Pete the lamb kicked out hungrily, spotting the bottle in her grasp.
She realised with embarrassment that her eyes had misted with tears, and she turned away for a second to compose herself. Breathe.
‘Better get this little one fed then, Maisy. You take the bottle now,’ Tom said.
‘I’ve done it before. You do it like this.’ She tilted the angle just right, as the lamb made jerking sucks on the teat.
‘Great, you’ve got it down to a fine art, I see,’ said Tom.
Once the milk was emptied, which didn’t take Pete long at all, Tom stood up to put him back in the pen. ‘Sorry folks, but I’d better go.’
‘Aw.’ Maisy pulled a face.
‘Come on Maisy, Tom’s already stayed later to see Pete.’ Rachel looked across at Tom. ‘I bet you’ve got loads to do too.’
‘Certainly have. A farmer’s work is never done.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘Bye, Tom,’ Maisy said reluctantly, hugging his leg.
‘Bye, Maisy. Be a good girl for your mum now.’
‘O-kay.’
Rachel watched him as he walked to his pick-up truck and set off along the drive with a wave and a toot especially for Maisy. She had a warm feeling she couldn’t quite explain as she watched Tom go. He was great to have as a neighbour. It felt like they had someone on their side.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_5ccca635-01ea-5864-a46a-ee9c95a4305e)
PUDDINGS AND PLANS (#ulink_5ccca635-01ea-5864-a46a-ee9c95a4305e)
Later that evening, with Maisy in bed and Mum up in the bath, Rachel sat at the kitchen table with her laptop out and a mug of hot chocolate, chewing the end of her Biro. She had loads of the farm’s paperwork to catch up on. There seemed to be a never-ending stream of documents and reports to complete and return. She was tired but thank heavens she wasn’t needed in the lambing shed tonight.
It was quiet and cosy in the kitchen with the warmth of the Aga, and Moss there lying beside her too. They did have a small office, but Rachel preferred working here, in the hub of the farmhouse. She got some admin work done and then she found herself mulling over the conversation at dinner and – more crucially – Tom’s suggestion whilst they’d been spooning in their bread and butter pudding. Might there be something in this pudding-making idea?
It might just give Jill a new focus, a sense of purpose, Rachel mused. She’d been lost since her husband’s death two years ago; it was almost like a part of her had died with him and it was so sad to see. Baking was something she’d always loved doing, and Rachel could see that little spark reignited within her when she was back with her recipe books and ingredients in the kitchen these past few weeks. And, any income it might produce certainly wouldn’t go amiss in helping out the farm’s finances. They needed every penny they could get at the moment. The first lambs wouldn’t be ready to go to market for sixteen weeks yet, and the end-of-year subsidies were being stretched thin as it was. Oh crikey, she still needed to have that conversation with her mother – about just how big a financial hole they were in – but the lambing season had stalled that particular conversation. And Rachel realised she’d been ducking out of it too. She really didn’t want to give her mother anything else to be concerned about, not when she was finally showing the first signs of recovery.
Rachel did enjoy baking too, when she found the time. Her raspberry and white chocolate cheesecake, sugary-crisp yet soft-in-the-middle meringues and carrot cake had always been hits with her family and friends. Once lambing was over, and with Maisy now at school, she’d have a bit more time to experiment in the kitchen once the daily farm chores were done. She might even get The Baking Bible out herself and have a go at some of the old favourites too.
She googled ‘starting up a catering business’, jotting down some notes. She and her mum could easily sign up for the hygiene qualifications they’d need – that’s if her mum warmed to the idea. Then Rachel found herself googling ‘puddings’. A feast of delights hit the screen – taking her back to her childhood with Mum there in her pinafore, Dad sat at the farmhouse table and something sweet and comforting about to come out of the Aga – golden syrup sponge, sticky toffee pudding, treacle tart, and jam roly-poly …
Smiling to herself, Rachel remembered the time when Dad couldn’t decide which pudding he wanted. It was a toss-up between three, she seemed to remember, so Mum just went ahead and made a whole feast. He said that that was real love right there on a plate, as he helped himself to a generous portion of each two hours later, laughing that he was only having so much to please his lovely wife.
Rachel scrolled over the images with an ache of loss in her heart as she looked across at Dad’s empty chair. Why did he have to go and leave them? How the hell had that happened? So many whys and unanswered questions. She felt a tear crowd her eye.
But it was no good getting nostalgic. She had to hold it together to keep the farm going for the three of them now, look at ways of making it more profitable, to keep them afloat. She couldn’t be the one to let them all down, to see it sold off. Primrose Farm was their legacy – and their beloved home.
So, if the pudding idea could help the farm, and as it was something Jill really enjoyed, it was worth at least looking into. There were plenty of people who stayed locally in holiday cottages who might like a treat, there were busy mums and wives with little time to bake, people on their own like Tom, the elderly – a whole host of potential customers who might like to buy a lovely homemade pudding.
There was a pudding on the screen now, the packaging wrapped in muslin. Hmm, Rachel’s mind turned to Eve, her crafting friend. She’d know how to make something similar. Ooh, maybe they could have a selection of puddings, wrapped in something pretty with a bow around and a ‘Primrose Farm’ tag.
The ideas were rolling now. For the first time in a long while, Rachel felt a spark of excitement.
This was definitely food for thought!
A little while later, Jill came down from her bath.
‘Hey, Mum. Feeling more relaxed now?’
‘Yes, love. That was just what I needed – a hot soak in some bubbles.’
Rachel wondered whether to share her newly hatched pudding idea. She’d seen how her mum was starting to enjoy her baking again, but would suggesting that she turn her flair into something more business-like take away all the joy from it? Would Jill feel pressured to help out if she knew how tight their finances really were? And could letting her in on the farm’s dire financial state undo all the progress she was making?
No, Rachel decided to hold back and keep these thoughts to herself. She was afraid to broach this just yet, uncertain as to how it would be taken. She’d have to find some other way to stop the farm’s overdraft deepening for now. Her mum’s positive progress through that painful journey of grief was far more important than any business venture idea. She was just glad that the old Jill was slowly but surely finding her way back home.
Chapter 7 (#ulink_8dc95271-3aba-53a1-ba6f-febda7bc49d7)
UNICORNS AND CUPCAKES (#ulink_8dc95271-3aba-53a1-ba6f-febda7bc49d7)
Life on the farm was far too busy for Rachel to mope about dwelling on their problems, however big they were. There was lambing to get on with, the small herd of cattle to be fed and mucked out, plus there was the persistent mountain of paperwork to trawl through.
Maisy’s recent question about her missing father was also playing on Rachel’s mind – now she was growing up, how was this affecting her? And thinking of her growing up, there was also a birthday to plan for. Maisy’s special day was approaching fast. Rachel was determined to give her daughter a wonderful birthday, but how did you make a little girl’s party special on a shoestring budget? Rachel sighed. Oh well, she rallied, if anyone could do it, she and Jill could.
It was Saturday of the following week, and the day of Maisy’s birthday.
‘Mumm-ee! Come on, come on. It’s today!’
‘Ah … hi, Maisy …’ Rachel was trying to come to from a foggy haze, with a very excited five-year-old bouncing up and down on her bed.
‘Grandma’s making pancakes too!’
Five-year-old … that was it! ‘Oh fabulous … happy birthday sweetheart.’
Rachel stretched and rubbed her bleary eyes. Last night had seen her up until past midnight as she tried to get the surprise party venue ready after Maisy had gone to bed. So, just as her knees were buckling and her eyelids drooping, the grand finale was that eighteen young children were due to arrive today at 2 p.m. Rachel was getting palpitations just thinking about it.
Down in the farmhouse kitchen, Jill was busy making a breakfast of pancakes for them all as a treat, along with thickly buttered toast and mugs of warming hot chocolate.
‘Good morning, birthday girl,’ she called to Maisy. ‘You’ll need some pancakes to help you grow big and strong, I bet?’
There was a choice of scrumptious pancake fillings all lined up on the side: lemon and sugar, banana and homemade toffee sauce, or chocolate spread. Maisy plumped for the chocolate ones, Rachel for a lemon-sugar closely followed by a toffee-banana. She figured she’d need her energy levels up for the day ahead, after all. Jill sat with them soon afterwards with her own lemon stack, and a well-earned mug of tea.
There were some birthday gifts for Maisy to open – one from Grandma Ruth and a couple of small ones from Rachel and Jill, including a new party frock for today. Their main present was outside ready for Maisy to discover later – they’d been saving hard over the past few weeks, the household expenses being on an extra-tight budget to do so. Jake’s parents, who now lived further south, near to Leeds, had sent something on in the post too, which was kind of them. Typically, there was nothing from Maisy’s dad himself, and no word on his whereabouts or even whether he’d got Rachel’s message about the party today. Rachel tried to push that particular worry to the back of her mind.
Jill had set to work baking and by mid-morning twenty-four cupcakes were neatly lined up on the cooling rack in the kitchen, ready to be iced and decorated with sugar-paper unicorns and hundreds-and-thousands sprinkles. There were also two large Victoria sponge bases she had made, ready for Rachel to sandwich together with jam and buttercream and cover with royal icing. Rachel was then to create the birthday cake bonanza with an arch of rainbow-coloured icing, some edible flowers she was yet to craft and a sprinkling of coloured stars. She had bought the cutest sugar-paste unicorn and a number ‘5’ to then pop on the top.
Rachel’s mind spun as she listed all the things left to do: icing the cake, finishing the decoration of the barn party venue, setting up the bouncy castle and slide … Along with Granny Ruth, she and Jill had been saving for ages to get the new play equipment for the party as Maisy’s main birthday present. They hoped it would be a wise purchase and help entertain the rabble of children at the party, as well as provide hours of fun for Maisy and her friends for the summer months to come.
Rachel began colouring strips of icing with food dyes to make the rainbow arch. She had ready-made stars to sprinkle over and was going to cut out and delicately mould some flower shapes from the left-over coloured icing.
Fifteen minutes later, Jill walked past the kitchen bench where she was working just as she was putting on the finishing touches with the unicorn topper. ‘Wow, that looks great. I’m impressed.’
Rachel had thought the rainbow was a bit skew-whiff, but as she stood back and looked at the finished cake, she could see it wasn’t bad at all – yes, a pretty good effort.
‘Maisy will love it,’ Jill confirmed.
Rachel hoped so; her little girl had already been disappointed this morning, after once again asking if her daddy was going to come to the party. She’d been asking every day this last week, but despite Rachel sending numerous texts, phoning and leaving answerphone messages as well as trying a couple of emails to his last known contact address, Jake hadn’t bothered to respond. Rachel had tried to let Maisy down gently, but she knew that her daughter was still clinging onto the belief that he’d turn up.
Jake hadn’t made it for the last three birthdays, so Rachel didn’t expect to see him at this one. She didn’t actually even know where he was in the country, or if he still was in this country. His parents lived over a hundred miles away too, so they wouldn’t be visiting, though they had sent a gift and always kept in touch with Maisy at birthdays and Christmas and the like. Rachel didn’t think even they knew where their son was most of the time. In some ways, it was easier for Rachel that he did keep his distance so she could get on with raising Maisy her own way. But it was Maisy who was starting to need him now, or at least to need to know who he was. Who he was, was in fact an unreliable, commitment-phobic, selfish tosser. In reality, he might well be a disruptive influence and a disappointment to Maisy, Rachel mused, but maybe that was unfair. Perhaps, by some miracle, he might have grown up a bit himself by now, and of course her daughter did need her dad. She certainly wanted to be like the other kids who had dads around, her little girl having become more aware of his absence since starting school. Well, if he did turn up it would be a bit of a shock and a minor miracle, but only time would tell.
With the birthday cake completed, Rachel needed to crack on with getting the barn ready. She passed Moss in the kitchen, giving him a pat on the head, and headed through to the porch to pull on her wellies.
‘Come on Moss, boy, let’s go and get this party started.’
Rachel headed across the yard and yanked open the two heavy wooden barn doors that shaped into an arch. A sparrow darted out – it must be nesting in there. The morning light filled the space and the honeyed-stone walls glowed. It really was pretty in there. For years it had been hidden in dust and straw, with heaps of old sacks, discarded tools, and a few bags of sheep feed. Yesterday, they’d had a damned good clear-out, moving what was useful to one end of the lambing shed, discarding the rest. The flagstone floor was brushed clean, and the cobwebs and dust dispersed – it had taken some time!
Rachel did a quick count of all the chairs they’d ferried in there. They had nineteen bottoms to seat plus parents – hmm. She took out her mobile phone. She needed a friendly neighbour.
‘Tom?’
‘Hi, Rachel. All okay?’
‘Yes, thanks. I just need a bit of a favour.’
‘Okay, ask away.’
‘It’s Maisy’s birthday today and we’re having a bit of a party for her friends. I’m here getting the barn ready, but I’ve realised we haven’t enough chairs for everyone.’
‘Hah, it’ll be bedlam. And yes, I thought her birthday was sometime soon. She’ll be excited.’
‘She sure is. She’s across with Eve and Amelia just now, whilst we get everything ready. There’re eighteen children coming … I can’t wait,’ Rachel groaned. ‘Anyway, do you have any spare chairs that we could borrow for this afternoon? Just some old ones will do, we don’t need anything fancy.’
‘Hah, there’s not much fancy in my house. I can bring across my patio ones and my kitchen set.’
‘Yes, please, that’d be brilliant. Cheers, Tom.’
‘No worries. I’ll be across in a while. I’m just up at The Ridge checking the ewes and lambs.’
‘Okay, well there’s no mad rush, just whenever you can make it before the two o’clock kick-off, if at all possible.’
‘Yeah, that’s fine. See you soon.’
‘You’re a star. Thank you.’ Rachel put away her phone.
Tom really was turning into a bit of a knight in shining armour these days, though she hoped she wasn’t leaning on him too much and becoming a pain.
Time rushed by in a whirl of bunting-fixing and paper-chain-hanging. Tom had arrived with the chairs and didn’t bat an eyelid when Rachel asked him to blow up thirty fuchsia-coloured balloons and to help lay the tables with paper plates and unicorn napkins.
She glanced at her watch – it was gone one-thirty already.
‘Crikey, we’ve only got half an hour to go. Maisy’ll be back any minute too, to change into her party dress.’
‘Well, I’ll let you get on. I have bought a little something for the birthday girl, so I’ll pop back across with it in a while,’ Tom said.
‘That’s very brave. Are you sure you’re up to handling nineteen four and five-year-olds?’
‘Well … I can try, but I’ll leave it at least an hour or so, let them all settle in. When are they expected to go?’ He gave a wry smile.
‘Hah – good thinking. It finishes around five-ish.’
‘Best of luck then, and I’ll see you all later. Wish Maisy a lovely time from me.’
‘Will do.’
‘It looks great in here by the way,’ he added, scanning the barn as he turned to leave.
‘Yeah, I’m really pleased with it. And, it’ll be far better than them all going crazy in the house.’
‘Hah, yes – well, have a good time!’
Jill arrived with a tray of clingfilmed sandwiches and freshly baked sausage rolls, just as Tom was about to leave.
‘Don’t tempt me.’ He grinned, eyeing the platter hungrily.
‘Go on, help yourself. A sausage roll won’t hurt, I’ve made a double batch. There’s a load more in the kitchen.’
‘Well, it’d be rude not to, I suppose.’ He took a bite of the crispy, melt in-the-mouth, sage, onion and sausage goodness. ‘Delicious!’ And with that he set off in his truck, giving a farewell toot.
Five minutes later, Eve turned up with a very excited little girl in tow – in fact two!
Maisy dashed out of the car. ‘Mumm-ee, we’ve been making finger puppets for the party. Animal ones – look, they’re so cute. There’s one for every party ba …’ She stopped in her tracks and stared, open-mouthed at the inside of the barn. ‘Wow-wee!’ she shouted, running in and doing a lap of the trestle tables. ‘A-maz-ing!’
Phew, she liked it! Rachel and Jill were beaming, their efforts having evidently been worthwhile.
‘Right petal, well you need to go upstairs and get changed into your new party dress right now, before all your friends get here.’
‘Ooh, yes.’ And Maisy skipped off towards the house, Amelia by her side, with Moss on their heels scooting across the yard, picking up on the buoyant mood.
‘Shall I stay and help?’ offered Eve. ‘Amelia’s already in her party gear, and I’ve got time on my hands. No point heading back home just to turn around again in twenty minutes.’
‘Aw, you are a star. That’d be great. Could you help Mum bring across the rest of the food whilst I’ll check Maisy’s getting dressed and ready okay?’
‘Yeah, no worries. Looks really great in there by the way,’ Eve nodded at the barn. ‘Think we’ll need to borrow the barn for all our kids’ parties. Save the wreckage to our own homes.’
‘Hah, we’ll see how it goes first! You might not be saying that by the end. It could be kiddie carnage.’
‘Well, at least you can just close the doors on the barn afterwards and retreat to the farmhouse for a glass of wine.’
‘True.’
‘Do you think we could close those doors for a while during the party too?’ Rachel added cheekily. ‘Adults outside and the kids in.’
The two friends chuckled.
‘It’ll be fine,’ rallied Jill. ‘What’s the worst a bunch of five-year-olds can do?’
Eve and Rachel both looked at each other, pulling a grimace. Anything could happen!
Chapter 8 (#ulink_9fb54530-2e43-5ed5-89a3-d2e08d74cdf4)
BIRTHDAY TREATS, TEARS AND CHOCOLATE PUDDING (#ulink_9fb54530-2e43-5ed5-89a3-d2e08d74cdf4)
With Musical Chairs, Pass-the-Parcel, and the fabulously peaceful-for-the-parents Sleeping Lions game completed, it was time for the birthday tea.
The party food looked amazing, and Jill, Rachel and Maisy beamed proudly as the adults ‘Oohed’ and ‘Aahhed’, saying how delicious it all appeared, and the children tucked in. There were homemade sausage rolls, mini sausages, neatly cut triangle sandwiches, crisps and two ‘hedgehogs’ made of pineapple and cheese on sticks that Granny Ruth had brought with her – basically silver-foil-covered grapefruits with spiky snacks and some wiggly stick-on eyes. And, that was before you even got to the dessert selection of unicorn cupcakes, mini jam tarts, jellies and rocky road squares!
‘Granny Ruth, you need to come and sit here next to me.’ Maisy patted the chair next to her, with Amelia already settled on her other side.
Rachel caught Granny Ruth’s eye and had to suppress a giggle as she sat down with all the children. But, she soon looked like she was having a ball, smiling broadly and passing around the plates of treats.
‘I love your hedgehogs, Granny. They’re sooo cute,’ said Maisy.
‘Ah, thank you pet. I’m glad you like them. I used to make them just like that for your grandad when he was a little boy.’
‘Really? That must be ages ago.’
‘Yes, it was.’ And there was a tell-tale glisten in Granny Ruth’s eyes as she spoke.
Rachel found herself with a lump in her throat and Jill said she’d better head back across to the farmhouse to warm her individual sticky chocolate puds, which she was to serve with a blob of thick cream or local vanilla ice cream for the adults.
Amongst the attendees were Eve, Charlotte – another close friend of Rachel’s who lived nearby and worked as a teacher at a primary school – several of the school mums and a couple of the dads, and Jill’s closest friend, Jan, who was also a farmer’s wife. They could relax for a few precious minutes whilst the children were busy tucking into the party food – lulling their minders and parents into a false sense of security ahead of their imminent sugar rush!
With just one hour of the party to go, Rachel rushed up to get ready for the big ‘Birthday Cake Lighting Ceremony’. As she headed across the garden, Maisy came up and grabbed her hand.
‘Hey petal, you all right? Enjoying your party?’ Rachel asked.
‘Yes, it’s good, but is Daddy coming?’
Oh my, she was still hoping, bless her.
‘Nicholas says he’s not real,’ Maisy then blurted out. That figured … he was the brat-kid who Rachel had seen fighting over the last cupcake. ‘That I don’t really have a daddy, but I do, don’t I?’
‘Of course you do, Maisy, but like I said, Daddy’s a long way away right now and I really don’t know when he’ll come back.’ She could only be honest (though economical with the full detail) with her little girl. Lies would just lead to more disappointment. Maisy brushed away a fat tear with the back of her hand, breaking Rachel’s heart. She lifted her daughter up into a hug. Sometimes, as much as you tried to protect them, they still got hurt.
‘Hey sweetheart, you go and have some fun with your friends. Show them your brilliant new slide and bouncy castle. I bet Nicholas hasn’t got one of those in his garden.’
‘O-kay, yes. I will.’
Rachel popped her down next to the garden gate.
‘Come on, Amelia,’ Maisy called her best friend to her side. ‘Come see. I’ve got a new slide!’ The others heard and were soon dashing forwards too.
Tom’s truck then appeared on the driveway. He parked up and made his way over, avoiding an incoming tide of excitable children. ‘Hi Rachel, Jill.’
Several sets of ladies’ eyes seemed to light up as he approached the gathering, Eve’s, in fact, turning into saucers.
‘So, where’s the birthday girl?’ He seemed unaware of the effect he was having. He was holding a gift, wrapped up in Peppa Pig paper.
Maisy heard him, turned in her tracks, and ran to him gleefully. ‘Tom!’
‘Hey, I heard it was someone’s birthday today.’
Her eyes lit up as Tom handed her the present. She couldn’t wait to open it and promptly sat down on the driveway to tear the paper off. It was a bracelet-making set along with a storybook, some acrylic paints and coloured card with lots of glitter and sticky shapes to decorate it with.
‘Thank you, Tom, thank you!’ she squealed.
Rachel was proud her daughter had remembered her manners. The little girl gave him a quick hug and then ran off to be with her friends who were enjoying the bouncy castle and slide.
‘Survived?’ Tom asked Rachel, with an understanding smile.
‘Just,’ she replied. ‘Do you fancy a tea or anything? There’s birthday cake coming shortly too.’
‘Well, now you’ve got me.’ He gave a grin.
‘Hi, Tom.’ Eve came across rather coyly, and Rachel left the two of them chatting whilst she went to fetch Tom a mug of tea and organise the candle-lighting for the birthday cake.
‘Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!’ they all chorused.
The unicorn cake was met with delight, and Maisy’s face was a picture – she actually couldn’t speak. Rachel felt a happy tear crowd her eye.
It was time to blow out the candles. Maisy scrunched up her face and made a silent wish. Rachel had a feeling she might well be wishing for a daddy – one that came to birthday parties. She felt a lump form in her throat for her little girl, and for the little girl inside herself too, still yearning for her own daddy to come back home, even though the adult in her knew that that was never going to happen.
Jill sliced the cake up into rectangles of moist sponge, jam and icing. They ate it from napkins out in the sunshine, then the adults watched the children play once more. The early April day was warm and pleasant. The sky ultramarine with wisps of puffy white cloud. The fields, hills and countryside where their sheep and cattle grazed, were spring-green and bursting into life all around them.
After eating a slice of cake and a sausage roll, Tom stood to say his goodbyes to the group. He then came across to Rachel. ‘I’d better be heading back.’
‘Well, thanks so much for taking the time to come across. I know Maisy loved seeing you.’
‘It’s no problem. She’s a great kid. And hey, you’ve done a brilliant job here, Rachel. The barn, everything. She’ll have had a real special day.’ His hand rested on her shoulder for a brief second. It felt reassuring, warm.
‘Thanks.’
Tom then set off back to work at the farm next door. It was so nice that he’d made the effort to call. And, Rachel smiled to herself, it had certainly cheered up Eve’s day by the soppy look on her face.
The party was wrapping up for another year, and after a flurry of farewells, a few tired tears, happy hugs and party bags distributed, it was finally time for home. Quiet – phew.
Back at the house, Maisy crashed out on the old armchair by the Aga – Granny Ruth’s favourite seat. It had most likely been there when she and her husband, Grandad Ken, had lived in the farmhouse themselves with Rachel’s dad growing up as a little boy. There were so many memories over the generations in this farm, and there was a sense of history and comfort from that. Rachel placed a cosy blanket over Maisy, giving her tired daughter a kiss on her forehead, and set about doing the last of the washing-up in the kitchen.
Jill arrived back from dropping off Granny Ruth, and Rachel poured out two glasses of left-over fizz as they collapsed at the kitchen table, with Maisy now sound asleep in the chair. A wave of fatigue hit Rachel.
‘Well, I’d say that was a success,’ pronounced Jill.
‘Yes.’ Rachel stifled a yawn. ‘Thanks Mum, for all your help. I couldn’t have pulled that off without you. All the food was just brilliant, and the second round of Sleeping Lions out in the garden was a triumph.’ In fact, two of the children had actually gone off to sleep.
‘The old games are the best.’ Jill winked.
Rachel glanced over to check that Maisy was still sleeping, before lowering her voice. ‘Mum, I’m a bit worried about Maisy, lately.’
‘Oh … why’s that, pet?’
‘She’s been asking about her dad, and why he’s not around. I think the other kids at school have been asking questions and teasing her.’
‘Oh dear … bless her.’ Jill sighed. ‘It’s a tricky one, isn’t it. I don’t suppose you heard a thing back from him about her birthday, either?’
‘Now then … what do you think?’ Rachel asked, ironically.
‘Well, we can only be honest with her, Rachel. Be there to field her questions. She’s growing up, she’s bound to be curious.’
‘Yes … I think she’s missing him. Well, missing a father figure anyway. Especially with Dad …’ Rachel couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
‘Yes, I know, I know, love. We’ve just got to be strong for her. Be her mum, dad, grandparents … everything. Families come in all shapes and sizes, especially these days.’
‘You’re right. Thanks, Mum. We can only do our best, can’t we.’
‘Indeed. And, today was a pretty good shot at a super birthday party for her.’
‘It was. Well then, I don’t think I’ll need any help getting off to sleep tonight.’ Rachel gave in to another yawn.
‘Nor me.’
They spent a few quiet moments sat in the kitchen, Rachel looking out of the window at the view; the fields with their white woolly sheep dotted about and the valley below – all green and lush, and rather beautiful. The gentle foothills of the Cheviots which cradled their lovely farmhouse. Rachel gave a tired, yet contented sigh. It was lovely to stop for a second and take in the scene – sometimes you were so busy you forgot to look.
Later that evening, Rachel carried Maisy upstairs and, after a nice warm bath, they started reading Tom’s birthday book, all about magical adventures at a fairy glen – a good choice.
Maisy’s head was heavy on the pillow.
‘Night, night, Maisy. Happy birthday, my love.’
‘Night, Mummy.’ Maisy went quiet for a second and looked thoughtful. ‘Mummy … do you think … maybe Tom could be my daddy?’ she said sleepily.
‘Oh, Maisy. It doesn’t quite work like that, sweetheart.’ Rachel kissed her little girl gently on the forehead. ‘Night, night, petal. Sweet dreams.’
If only life was that simple.
Chapter 9 (#ulink_23092833-a0bc-5c67-a220-c4824c8d9566)
COFFEE, CHAT AND CHOCOLATE BROWNIES (#ulink_23092833-a0bc-5c67-a220-c4824c8d9566)
A few days after the party, reality was hitting home all too hard for Rachel. With lambing over and birthday dreams delivered, the cold hard facts of the farm’s ever deepening financial woes were impossible to avoid. Rachel could no longer shield Jill from the truth, as leaving their heads in the sand any longer would lead to far bigger issues – and the chance that they might lose the farm altogether. That was one thing Rachel could not risk.
The time had come to face the music. Maisy was at school, Rachel had done the morning’s farm checks and she and Jill were pottering around in the farmhouse kitchen.
Rachel took a deep breath. ‘Mum, we need to talk.’
‘Okay, right. What about … you sound awfully serious?’
‘Well, it is.’
‘Does it warrant a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, I think maybe a gin actually.’
‘Ah …’
Jill quickly put the kettle on and set about making a pot of tea, placing a small milk jug and two cups in the centre of the pine table.
‘It’s the farm. We’re struggling, Mum.’ Rachel found herself all choked up just saying the words aloud. Yes, she’d known it herself for some time, but telling her mum made it all much more real. She was incredibly worried about how it would affect her.
‘Oh … Well, it’s always been a bit of a juggling act, love. Even years back.’ Mum’s tone was light.
Rachel realised that she’d not quite grasped the seriousness of the situation. How very wrong it had all gone since Dad’s death.
‘It’s getting harder and harder to earn a living, Mum. I didn’t want to have to involve you, I hoped we might see a turnaround, but the prices for sheep aren’t looking too good for when we come to market, and our costs are forever rising. We are already struggling with an overdraft now and if things carry on the way they are, in a few months’ time we’ll hit rock bottom – the farm’s subsidy payment for this year is already nearly used up.’ Most of it had disappeared into the black hole of the farm’s overdraft straight away.
‘It’s gone already?’ Jill looked shocked.
‘Yes, I’m sorry, Mum.’
In fact, at any point the bank might pull the plug on them and that would be it. Rachel held back from voicing that last hammer blow.
‘Oh dear …’ Jill grasped the edge of the table. ‘Well, it’s not your fault, pet. It’s the way things are, have been, for a long time. Your dad …’ Jill couldn’t finish that sentence. Instead, she stirred the teapot and poured out the tea on autopilot.
There were a few seconds of heartfelt silence between them.
Jill took a deep breath. ‘So, what do we do?’
Rachel had already been thinking so much about this. ‘Okay, one, I think we have to sell some land. Just one or two fields for now, to get some extra income in to keep us afloat.’ It wasn’t ideal and was very much a last resort. Losing land was heart-breaking and there was always a sense of shame within the farming community somehow, in letting it get to that. But sod it, they had already been through enough, who gave a stuff about rural tittle-tattle? If it meant keeping the rest of the farm together, giving them time to find some way out of this, then so be it.
Jill couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips. There were a few seconds before she said pragmatically, ‘All right, if needs must. But that still won’t solve the long-term income problems, will it?’
‘No … but …’ Maybe it was time for Rachel to share her pudding business ideas. Sow the thought that they might be able to do things differently. She didn’t have much else up her sleeve. ‘Look, Mum, I’ve been doing some research. We need to do something new, to diversify.’
Jill was nodding, listening.
‘So hear me out. I’m thinking … puddings,’ Rachel continued. ‘A pudding business. Something we can do from here. I think it might have legs.’
‘Oh, blimey. So, how do you see it working?’
‘Well, you’re great at baking. And you really enjoy it, don’t you?’ Rachel felt nervous broaching the idea.
‘Well yes, but … a business … I’m sure there’s a darn sight more to it than just enjoying baking, love.’
‘Of course. I know that. But what if we made the farm kitchen our base? We can do the qualifications like health and hygiene we might need, both of us, and just start small, give it a try. Make some puddings to sell. Just have a think about it, yeah … And in the meanwhile, I’ll look into it some more.’ Rachel was trying to gauge her mum’s reaction, but Jill’s face was hard to read. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘It’s a lot to take on board, pet. I’ll need a little time.’
Rachel didn’t like to say that time was one thing they didn’t have on their side. But she knew her mum needed a bit of space to get her head around all this. And that was fair enough. After all, Rachel herself had been mulling it over for several weeks now.
‘Okay, I understand. Promise you’ll at least consider it, yeah?’
‘I will, pet.’
‘And tomorrow, I’d better make that call to the land agent,’ Rachel stated, facing up to the worst of it.
Jill placed her hand gently over her daughter’s on the table top, then nodded her acquiescence sadly.
A week later, there was a large wooden sign mounted on a post by the farm gate. It read ‘Land for Sale’ and it tugged at Rachel’s heartstrings every time she saw it.
One evening soon after the sign went up, Jill went along to the local WI meeting for a talk on jewellery making. She’d come home deflated, telling of the hassle she’d had from a certain Vanessa Palmer-Pilkington there. ‘Honestly, that woman was probing so much. Wheedling for information. Was it the whole farm up for sale? She was so sorry to hear it, blah, blah, bloody blah. She wasn’t sorry at all, just wanted some juicy gossip to tell her neighbours and the village.’
‘Oh dear, doesn’t sound like it was the best of nights for you, Mum.’ That was such a shame too, as Jill had still been a bit reclusive of late. Rachel had hoped that getting out and about more would do her good.
‘Bloody woman was like a vulture at the end of the talk circling me, looking for every juicy scrap of information. Pretending to be concerned, when all she wanted was some tittle-tattle.’
‘Well, don’t worry about her, Mum.’ Rachel knew the woman was a bit of a nightmare. ‘Some people have nothing better to do with their lives. I bet the others there were supportive.’
‘Oh yes, I do have some nice friends there, of course. And all the farming folk know the tough issues we face every day in this business. Anyway, I was getting fed up with Vanessa’s constant wheedling, so I told her we were using the money from the sale of the fields to build a new indoor swimming pool. Well, you should have seen her face. It was a picture.’
‘Hah, I love it. Go, Mum.’
‘Well, that shut her up. She moved off swiftly then. And Jan, who was there beside me, nearly choked on her tea and biscuits. We couldn’t stop chuckling.’
‘Good for you, Mum.’
It was never easy in such a small community where everybody knew everybody’s business – or at least they thought they did.
‘So, what was the jewellery talk like?’
‘Good, actually. Very informative. She’d brought some really pretty examples too. It was just the end with old V.P.P. that spoilt the night a bit, that was all.’
‘Well, I think you handled it brilliantly. We stand tall and we fight back, Mum. We can hold our heads high. I, for one, am proud that we’re trying to keep things going here, whatever that takes. We can only do our best.’
‘I know, I know that, love. I just wish certain people would mind their own bloody business.’
‘Yes. I know. So, why don’t we rename her? V.P.P.: Visible Panty-line Palmer – has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Then every time we see her, it’ll make us smile.’
Jill spluttered on her tea. ‘Hah, that’s genius!’
For all her fighting talk, Rachel had to admit that she was desperately worried too. What if the land didn’t sell soon? Or what if it did but the money they received didn’t make enough of a difference in the long term?
She swallowed down her fears and managed to smile across at her mum. ‘We’ll be okay, Mum. Together, we’ll find a way.’
The next day, after the heart-to-heart with Mum, puddings were very much on Rachel’s mind. Not just that she could eat a very generous portion of some left-over lemon pudding that she knew was still in the fridge right now, but also, and more-so, that there might actually be something in this pudding-making business idea. Thinking back to Maisy’s party last week, the parents had raved about Jill’s sticky chocolate pudding – and Charlotte wouldn’t go home without the recipe. Rachel was desperate to dig a little deeper, and find out what her mum was really thinking, but knew she’d asked for some time – and it was only fair to give her that space.
Of course, Jill would have to be fully behind the idea to make it work, as they’d be relying heavily on her commitment as well as her baking skills. But they could start small, Rachel mused, test the waters. Sign up for their health and hygiene course together and trial a few sales locally. There were bound to be some nearby shops who’d be interested in stocking local farmhouse-made puddings, or perhaps they could even try a stall at the local farmers’ market.
Rachel had given herself a headache looking at their accounts again this morning and yes, whilst they were still just about okay, their heads above water for now, they’d need money to keep the farm going until the first lambs were ready for market and beyond. There were wormers and medicines to buy, machinery to keep going, their farmhand to pay, the household bills to cover too. The list could go on … and on.
It was when the land agent had come around to value the fields that reality had really hit home. He’d pushed them to make a larger acreage available, suggesting that three or four fields might be more saleable, but Jill and Rachel hadn’t been ready to give up too much land. They’d compromised at two, understanding that something had to be done, but he’d warned them that unless it was a local farmer or someone wanting a field or two for a pony to graze, it might not be snapped up that quickly. They’d have to see, but neither of them had felt ready to allow too much of the farm to go just yet. There must be some other way … if they could just think creatively.
Yes, she’d have to do lots more research on this pudding business idea, find out if there were any grants available for such things to help them get set up, and she really needed to talk over this idea properly with her mum. Without the Queen of Primrose Farm Puddings by her side, it was a non-starter.
Chapter 10 (#ulink_9d5596dd-e4ea-50b6-a653-65cd9ccc427f)
COFFEE, BROWNIES AND CHAT (#ulink_9d5596dd-e4ea-50b6-a653-65cd9ccc427f)
The next morning Rachel had been checking the boundary fences and was trying to repair a bolt-hole that the lambs were escaping from.
‘Want a coffee?’
Rachel jumped. Eve’s head popped over the hedgerow.
‘Jeez, Eve, you frightened the life out of me!’
‘Sorry, hun. I spotted the quad, knew you’d be about somewhere. I was on my way back from Kirkton, been getting a few groceries.’
‘Let me just finish securing this fence here – the lambs have been making a bid for freedom.’ She was weaving a mesh of chicken wire through the existing fencing to stop the gap.
‘Okay, call up at the cottage when you’re ready. Be nice to have a catch-up.’
‘Yes, I’ll do that. Thanks.’
When she got to Eve’s ten minutes later, there was a cafetière of coffee ready on the kitchen side along with a plate of chocolate brownies – the room was smelling of cocoa-coffee gorgeousness.
‘Shall we take it outside?’ Eve suggested. ‘It’s nice and sunny.’
‘Sounds divine, coffee and a view.’
Eve picked up a tray and loaded the goodies onto it, along with a couple of mugs. ‘To be honest, the dining room and lounge are covered in my craft stuff just now. There’s not a lot of space left in the cottage. It’s driving Ben crazy, but I need to keep it all somewhere handy, especially when I’m mid project.’
They settled at a slightly rickety table-for-two, on a flagstone patio to the rear of Eve’s cottage. Their stone two-bedroomed cottage was rented from grumpy Mr Macintosh, whose farm bordered Primrose Farm on the opposite side from Tom. The farmer didn’t keep the cottage in the best state of repair for them but the young family did their best with it and always kept the garden tidy. The cottage itself, though pretty, was tired-looking, with its white wooden window sills in need of a re-paint, but it was still full of character and Eve was happy there.
‘So, what are you making just now?’ Rachel took a sip of rich, delicious coffee.
‘Children’s toys … knitted and felt mice, rabbits, a fox, sheep, teddy bears. Hang on, I’ll fetch one to show you.’ Eve stood up to go back into the house.
‘The kids at the party loved those finger puppets by the way. Thanks again for doing that,’ said Rachel, whilst she was still in earshot.
‘You’re welcome, glad I could help you out with the entertainment.’
Eve went on into the cottage and came back a couple of minutes later with some extremely cute knits.
‘Aw, these are so sweet,’ Rachel exclaimed.
‘I’m selling them as a set of three online. Like a friendship group.’
‘They’re brilliant. You are so clever.’
Knitting and delicate craft work had never been Rachel’s thing. She just about knew how to sew a button back on, but it wouldn’t be too neat a job. She was far better handling real animals or driving the tractor. She had always been a bit of a tomboy and relished getting stuck in around the farm. It was her dad who had taught her how to drive the tractor, just slowly around the yard to start, at the age of fourteen. She’d been watching and learning for years up until that point though – right beside him in the warmth of the cab. Oh yes, she could still remember his voice from that first lesson. ‘This is one powerful and heavy machine, mind, lass. You treat her with respect,’ he’d said in his warm but cautionary tone. She’d felt so proud sat there at the wheel, with a beaming smile. She’d be happier with a spanner and screwdriver than a needle and thread any day. But, hey, each to their own.
‘So, it’s going well so far, the Etsy thing?’ Rachel asked with interest.
‘Yes, I’ve got a few orders already. I’m so glad I made that leap.’
‘That’s great … Actually, we’re thinking of setting up something of our own from the farm, me and Mum.’ Rachel felt it was time to share her idea. It would be good to get some honest feedback.
‘Ooh, I’m all ears. So, what’s the plan?’
Eve was her closest friend, and the truth spilled out. ‘Between you and me, we’re struggling a bit. Finances are really tight and we need to think of other ways to make a living and support the farm.’ It was actually a relief to speak to someone about this, other than her mum. She knew she could trust Eve to be discreet.
‘Well, if there’s anything at all that me and Ben can do to help …’
Aw, bless her. They didn’t have a lot to spare for themselves. And, putting money into Primrose Farm at the moment would be like donating to a black hole, Rachel feared.
‘Thanks Eve, I really appreciate the offer but we’ll be fine. We just need to think creatively and out of the box on this. Then we can shore things up a bit, that’s all.’
‘So, what’s your idea then, hun?’
‘Okay, so what’s the one thing guaranteed to put a smile on your face when you come into Primrose Farm?’
‘That’s easy, Jill’s amazing cooking. I always leave about two stone heavier whenever she’s been baking away in the kitchen.’
‘Exactly! So, that’s the nub of it, I keep coming back to the idea of Mum’s puddings.’
‘Ooh, interesting. Well, you know that I’m a big fan. They are just divine. I still remember that strawberry and passionfruit pavlova she made for the barbecue we had here last summer. And her sticky toffee pud on a cold winter’s night … mmmnn.’
‘Ah yes, that’s always been one of my favourites.’
‘So, you’re thinking of selling puddings then? That’s such a great idea. Where and when can I buy some?’ Eve clapped her hands together enthusiastically.
‘Well, we’re still thinking about outlets. I wondered if maybe the Kirkton Deli would be good to try, what do you think? It’s on our doorstep and Mum knows Brenda there pretty well.’
‘Yeah, that sounds a great place to start. No harm in asking anyway.’
‘Yes, I’m feeling really positive about it, but I just get the feeling that Mum’s a little reluctant just now, despite her being a brilliant cook. I’m looking into everything in detail and doing my homework. I’ve said I’ll help Mum as much as I can with the business side, as well as with the cooking too.’
‘Hmm, I see.’
‘I don’t want to push her too hard, but I can see this really working. We need to do something, Eve, I don’t want the farm to get into deeper trouble. We’ve chatted all about the pudding idea, she obviously loves her baking, but then … well, I think she’s really lost her confidence lately.’
‘Oh, Rachel. You’ve all been through so much … it’s no wonder.’
‘I know,’ Rachel’s tone softened.
‘Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. Whatever you need to make this venture work, say the word if we can help. And tell your mum she needn’t worry about whether or not they’ll sell, she makes the best puddings around. They’ll be queuing down Kirkton High Street like it’s the Harrods’ sale.’ Eve grinned.
Rachel felt wrapped in a warm glow of friendship. ‘Thank you.’
They ate some of the gorgeously-gooey chocolate brownies Eve had made and sipped rich strong coffee, chatting about country life, their girls’ latest antics, a smattering of rural gossip. Apparently Melanie Bates had got engaged, and there’d been sightings of escapee pet rabbits appearing amongst the rural burrows – there’d be a medley of black, white and brown ones soon enough – and there was the drama of a couple on their hiking holiday who’d had a fall on some loose shale further up the valley, resulting in a broken leg and the air ambulance having to be called out.
‘Right, best stop this gossiping, I should get myself away,’ Rachel announced ten minutes later. ‘Mum’ll be wondering where I’ve got to, and I’ve a list of chores still to finish on the farm before school’s out and the whirlwind that is Maisy arrives home.’
‘Yes, I’d better make a few more of these animals to fulfil my orders. It’s been great to catch up. See you soon then.’
Rachel glanced at her watch. ‘Yeah, at the bus stop in about three hours. How does it roll around so quickly? And thanks for the coffee. It’s been really good to chat.’
‘You’re welcome. It’s nice to get you back out from the lambing shed.’
‘Hah, absolutely.’
‘Well, you all take care. Oh, and best of luck with your pudding plans.’
‘Thanks, hun. I’ll keep you posted.’
When Rachel arrived back at the farm, Jill handed her a parcel that the postman had just delivered. Her mum couldn’t disguise the frown that had formed across her brow. Rachel was curious and, as she looked closer, she recognised the scrawled handwriting of Jake, her ex. It was addressed to Maisy. Most likely a late birthday gift, Rachel mused. She turned the parcel over in her hands. He was there loitering on the edges of their lives, unpredictable, unreliable. She wondered how Maisy would feel about this reminder of her dad’s long-distance relationship – if it could in fact be described as a relationship, him being far more absent than present.
Rachel couldn’t help the twist of anger in her gut that he hadn’t even bothered to get a gift to his own daughter on time. It always seemed like Maisy was an afterthought to him. Maisy should never be an afterthought.
Chapter 11 (#ulink_d0dfb5f8-53c5-5361-a0f1-08bf3c4841e5)
FULL STEAM AHEAD (#ulink_d0dfb5f8-53c5-5361-a0f1-08bf3c4841e5)
A couple of days later, Rachel made her way back into the warmth of the farmhouse for some lunch after being out in the tractor spreading fertiliser on the Low Pasture, preparing it for growing grass to make hay. She was quite happy driving the tractor, with her country music on her iPod to keep her company, her favourite at the moment being Colbie Caillat’s ‘Try’. And at least she’d had a dry and comfy seat for the morning.
As Rachel slid off her wellies at the porch, the sweet, warming smells of home baking once again greeted her. She opened the kitchen door to find Jill humming away to the radio, with Moss lying down quietly by her side, and an array of ingredients, bowls and baking trays around her.
Rachel smiled to herself. Her mum looked so content there in her baking haven; it was a scene that warmed Rachel’s heart like nothing else, she could stand there and watch her forever. The family Baking Bible was open beside her, and Jill was concentrating on the page, her reading glasses propped on the end of her nose. She then weighed out some glacé cherries before taking a can of pineapple rings to hand.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Oh Rachel, hello love.’
‘You look busy.’
‘Oh, I was making some cherry scones just before, and then I thought about my mother’s old recipe for pineapple upside-down pudding. I thought we might have a can of pineapple rings in the cupboard to go with the spare cherries and, hey presto, here we go. I found the recipe written out here, in her lovely loopy handwriting. Yes,’ Jill smiled to herself, remembering, ‘Granny Isabel always used to make this as a bit of a treat. Pineapple was rather decadent back in the day. So, I thought it might be an idea to treat ourselves today, too. It’s high time there was a bit more light in our lives.’
‘Absolutely.’ It was wonderful to see Mum happier, with glimpses of her old self shining through, and she was evidently enjoying her baking. Could Rachel chance mentioning the pudding business idea again? It seemed the ideal time to broach it, and time was beginning to run short on their nose-diving finances – as yet, there had been no interest in the two fields they’d put up for sale.
‘Mum, look, I don’t want to pile the pressure on or anything, but did you get a chance to think about the pudding idea? Of trying to sell some? You’re so talented, and I know everyone’s been raving about your chocolate puddings since Maisy’s party.’ There had indeed been some thank-you texts from parents gushing about how delicious they were.
Rachel spotted the tell-tale frown straight away. Damn, she’d broken the lovely spell that her mum’s baking had cast over the kitchen.
‘Well, selling them to paying customers is a bit different than offering some puds around at a party.’ Jill sounded unsure of herself, nervous in fact.
‘I’m sure people would buy them! I’ve heard so many “yum”, “scrumptious”, and “divine” compliments being thrown around whilst collecting Maisy after school, and if that’s anything to go by, well, they’ll be queuing up.’ Rachel grinned at her mum.
‘Oh, I really don’t know, love,’ Jill answered honestly. ‘I do like my baking, but it’s more for pleasure, for us as a family. It was … well, it was always about Dad coming home to a hearty meal and a lovely pudding to look forward to, about you and Maisy tucking in. About Grandma Isabel and Granny Ruth, and all those recipes handed down from the generations before. I don’t know if making it into a business would spoil all that. Like it might lose its heart somehow …’ She gave a small sigh.
‘But, maybe, you could share all that with lots more people. Give them a taste of a hearty farmhouse pudding, one made with love, instead of some packet mix or one off the supermarket shelf loaded with preservatives and such like.’ She paused, her tone then becoming serious. ‘We need to try something new to help the farm, Mum.’ Rachel stopped talking, feeling that she had pushed far enough.
Jill was nodding, but her look was of concern, of wariness. ‘Oh, Rachel, love, I’m just not sure.’
Jill was notably quieter than usual for the rest of that afternoon and evening, and Rachel felt saddened that she had spoilt her mum’s magical baking moment. So, late the next morning, after coming in from her farm chores and with it all still mulling over in her mind, Rachel felt an apology was called for. She caught up with Jill collecting eggs at the hen house.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I shouldn’t have pushed you yesterday about the baking business. I’d just got excited about the idea. But if it’s not for you …’
Jill looked up, wicker basket in hand, with several chickens clucking happily around her feet. ‘No, you were right, I need a little shaking up. I’ve had my head stuck in the sand about the farm’s finances for too long now, hoping it would all somehow magically improve. I don’t think I felt I could cope with any more bad news … So, I have been thinking, in fact, more than that … I’ve called in and spoken with Brenda when I went into town this morning … at the Deli in Kirkton. She really liked the idea of selling some of our puddings, especially as they’d be locally made. With the busier summer season coming up, she said she’d be happy to try a few there should we decide to go ahead.’
‘Oh wow! That’s great news, Mum.’ And so wonderful that Jill had come on board with the idea.
‘So,’ added Jill animatedly, having evidently been thinking more on the project herself, ‘which flavours do you think we should try first?’
‘Oooh, now then, your sticky toffee is the bee’s knees and my all-time favourite, so that’s a must, and the sticky chocolate from the party was really popular. What about just keeping it simple while we start out and do those two to begin with?’
‘Hmm, we can always add more pudding varieties later, I suppose.’ Jill stood, framed by the stone outbuildings of the farmyard with the rolling hills behind, the warm April sunlight giving her a golden glow.
‘Exactly, this is great, Mum. I love the new enthusiasm. You seem excited about the idea. What’s changed?’
‘I’ve just been thinking about it, that’s all. And, I did bump into Jan on the high street this morning too and we got chatting.’ Jan was also a farmer’s wife, and understood their lifestyle and situation all too well. She had been Jill’s close friend over many years. ‘We ended up going for coffee and she was telling me all about how the Glen-Robertsons have set up their jam and chutney business at their farm. It seems to be going really well. So, I thought, you know, why not
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/caroline-roberts/rachel-s-pudding-pantry/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Caroline Roberts
Step into Rachel’s farmhouse pudding pantry – where there’s always love, laughter, scrumptious puddings, and a hearty slice of romance!Pre-order the gorgeous new novel from Caroline Roberts, the Kindle bestselling author of the ‘Cosy Teashop’ series.
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2019
Copyright © Caroline Roberts 2019
Cover design by Holly MacDonald © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover illustrations © Hannah George/Meiklejohn
Caroline Roberts asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008327651
Ebook Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008327668
Version: 2019-04-30
Contents
Cover (#ueea00565-833d-5c7a-8baa-9f181253c915)
Title Page (#uf82aad91-74f0-56fc-98a1-20db45805f03)
Copyright (#u0d79dc7d-65dd-5907-88a6-88f1a60aa062)
Dedication (#u9ac912e2-8445-5065-99a7-0725d1366f49)
Epigraph (#ua98d34cc-3171-54e0-8037-efb5d1c87a17)
Chapter 1. Coming Home to Chocolate Pudding (#uba10e0cf-7a47-51c3-a60e-5f7ddae5f213)
Chapter 2. Troubled Times and Midnight Pudding (#u79cdd2e6-76c1-56f5-90dd-5d0b61c7b9ef)
Chapter 3. Sticky Toffee Pudding at Dawn (#u9eafcf10-c85f-55a0-ad28-45810c2f4b1e)
Chapter 4. Pet Lamb Patrol (#u12e9123f-e71d-5464-873c-323ea8145c7f)
Chapter 5. Bread and Butter Pudding and Sunday Dinner (#u46cbefa9-6126-5765-a541-9ff9205fb0b0)
Chapter 6. Puddings and Plans (#u83e45f64-b14e-5c93-805c-0d7bfb75d743)
Chapter 7. Unicorns and Cupcakes (#ua7ee7ac7-eeb7-5d8a-88d7-e7e38ad72f76)
Chapter 8. Birthday Treats, Tears and Chocolate Pudding (#uc4110cef-fb3c-5731-984a-e786bae20893)
Chapter 9. Coffee, Chat and Chocolate Brownies (#u16d8412d-6704-5782-a697-49a71b46c9c8)
Chapter 10. Coffee, Brownies and Chat (#u3faa45fa-3415-54f4-9dc3-531337c4f0e9)
Chapter 11. Full Steam Ahead (#u84e3fef8-6268-503e-b534-0325c9fbea69)
Chapter 12. It’s a Wrap (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13. A Very Gorgeous Apple Crumble (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14. A Pudding Production Line (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15. Thirty-Nine Puddings and a Pantry (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16. Grandmas and Ginger Puddings (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17. The Cattle are Lowing (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18. Prosecco, Plans and Mini Meringues (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19. Renovations and Roulade (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20. A Disastrous Date Pudding (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21. Hay and Delay (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22. Memories and Muffins (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23. A Pudding Picnic (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24. Puddings Galore (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25. Pudding Preparations (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26. A Proper Pudding Party (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27. Be Careful What You Wish For (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28. A Conflab Over a Cuppa (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29. A Brave New Day (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30. Daddy Daycare (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31. A Snake in the Grass (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32. To Kiss or not to Kiss (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33. Aching All Over (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34. A Sky Full of Stars (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 35. Harvest Supper (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 36. Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 37. Wise Words and Lemon Meringue Pie (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 38. A Pudding Stall (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 39. Best in Show (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 40. Summer Storms and Searching (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 41. Pancakes and PJs (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 42. The Best Apple Crumble Ever (#litres_trial_promo)
A Letter from Caroline (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Turn the Page to Discover Delicious Recipes to Try at Home – Only the Pudding Pantry Favourites Will Do! (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Caroline Roberts (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Dedication (#ulink_e1d25ce3-5ef9-5cc0-a020-589d3d9ee39b)
For Alfie – my firstgrandchild
Epigraph (#ulink_f0826953-2f78-5a91-a989-855b2cd6cb30)
The proof of the pudding is in the eating
Old English Proverb
She is the perfect
example of grace
because she is a
butterfly
with bullet holes
in her wings
that never regretted
learning to fly
J.M. Storm
Chapter 1 (#ulink_4998b5e0-271c-5faf-bdb1-545e92393be7)
COMING HOME TO CHOCOLATE PUDDING (#ulink_4998b5e0-271c-5faf-bdb1-545e92393be7)
Heading back down the grassy slope, Rachel caught a glimpse of golden light ablaze over the vista of the Cheviot Hills, the sky above filled with cloudy trails of mauve, grey and orange – the sun set early here in Northumberland in March. Though she’d lived here in this valley all her life, every now and again this landscape with its vast, dramatic beauty simply took her breath away.
Rachel was on the farm’s quad bike, with Moss her faithful border collie on the back, having checked the fields were secure and ready for the new lambs and ewes. Earlier that afternoon, and working with the tractor, she’d put out some hay and bales of straw in large rectangular stacks to provide some shelter for the animals.
She paused for a few seconds looking towards those high hills that rose steadily from the valley where Primrose Farm nestled. Down here at the lower levels, there was grassy pastureland that led to brooks and streams, which ran cold and fresh from the moorland peaks above.
Despite this stunning panorama, there was a biting chill to the wind this evening, especially when you were on the back of the quad. Rachel’s fingerless gloves were no match for the nippy spring weather, and as the sun dipped the temperature cooled even further. It was six o’clock and time to head home to the farm.
She could see the farm’s outbuildings down in the valley; the lights were on in the lambing shed where Simon, their farmhand, would be settling down to work for the night. Beyond that, there was the old barn, which they used mostly for storage nowadays, and a warm welcoming glow came from the honeyed-stone traditional farmhouse where she knew her mum, Jill, and young daughter, Maisy, would be waiting for her.
Rachel couldn’t wait to arrive back and get cosy. She drove down the grassy bank, pausing to close the gate to the farmyard, parked the quad securely for the night, and walked towards the farmhouse porch where, even before opening the door, the sweet, warming smells of home cooking greeted her. Ah, bliss, Mum must have been baking. Rachel wondered what delights awaited her. Jill was a fabulous baker, mostly of the old-school-pudding-and-cake style, and boy were they good. They certainly cheered both stomach and soul, and were just what Rachel needed after a cold day out on the farm.
She took off her green wellington boots in the porch, and then opened the door to the kitchen where the rich chocolatey aromas were truly mouth-watering.
‘Mumm-ee.’ Little Maisy flew across to give Rachel a big hug, her blonde wavy hair bouncing as she ran.
‘Hello love, everything right?’ Jill turned from where she was washing up at the old stone sink to greet her daughter with a warm smile. Jill’s dark brown hair, which she wore in a loose bob, was peppered with grey nowadays.
‘Fine, thanks. So, you’ve been baking again, then?’
‘Yes, felt like getting the old mixer back out.’
‘That’s great,’ Rachel smiled. It had been a while since Mum had made any of her puddings and cakes, despite her having loved her baking so much. The kitchen had been the hub of so many sweet and scrumptious creations during the whole of Rachel’s childhood. Coming in from school, Rachel would often wonder what pudding delight might be waiting for her. She used to try and guess by the scents that greeted her at the door. Today’s smelt undeniably of cocoa.
‘Ooh yes, it’s the chocolate one,’ Maisy said, as if reading Rachel’s thoughts. ‘I’ve been helping, haven’t I, Grandma?’
Yes, that was the smell she’d recognised, that rich chocolate sponge and sauce. It was one of Rachel’s favourites.
‘You certainly have,’ Jill answered. ‘You’ve been a great little helper … been sifting the flour for me and all sorts.’
It was lovely to see the friendship and love so apparent between grandmother and granddaughter. And, it was wonderful that Jill was baking again too, returning step by step to the things she once loved to do.
‘Oh my, I don’t think I can wait. It smells divine, Mum. I’m famished.’
‘Well, supper’s not ready for another half hour yet, I’m cooking a stew,’ said Jill.
‘That sounds great … but a whole half hour … I couldn’t have a little taste of that pud just now, could I?’ teased Rachel.
It was sitting there, still warm on the kitchen side by the Aga, tempting her. Moss had sniffed it out too, standing tall with his nose to the air, before he settled down, resigned to snooze beneath it.
‘Why don’t we have pudding before dinner, Grandma?’ Maisy asked cheekily, with a big grin.
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ Jill answered.
Rachel was nodding in time enthusiastically with her daughter now.
‘Pretty please?’ Maisy’s grin widened.
‘You’d have to be sure to eat all your dinner, mind …’ Jill’s resolve was weakening, ‘But well, maybe just this once, why not.’
‘Yay! Yesss!’ they cried out. The three generations of Swinton girls started giggling together. And, it was lovely to hear laughter back in the farmhouse once more.
‘Come on, then.’ Jill organised some dessert bowls and spoons, and dished out three portions for them, pouring over some of the spare dark and glossy chocolate sauce she’d made, with a swirl of double cream to finish. They sat together at the old pine table that had been the focus of many a family meal and celebration over the years – Christmases, birthdays, anniversaries – where they’d shared stories of their days and lives, and of late where they had shared their tears. It was the very same table where Rachel had sat as a little girl herself, and it was very much at the heart of their farmhouse home. Now, watching her young daughter sat next to Mum, digging into the delicious homemade pudding, was the most comforting sight and made Rachel feel all warm inside.
There were soon plenty of ‘Umms’ and ‘Ahhs’ coming from Rachel and Maisy as they tucked in with delight. The pudding melted in the mouth, with rich cocoa-sweet flavours.
‘Thank you, this is wonderful, Mum,’ Rachel said.
It felt like a big move in the right direction for Jill, and for their newly shaped family. For a while now, the laughter had stopped, and her mum had stopped her baking too, saying that it hardly seemed worth it. There had been, still was, this huge, gaping hole in their lives … yet, slowly but surely, they were trying, and beginning, to knit it back together.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_490ba18d-ab87-550a-b6eb-a3b486225e2c)
TROUBLED TIMES AND MIDNIGHT PUDDING (#ulink_490ba18d-ab87-550a-b6eb-a3b486225e2c)
The farmhouse kitchen was lit by the glow of a single lamp at the desk where Rachel sat staring at her laptop. Jill had gone up to bed an hour before and little Maisy was tucked up fast asleep, no doubt hugging her favourite soft-toy lamb, in her lilac-painted room that had been so carefully and lovingly decorated by her grandad. The tug at Rachel’s heart was strong right then, for her father to whom she could no longer go for advice, and for the three of them who were here trying their best to hold the farm together.
The clock ticked away on the kitchen wall. It was already past midnight. However long she looked at those figures, they weren’t going to get any better. Rachel sighed, rested her elbows on the wooden desk and held her forehead in her hands for a few seconds, her dark wavy fringe tumbling down over her fingertips. She wasn’t going to let thisbeat them, no way. Primrose Farm had been in their family for generations. She had to keep it going for the three of them, for their future, and also for their animals – the sheep and cattle they’d reared and cared for over so many years. What they had all been through, two years ago now, could not be in vain.
But every month, when she drew up the farm accounts, it was plain as day that any profits had been squeezed further and their income was down. They lived a frugal enough life as it was. Luckily, they didn’t need fancy clothes or holidays. The only one getting new shoes or clothes was Maisy, as she was growing so fast. Rachel felt the tension knot across her brow. She got up to make herself a cup of tea and, fetching the milk from the fridge, spotted that there was some of Mum’s gorgeous chocolate pudding left. She helped herself to a slice and warmed it in the microwave – a little cocoa magic might help lift her spirits.
Rachel knew the time had come to talk about the farm’s struggling finances with her mother. She’d tried to protect her from this until now – her mum had had enough to cope with – but it was only right that Jill knew what they were facing, and they needed to approach this as a team. If it meant selling a couple of fields for the sake of the farm, Rachel mused, then so be it, except she wasn’t quite sure how Jill would take that news. And, any income from that might only be a drop in the ocean.
There might be other avenues they could explore. Farming friends in the area had started doing bed and breakfast ventures. In fact, traditional farmhouse B&Bs were becoming quite the thing. After all, they lived in the most beautiful Northumbrian valley in the foothills of the Cheviot Hills, but with Maisy so young, Rachel was wary of opening up their home to strangers. There must be other ways to diversify.
For tonight, however, her head was tired and fuzzy, and she was feeling cranky. It was hard to think clearly any more. Time for bed. Tomorrow was for taking things forward. Yet, having to tell her mum the truth about their dire financial situation filled her with a gnawing anxiety. It was one conversation she really wasn’t looking forward to, but it would have to happen soon.
‘Hey, Moss.’ She smoothed the head of the black-and-white sheepdog who was lying down beside her. ‘Come on then, boy.’
It was time for him to go back out to his kennel in the yard. He was meant to live outside, but often sneaked in for the warmth of the Aga and some affection. Rachel liked him there with her, to be honest; he was great company as well as being excellent when working with the sheep, her dad having trained him well. How much they both missed him.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_e6fef51f-7fbf-55e3-9800-8f7091338662)
STICKY TOFFEE PUDDING AT DAWN (#ulink_e6fef51f-7fbf-55e3-9800-8f7091338662)
A week later, and lambing at Primrose Farm was in full flow.
‘Come on then, petal. Let’s get you to bed,’ Rachel said.
‘But Mu-um.’
‘No buts, Maisy. It’s already past your bedtime, and it’s school again tomorrow.’
It was Sunday evening, the weekend was coming to a close, and her almost five-year-old daughter needed her sleep. Oh yes, her little girl’s birthday was fast approaching at the end of the month – yet another thing to think about, party planning – but Rachel was too tired to get her head around the thought of entertaining a host of excitable children just now. With late nights, early starts and a couple of all-nighters completed, the lambing brain-fog had well and truly descended.
‘But who will look after Pete? And how will I know he’s all right?’ Maisy sounded genuinely concerned, a frown forming beneath her pale-blonde fringe. She had been helping Rachel to bottle-feed the pet lamb over the weekend since his mother had rejected him (being a triplet, and the weakest of the trio).
‘Well, that’s easy Maisy, because it’s my turn on night shift tonight, so I’ll be there with him.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yep, I’ll be keeping a very close eye on him,’ she reassured. ‘And all the other sheep and lambs too, of course. So, I’ll let you know how Pete is first thing in the morning when you wake up.’
That seemed to appease Maisy. ‘O-kay.’
‘Come on, then. I’ll come up and read you a bedtime story.’
The little girl got up from the large farmhouse kitchen table at the same time as her mum.
‘Night, Maisy,’ called Jill from across the kitchen. Rachel was both surprised and delighted to see that her mum was baking again this evening.
Maisy dashed over to give her a goodnight kiss. ‘Night, night Grandma … Ooh, are they for me?’ As she was lifted up in her grandma’s arms she caught sight of a batch of vanilla cupcakes that were cooling on the side.
‘They might be. You can have one in your packed lunch for school tomorrow. But now, it’s time to brush your teeth and get to bed.’
‘Aw, not fair!’ The little girl gave a cheeky, hopeful smile.
‘Tomorrow,’ Jill said kindly but firmly, smiling back, as she ruffled her granddaughter’s soft wavy blonde hair.
Maisy slid down and scampered back to Rachel. ‘Can we have the Floss story please, Mummy?’
‘I should think so.’
Her daughter loved the countryside tale with its lovely illustrations of the sheepdog and his new family.
They were soon settled upstairs in Maisy’s small but prettily painted room. Maisy was tucked up in her bed under her unicorn print duvet with her cuddly lamb toy that she’d had from being a baby. Rachel began reading, her voice rhythmic, soothing. Both mother and daughter enjoyed the farmyard tales. The books they had read over and over were familiar and reassuring, with a sense that everything would be all right in the end. After all they had been through in the last two years, they really needed to believe in that.
Maisy’s eyelids were getting heavy by the last page. Unfortunately, so were Rachel’s – she could so climb under that duvet with her daughter and curl up, but there’d be no sleep for her tonight. Nature and the farm wouldn’t wait. The ewes and lambs needed her care.
Simon, their trusted farmhand, had already worked all last night and most of this afternoon, snatching only a few hours’ kip in between. This was her shout. She didn’t mind really. The lambing night shift was often peaceful, out in the barn with just the sounds of the sheep baaing and the hoots and calls of nature at night-time from outside. She had done this for many years now, each springtime, learning alongside her father. She wanted to make him proud and show him she could do well, that she would carry on and do her best by Primrose Farm and the livestock there. After all, it wasn’t just the animals that were relying on her now, her mum and her daughter needed her to make sure the farm kept going too. It was their home as well as their livelihood.
She shifted carefully off the bed and leaned over to give her little girl a gentle kiss on the forehead, trying not to disturb her. ‘Night, petal.’
‘Night, Mummy,’ came a whisper, Maisy’s eyelids already closing.
‘Time for a quick cuppa before you head out?’ Jill asked, as Rachel came back downstairs to the farmhouse kitchen.
Rachel glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Nah, I think I’d better get across to the shed. I told Simon I’d let him go at seven.’
‘Well, give me a minute and I’ll make up a flask for you. You can’t go out without some food for the night. There are some ham sandwiches ready in the fridge wrapped in foil. Oh, and I’ve also made some sticky toffee pudding … there’s an individual portion I’ve put aside just for you.’
‘Oh, great, thanks Mum. I love that stuff.’ It was wonderful to see her mum with a little of her old spark back, slowly coming back round to the things she used to love.
‘I know. Got to keep the troops fed, and your energy levels up.’
‘Definitely. I’ll not argue with sticky toffee pudding. And, it’s great to see you baking again, Mum.’
‘And you’ve got your phone?’ Jill neatly bypassed the comment.
‘Yes, of course. And …’ Rachel went to the coat peg in the porch and checked everything else she needed was in her old Barbour waxed-jacket pocket: a pen-knife which had been her dad’s, string, her lambing cord which was sometimes necessary with a difficult birth. ‘Yep, got all my kit.’
‘Well, have a good night out there. Hope it stays nice and calm for you.’
‘Me too.’
Jill packed her off with her bundle of food, a large flask of tea and a tin mug in a well-worn rucksack.
‘Come on, Moss. You can come too.’ Rachel whistled at the sheepdog who was settled by the Aga, having snuck in with her earlier. He leapt up, eager to help.
Rachel walked across the yard, headed round the corner of the old stone barn and down a short track to the lambing shed. Dusk was moving in with its long shadows and cooler air. The light was fading softly from its grey-peach glow, diffusing into the indigo of night. She heard the peeping call of an oystercatcher, spotting a pair of them – a dart of bold black and white – overhead, with their distinctive long orange bills.
She soon reached the lambing shed – a large, steel-framed structure. It was more modern than the other buildings on the farm. The lights were bright in there and the smell as she entered was earthy, of straw and sheep.
‘Hey, Simon. All been okay?’
Their middle-aged farmhand looked up. He had dark hair that was greying at the temples and a rugged but friendly face, lined from years of working outdoors. ‘Aye, grand. Just keep an eye on number 98 over there. She’s got twins but one of her teats isn’t working, so she’s struggling to feed them both for now. You might have to supplement them a bit when you’re feeding the pet lambs.’
‘Okay, thanks for the heads up, and how’s Pete? That’s the pet lamb from Friday. Maisy’s named him.’
‘Aye, he’s grand. A little fighter, that one.’
‘Phew, that’s good, Maisy’ll be distraught if anything happens to him.’
Life and death were normal processes at the farm, but it was hard at times not to get attached to individual creatures, especially when they were cute little lambs and you were only going on five years old. In fact, it was still pretty hard at twenty-four, Rachel mused. Her dad used to say she was far too soft back when she was a little girl herself, and that she shouldn’t name the animals, but Rachel couldn’t help her caring nature. She’d try her utmost to keep her animals alive and well, even in the most forlorn of cases. Her dad had reminded her that sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind.
‘Aye, well, we’ll do our best by him,’ said Simon, bringing her back to the here and now.
‘Naturally.’
‘Everything else has been pretty steady. A few of the ewes and their lambs have gone back out into the fields from yesterday. They all seem fine.’
‘Right, well, I’ll let you get away.’
‘Thanks, lass. I must say I’m ready for some kip.’
‘Oh, hang on, Mum’s sent over a couple of cupcakes for you.’ Rachel dug a small package from her bag.
‘They’ll be grand with a cup of coffee when I get in. Thank Jill, won’t you?’
‘Will do and you’re welcome.’
Simon set off leaving Rachel alone with Moss and the sheep. She switched off the radio that Simon had left playing. In the daytime she liked the chat and the music, but at nightfall it was nice to appreciate the peace, interrupted now and again with the sounds of the baaing of the new lambs and the ewes.
Rachel toured the shed, making a check of the livestock. The ewes waiting to lamb were penned together in a large section and the majority seemed fine just now. There were mostly Cheviot Sheep on the farm – a hardy breed ideal for the hilly landscape. One Cheviot was showing signs of being close to giving birth. Also, one of the Texels – a larger, stocky breed of sheep that they only had a few of – was circling in a separate pen and seemed restless. Rachel would keep a close eye on those two.
The new mums and lambs in their individual pens seemed happy as Rachel made her way around the shed. She checked the teats of number 98 – there was still no milk coming on the one side. She’d make up the evening feed soon and help these two new lambs out, as well as bottle-feed the three smaller pet lambs – including the famous Pete – then she’d need to fill the teat trough for the four others that were bigger.
After doing the feeds and a further check of the sheep, Rachel settled down on a straw bale with a warming mug of tea from her flask. There was a sense of calm in the lambing shed, especially as night began to fall, when you were the only person there. Moss settled himself at her feet. She could mull over her day, think of her plans for the coming weeks, her sketchy ideas for the farm still prominent in her mind, or try to grab a few precious moments of stillness. It had been a lovely sunny day and the evening felt mild. Spring had definitely sprung in Northumberland, which was good news for the lambing – the ewes and lambs suffered in the wet and cold, especially if the bad weather was prolonged. Memories of a recent winter that had lasted far too long came bleakly to mind, and she gave an involuntary shiver. Sometimes, in Rachel’s heart, it felt as cold as ice looking back to that time. Spring, though uplifting, could also be a bittersweet time for Rachel.
She swiftly shifted her thoughts back to the here and now and pulled out a paperback from her pocket. She settled to read for a while, losing herself in a world of tearooms and tangled love affairs. It was a pleasant escape in a world of troubles.
In the early hours of the morning, the Cheviot ewe she’d spotted earlier began to give birth; the sac was showing and the lamb presenting. Rachel watched closely. It was straightforward and the mother sheep managed well on her own – the second lamb appearing a short while after the first, and the ewe licking them clean. Both lambs were up on their legs within minutes, and soon began suckling. Nature was an amazing thing. It was still a mini miracle to Rachel every single time – watching new life blossom.
Rachel was well aware that farmers could sometimes be viewed as hard, but it was more a case of having to be practical. She cared for every single animal at the farm and its livelihood. Yes, the farm was a business, of course, and financially at times a very tough one – the animals were reared to be sold on at the end of the day – but farming was so much more than that. These sheep, their predecessors, and the small herd of cows they kept, had been here with them for many years. She was guardian of the land too. From being a little girl, this farm and its valley had a huge piece of her heart.
Rachel felt her tummy rumble as she did another tour of the animals. One Texel was still up and down and circling a bit, but nothing seemed imminent, so Rachel decided to have her sandwiches and some more hot tea. It was beginning to get chillier now, she could see her breath misting, but with her thermal layers, double socks, woollen jumper and coat, she stayed warm. She unwrapped the foil package her mum had made for her. The ham was thick and tasty and the fresh wholemeal bread was spread with a touch of honey-grain mustard. Delicious. She gave Moss a crust and sipped her tea. An owl hooted outside, then all was quiet again. The brightness of the shed a beacon in the still of the night.
An hour or so later, the Texel was beginning to show properly. She seemed agitated, not wanting to lie down for long. Rachel perched on some bales nearer to the Texel’s pen – there were just twelve of them on the farm. Two had already lambed successfully a couple of days ago and were already out in the field. Within another half hour, all the signs were pointing to an imminent birth, but she seemed to be struggling, and a panicked sheep running around with a lamb about to be born was not a good thing. Rachel put her sheep-wrestling technique into action and dived onto the back of the ewe – the Texels were a large, muscular sheep and needed some force to tackle them down to the ground. The ewe could then be turned on her side. It would make it easier for both ewe and lamb.
Damn it, Rachel was on the sheep’s back but the ewe was still fighting it, thrashing her legs about, so Rachel used an old shepherd’s tip handed down from her dad and grandad and pulled off her coat, placing it over the ewe’s head. The creature did settle somewhat, thank heavens, enough that Rachel could check her rear and see the lamb’s nose and feet there. It could well be a large lamb. The birth might just take a while, but Rachel also knew that you couldn’t afford to leave it too long without intervention.
Twenty minutes later, and nothing had changed, so Rachel attached her lambing cord and began trying to help the little creature out, heaving back against the prop of a straw bale. This was like the bloody enormous turnip of Maisy’s bedtime stories; nothing was giving, and the ewe was trying to get up again, panting and bleating. Rachel knew that the situation would soon be life-threatening for both sheep and lamb. She needed to call someone right now, someone experienced and stronger than herself. Think, think. Simon lived over fifteen minutes’ drive away. Next door was Tom’s farm – he’d no doubt be busy with his own sheep, but as he had a bigger farm she knew he had two farmhands, so one of them might well be on duty with him. With no time to waste, she pulled her mobile phone from her pocket, still trying to keep the ewe wedged to the ground as she made the call.
The dialling tone rang four or five times, then – finally – he picked up.
‘Tom.’
‘Rachel, is that you … is everything okay?’ He sounded rather bleary, he must have been sleeping.
‘Not really, I’ve a Texel in trouble. The lamb seems to be stuck.’
‘Right.’ Instantly, he sounded alert. ‘I’ll come straight over.’ They both knew the seriousness of the situation.
Rachel put her phone back in her pocket and stayed with the ewe, trying her best to keep the creature calm and grounded.
The welcome sounds of a quad rolling up outside came a short while after. Tom arrived with a brief ‘Hi’ and then went straight into action. Rachel stayed at the ewe’s head, whilst Tom got to work below, having to use the cords himself. He was tall and strong, but even then, he had to heave with his back set against the straw bales. At last, after much effort, the lamb came free. It was large, with a mass of mucus around it … and it didn’t move. Tom carefully wiped the mucus away from its mouth and gave its body a firm rub. Still no movement – the poor thing seemed lifeless. He blew into its mouth, once, twice.
‘Come on lad, you can do it.’
And there was a flicker of life, a twitch of a leg initially, then it lifted its damp woolly head, raised itself to a tentative stand and shook itself down – shocked at its arrival into the world. The mother sheep shifted across instinctively to lick it.
‘Thank you, Tom.’ Rachel found herself feeling a little emotional. Fatigue and the stress of the situation suddenly crashed in.
‘Hey, you’re welcome. Good call getting me out.’ Tom smiled.
‘I know. I was struggling. I need some stronger muscles.’ It was frustrating at times not having the physical strength that was required for the more challenging jobs on the farm.
‘Hah, now we don’t want you looking like the Hulk or anything,’ Tom joked, his dark brown eyes shining.
‘Hi, little chap.’ Rachel moved across to see the new-born lamb, who thankfully seemed fine after his ordeal coming into the world. She’d let him and his mum settle for a few minutes together and then she’d do her checks on the lamb. But just now, they all needed a breather.
‘Would you like a tea, Tom? And … I’ve got some of Mum’s sticky toffee pudding here.’
‘Now you’re talking. Well, that’s certainly worth getting up at 3 a.m. for.’ He grinned.
Rachel poured out his drink from the flask, passing over the now communal tin mug. Tom took it, his forearm smeared with muck and blood, but neither were worried about dirt and grime; it was par for the course in the lambing shed.
They sat together side by side on a straw bale.
‘God, I really appreciate you coming over.’ The relief began flooding through Rachel.
‘No worries. You know I’m here to help … any time. I’ve always said that.’ He gave her an earnest look.
‘Thanks. You’ve been so good to us.’ He was such a great family friend – had helped see them through the toughest of times. In fact, sometimes she worried he’d think they were a bit of a pain – the women from the farm next door. They tried not to pester too much, doing their best to remain self-sufficient at Primrose Farm, but tonight really had been an emergency situation.
Tom was a little older in his mid-thirties. They had known each other since childhood, though Tom had been a teenager, whizzing up and down the lane on his quad bike, when Rachel was just a small girl. He’d lived on the family farm next door virtually all his life, except when he’d got married and moved away. Then, when his father’s arthritis hit hard several years ago, his parents had moved out to a bungalow in Kirkton, allowing Tom to take over the main farmhouse and the running of the farm with his then-wife, Caitlin. They’d divorced three years ago – pretty acrimoniously, so Rachel heard – and he’d been living there as a single man ever since. They saw a lot of each other on the road and out and about, being neighbours.
‘So, how long are you on till?’ Tom asked.
‘Ah, Simon’s back at seven. A twelve-hour shift for me. I’ll see Maisy for breakfast time and then I’ll get my head down for a few hours’ sleep once she’s gone off to school.’
‘Ah, a few hours of blessed kip.’
‘Then, I’m back on again tonight.’
‘Relentless, isn’t it – lambing time. Feels never-ending. It’s only around three weeks overall and it seems like a bloody year.’
‘We’ll get there. Same every year. Like a horrid hangover, you come out of it threatening never to rear any more sheep, and then by market time you’ve forgotten how bloody awful it is and you’re tricked back into it again.’
‘Hah, yeah.’
Rachel began rummaging in the rucksack for Jill’s pudding and poured herself another mug of tea.
‘To the hardy Cheviot Hill farmers,’ she said. She raised her tin cup. ‘Cheers.’
She passed Tom a portion of the rich, treacly pudding and a plastic spoon – Mum always thought of everything.
‘And to sticky toffee pudding.’ He smiled, digging a spoon into the sponge. ‘God, this is delicious. Fuel of the hill farmers.’
‘Hah. Absolutely!’
After chatting for a while, Tom headed back to snatch a few more hours’ sleep. As she’d suspected, he had been in bed when she’d called, trying to make the most of a rare night off from the lambing shed. Rachel felt a little guilty for disturbing his night, as he’d have plenty of his own work to do on his farm today.
It wasn’t long until dawn began to break with golden morning light filtering in through the gaps in the shed door. On her own once more, Rachel dealt with another birth – a single healthy lamb who came into the world without a fuss – and soon enough, it was time to head back over to the farmhouse and her family.
Thank goodness it had all worked out in the end for that little Texel. And, looking at the clear sky above her as she walked back across the yard, thank goodness for another warm dry day. The weather this spring was being kind to them. It hadn’t always been so. She walked past the old stone stable building that was no longer used. Remembering that fateful spring morning two years ago, she felt a shudder run through her.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_26b69252-2c44-5497-9156-0e9ad4d22f69)
PET LAMB PATROL (#ulink_26b69252-2c44-5497-9156-0e9ad4d22f69)
Maisy was already up when Rachel got back to the farmhouse. She and Jill were busy setting out the breakfast things at the large pine kitchen table. Maisy was struggling, carrying two bulky cereal boxes, and dropped them down quickly on the table as her mum appeared.
‘Mumm-eee! How’s Pete?’
‘He’s good, Maisy. He had a great night and is feeding well.’
‘Ooh, can I go feed him?’
‘After school, yes. You’ve got to get ready and have your own breakfast now.’
‘Oh, not fair.’
‘He’s already had his breakfast today, anyhow,’ Rachel added.
‘Cup of tea, love?’ Jill asked, switching the kettle back on, already knowing the answer.
‘Yes, please, I’m desperate for another brew.’
‘Has everything been all right? I thought I heard a vehicle in the early hours?’ Her mum had a frown of concern across her brow.
‘Yeah, I had to call out Tom. One of the Texels was in difficulty.’
‘Oh, did you manage okay?’ As a farmer’s wife, Jill was well aware of the problems you could experience with lambing. She had often helped out herself in the past, but lately shared her time between the lighter farming duties and helping to look after Maisy.
‘The lamb was stuck. It had been going for too long and I was getting a bit worried, so I called Tom in. He did a great job. The ewe and lamb were both fine in the end. It was just a really big lamb.’
‘Ah, well I’m glad everything was okay with the little chap. All’s well that ends well.’
‘Yes, and thank heavens for Tom,’ added Rachel. ‘The poor guy, I think I woke him up. Been trying to catch a few hours’ sleep himself.’
‘Oh, he’s a lovely lad. I’m not sure what we’d do without him next door. He’s been a godsend.’
Lad. It made Rachel smile – he was well into his thirties. Her mum made him sound like he was thirteen. But yes, he had been a great friend to the family and a brilliant support, especially since they’d lost Dad.
‘Can I see Tom, Mummy?’ Maisy piped up, now sat at the table and digging a spoon into a bowl of Rice Krispies.
‘Well, not right now.’ Rachel sat down next to her daughter, cradling her mug of tea. ‘He’s probably either back in bed, or in his own lambing shed. He’s a bit busy just now, Maisy. We’ll give it a week or so, then you can go across and say hello when lambing is over.’
‘Ah, lambing is sooo boring.’
‘What do you mean? You love Pete and the other lambs?’
‘Yeah, but all of the grown-ups are too busy.’
‘Yes, that’s ’cos it’s so important. You’ll just have to be patient, petal. It’s our job.’ And, it’s what pays the bills, Rachel added mentally.
‘Maybe we can ask him across for Sunday dinner this weekend as a thank you?’ chipped in Jill. ‘I’m sure he’d be glad of that. Even if it’s just for an hour or so if he’s got a lot on.’
‘That’s a nice idea. I’ll mention it if we cross paths in the next couple of days,’ said Rachel.
Maisy was nodding animatedly, happy with that idea.
Time was slipping on and the school minibus would be arriving at the end of the farm track at 8:20 a.m. sharp. ‘Right Maisy, time to finish your cereal and go up and brush your teeth. Then it’s shoes on, rucksack at the ready, and I’ll walk you to the bus.’
‘I’ll go if you like, Rachel,’ Jill offered. ‘You might want to get off to bed.’
‘No, it’s fine, Mum. I’d like to go.’ However tired she felt, even at lambing time, she liked to spend some time with Maisy before and after school.
‘Well, are you peckish, pet? You haven’t eaten any breakfast yet. Shall I make you some scrambled eggs for when you get back?’
‘That sounds perfect. Thank you.’
They kept a dozen or so of their own hens, who wandered around the farm, pecking away and fluffing their feathers. They were happily free range by day and settled in their coops at night, which kept them safe from any foxes or other prey. Their eggs were delicious with orange-gold yolks – just perfect served scrambled or poached on thick farmhouse toast.
Ten minutes later, Rachel and Maisy had left the house and were out in the yard.
‘Can I see Petie before I go?’ Maisy gave her mum the cutest of smiles.
‘Maisy, you’re in your smart school clothes and best shoes. You’ll get filthy in the shed.’ Rachel did have her wellies on though. Looking at her daughter’s cheeky grin, she caved. ‘Ah okay, a quick one-minute hello. But just look, no touching, as we haven’t got time to go and wash hands again. Come on, I’ll carry you across.’ She hoisted her up onto her hip and headed across to the lambing shed.
The pet lambs were sectioned off in a pen near the front, so Rachel lifted Maisy to look in at them.
‘Hello, Petie boy! See you later!’ Maisy shouted, waving at the little fella.
He looked up and gave a baa in return, then skipped towards them, hopeful of another feed. The other pet lambs were snuggled together beside a large bale of straw. They all seemed to be doing fine, although one – number 34 – was still a lot smaller than the rest. Rachel would have to keep an extra eye on him, but he seemed lively enough just now, getting up to his feet.
They spotted Simon across in the shed and gave him a wave.
‘Have a good day at school, Maisy,’ he called across.
‘Hello, Simon. I will.’
‘Morning, Simon. Everything been okay since I left?’
‘Just grand, lass.’
‘Right, we’d better go, Maisy. Don’t want you missing the bus.’
The two of them made their way down the farm track, hand in hand. Thankfully, Maisy enjoyed school. She’d only started six months ago but had settled in well at Kirkton’s First School, in the small market town that was just three miles from the farm. Maisy was such a sociable girl, she enjoyed seeing her friends as much as the learning.
The lane down to the road was bordered by grassy banks and spring had arrived with a mass of pale-yellow primroses, that nestled beneath the hawthorn hedges each side. At the roadside verge there were clusters of bold yellow daffodils swaying in the breeze, ready to welcome any visitors to the farm. Rachel made sure she kept the grass each side of the farm gate short and well-tended. Her dad had always insisted the entrance was neat and tidy. ‘First impressions, Rachel. First impressions,’ he’d say in his deep, resonant voice. She took a deep breath, feeling that familiar pang of sorrow.
She spotted her good friend Eve, heading down the lane towards them with her little girl, Amelia – Maisy’s bestie. They had walked down from their nearby cottage. It saved the minibus an awkward turnaround in the narrow lane.
‘Hi Eve. Hello, Amelia.’ Rachel gave a cheery wave.
‘Hiya, Rachel. You okay? Surviving lambing?’ Eve asked, pulling a grimace. It was well known in country circles that lambing was the most exhausting time of the farming year.
‘Yes, we’re getting there. Bit of a tense time last night though …’
The bus then arrived, pulling up beside them, and the girls got on with their school bags and packed-lunch-filled rucksacks swinging. The adults hopped on too, saying a quick hello to Ted, the driver, and checking that the girls had everything with them and that their seatbelts were done up. After a kiss and a ‘Have a good day’ each, they got off again, waving as the bus set away.
‘So, you were saying? An eventful night?’ Eve asked.
‘Oh yes … life in the lambing shed. A Texel was in trouble, the lamb stuck. But thank heavens it was all fine in the end … with a bit of early-morning help from Tom.’
‘Ah, the delectable Tom. Your dishy next-door farmer.’ There was no hiding that Eve, despite being happily married to Ben, had had a bit of a crush on Tom for several years now, which always amused Rachel. Eve hadn’t batted an eyelid when their childhood friend Tom had moved away to the city – largely under influence, or so Rachel heard, from his new wife Caitlin – but ever since he’d arrived back at the farm, newly single, Eve had seen him with new eyes. ‘I still haven’t worked out how he hasn’t been snapped up,’ she continued dreamily. ‘His divorce was ages ago.’
‘Hmm, maybe once bitten twice shy.’ Rachel knew that feeling well. ‘Anyway, I don’t know why you’re gushing on – you’re already taken. And, he’s at least ten years older than us pair.’ The two girlfriends had been a year apart at school, Eve being the older, but they had always lived nearby and been good friends, sharing the ups and downs of their teenage years. They were now the grand old age of twenty-four and twenty-five respectively – though after ten days of lambing and hardly any sleep Rachel felt about sixty-four.
‘Eight years older than me, actually. He’s thirty-three.’
‘Is he now, and how do you know that?’
‘It was his birthday a few weeks ago. He happened to mention it to Ben down in the pub.’
Tom was a nice-looking chap, Rachel supposed, but he’d always been a family friend. She’d known him as a neighbour from being a little girl. However much Eve had a crush on him, Rachel found she couldn’t even begin to contemplate him in that way.
‘So, what are you up to today?’ Rachel asked, happy to change the subject.
‘Well, I have a new project actually. I’m quite excited about it. You know how I love making things …’
Eve was the most talented craftsperson Rachel knew, making the most gorgeous felt soft-toy animals, and her knits were fabulous – her cute tractor design jumpers were a triumph – as well as bootees, children’s cardigans, hats and scarfs. At Christmas and birthdays, she usually turned up with a lovely handmade present. She also turned her hand to making gift cards, doing woodwork, needlecraft, you name it. Rachel had named her the bunting queen of the valley after she’d made a gorgeous strand for Maisy’s birthday party last year. It was so pretty, with flags of pastel spots and stripes and vintage roses.
‘Yes … come on, tell me all about it then.’
‘I’m looking into starting a little craft business and joining Etsy,’ Eve continued. ‘So I can start selling some of my stuff online. As always, we could do with a bit more cash in the household, but it’s hard finding a job that fits around school hours and isn’t too far away. But the best thing is, I can do all this from home, other than nipping to the post office for organising the postage. So, what do you think?’
‘That sounds a brilliant idea. I imagine you’ve done your research and looked into everything, and yeah why not. It looks a great platform. I’ve bought the odd thing from there myself. Hey, good for you.’ Rachel then had to stifle a yawn. ‘Sorry, that’s nothing to do with your project. I haven’t slept since yesterday afternoon, and even then, it was only for a couple of hours.’
‘Oh crikey, hun. Well you’d better get yourself off to bed. Is it night shift again tonight for you?’
‘Yep, no rest for the wicked.’
‘Or farmers.’
‘Too true. And, hey, good luck with the crafting, Eve. Once the lambing’s over I will resurface and join the real world again, I promise. We’ll have to have a coffee and a proper catch-up.’
‘We will, indeed. Or maybe a drink in the pub. I’m missing my mate. Bye, Rach.’
‘See you, Eve.’
‘Sweet dreams, hun.’
‘Thanks.’
Walking back up the road, Rachel thought how great it was that Eve was starting her own business. Little seeds had also been sown in Rachel’s mind. They really needed to think of something else they could do at the farm. A new direction. Diversification. Something that fitted in with their farming lives, and with Maisy of course, that had the potential to improve their income. But what, was the million-dollar question.
Oh yesss, the bliss as her head hit the pillows. Rachel snuggled down under a soft duvet with the bedroom curtains closed against the brightness of the early spring day. The sounds of the birds tweeting away outside soon began to fade as Rachel drifted into much-needed sleep.
When she came to, a tractor was droning in the distance and the birds were still singing. A glance at her wristwatch told Rachel it was almost 2 p.m. Goodness, she’d been asleep for nearly five hours. It felt like five minutes! She yawned and stretched. She’d better get up, give her mum a hand, and then go and see how Simon was getting on. Crikey, it was only another hour until the school minibus would be making its way back up the lane and Maisy would be home.
Rachel pulled on some tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt, popping an old fleece over the top. The farmhouse was never that warm, except in the kitchen by the Aga, as the thick stone walls kept it cool. Her father had been born within these walls. And, being brought up here as a little girl, Rachel remembered seeking out the kitchen and its warmth, standing on a little stool and watching Jill press out a batch of scones that would bake with the most enticing aroma, ready to dollop with jam and cream later, or helping to stir a batter mix for lemon and sugar sprinkled pancakes which would sizzle in the pan.
‘Hello love, welcome back to the land of the living,’ Jill greeted her as she came through into the kitchen. ‘There’s some soup on the stove, and some crusty bread I’ve been baking.’
‘Oh, thanks Mum, excellent.’ Rachel lifted the lid on the pan – leek and potato – yum, her favourite. It was steaming away, hot and ready. Her mum must have kept it simmering for her. Jill was a star, like the cogs in the wheel, keeping the family fed and watered, as well as taking an active role in the farm. Rachel counted her blessings for having such a supportive parent. She admired how Jill had kept going so stoically, especially considering the circumstances; the three of them often struggling to find their way in this new uncharted landscape. Maybe keeping busy was the only way to keep afloat.
‘Oh, I popped out to the shops for a few essentials while you were sleeping, happened to see Tom on my way back, so I’ve asked him across for Sunday lunch. He seemed delighted. Goodness knows what he cooks for himself, a man there on his own all the time.’
‘Hah, I’m sure he can cook, Mum. It’s not the dark ages. And I bet he pops across to Jim and Barbara’s often too.’ His parents only lived a few miles away, after all.
‘Yes, but still, I’m sure he’ll enjoy being looked after. It’s a busy enough time on the farm. And, you don’t tend to cook a roast dinner for one, do you now.’
‘No, I suppose not. Thanks for asking him.’ It would be a lovely way of thanking him for his help and support last night, not to mention the past months.
‘Be nice to have some company here, too,’ Jill added.
It was true that farm life could be quite isolating at times, especially out in rural North Northumberland. Yes, it was beautiful and quiet and such a special place, but that also meant you were quite some way from towns, cities, cinemas, airports. Mostly you didn’t think about it, just got on with it. But often it was just the three of them there: Rachel, Jill and Maisy. Sometimes, Granny Ruth, her dad’s mother and Rachel’s last surviving grandparent, would visit as she lived not far away on the far side of Kirkton, but other than her, Simon, Eve and the bus driver, it could be days before she saw anyone else – in fact weeks at lambing time.
School bus time soon came around again. Rachel strolled back down the lane to meet Maisy, scanning the fields on the way, checking that the sheep and lambs that had recently been turned out from the lambing shed seemed okay. The minibus was already pulling up at the lane end as she got there, with Maisy skipping down the steps within seconds to give her a big hug. Rachel had a quick chat with Eve and Amelia, and then they were on their way back to the farm.
As they walked together, Rachel asked about her daughter’s day and what she’d been doing. Painting, reading, reallyhard spellings and skipping with ropes at playtime was the answer. As they neared the top of the track Maisy went unusually quiet, then she stopped walking suddenly and looked up at Rachel with a serious expression on her face.
‘Mummy … why haven’t I got a daddy?’ she blurted out.
‘Oh,’ the question floored Rachel momentarily.
‘Well?’ Maisy chanted. ‘Amelia’s got one and Nell’s got one, and even Harry says he has one but he only sees him on Saturdays.’
‘Oh Maisy, of course you have a daddy. Everyone does. It’s just that …’ Rachel knew she had to frame the words carefully, not wanting Maisy to feel unwanted. ‘Well, he’s not here much. He lives a long way away.’
‘Why doesn’t he live here … with us … like Amelia’s daddy? Doesn’t he like me?’
Rachel’s heart went out to her daughter. Because he’s an irresponsible, immature, selfish little git came to mind.
‘Oh petal, of course he does, he loves you. It’s just a bit more complicated for us. Your daddy and mummy aren’t together – a bit like Harry’s, but because your daddy is so far away it’s hard for him to come and see you, even on Saturdays.’ She was trying her best to explain the mess that adults make of their lives and their relationships in simple terms for a young child. ‘He did come and see you a year ago, don’t you remember?’ It was actually a bit more than that, but a year sounded better.
Maisy stood shaking her head, whilst screwing up her little face as though she was trying so hard to remember. Blimey, Rachel realised, thinking about it, it was more like sixteen months ago, just before Christmas. Maisy would only have been three-and-a-half. He’d turned up out of the blue with a Christmas gift for his daughter, and a twenty-pound note to help Rachel out. (Hah – that had gone a long way, not! Did he even realise what a pair of children’s shoes cost?) He’d never managed to pay any formal child support, being mostly unemployed, or so he’d told the authorities. But in a way, for Rachel, it was easier not having him around. They could manage just fine themselves, on a budget of course. They didn’t need his kind of inconsistent and unreliable support. Oh yes, a kiss and a hug for Maisy, empty promises to visit more often, then – poof – he’d be gone again.
‘Remember the monkey toy?’ Rachel asked, trying to help Maisy out.
The little girl nodded.
‘Well, that was your Christmas gift from your daddy.’ It was now sitting on the shelf in Maisy’s bedroom – after being hugged for several months, and with no further appearance from her dad, Monkey had got moved aside in favour of the soft-toy lamb she’d had as a baby from Grandma Jill.
‘Oh,’ was all Maisy said. She went quiet again for a few moments. ‘Well, it is my birthday soon,’ she piped up, her face brightening. ‘He could come to my party.’
Rachel didn’t want to give her daughter any false hope, but yes, she’d send a text to his last known number. She thought she had an email address she could try too. But she wasn’t holding out a lot of hope. ‘Well, I’ll try. We’ll invite him, shall we?’ Maisy was nodding vigorously. ‘But I still think he might have to be at work, a long way away.’
Who knew whether he even had a bloody job?! Or money for a train fare, or a car he could use. Argh, why the hell had she chosen her first love so poorly? She was seventeen when it all happened and so bloody naïve. He’d dipped in and out of her life for the next two years, never able to commit to anything even then. By the time she’d seen past the boyband-style good looks and charm and realised how useless he was, it was too late, she was pregnant with Maisy. But in all honesty, she couldn’t wish it hadn’t happened either, Maisy was far too precious to wish away.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_fff0fae2-1f34-5157-b7db-7886e6f570a2)
BREAD AND BUTTER PUDDING AND SUNDAY DINNER (#ulink_fff0fae2-1f34-5157-b7db-7886e6f570a2)
Sunday rolled around in a blur of lambing late nights and early starts.
When Rachel got up from a few hours’ sleep on the Sunday lunchtime, having done the previous night shift in the lambing shed, the smells that greeted her as she opened the kitchen door were delicious! Jill was preparing a roast beef dinner with all the trimmings. The meat must have been cooking away in the Aga, along with roast potatoes.
‘Wow, that smells divine,’ Rachel commented.
Maisy turned around, perched on her little wooden stool beside her grandma. ‘Mummy, I’m Grandma’s special helper today. We’ve made bread and butter pudding for Tom,’ she said, grinning.
‘That sounds very scrummy.’
‘Hello love,’ Jill added. ‘It’ll be ready in a half hour, so if you want to take a shower first.’
‘I’ll just grab a cup of tea.’ Rachel stifled a yawn. There was never enough sleep nowadays. She ran her fingers through her bed-head hair, finding a strand of straw stuck in it. No wonder her mother was suggesting a shower, she probably looked like that scarecrow character, Worzel Gummidge, right now. She switched on the kettle, asking Maisy about her morning, and listened to her chitter-chatter whilst she sat at the big pine table, cradling her mug. The tea started to work its magic, and Rachel began to feel a little more human. ‘Right, I’ll just whizz upstairs and get ready then.’
‘See you soon, Mummy. Don’t forget Tom is coming so you need to brush your teeth and your hair too,’ said Maisy seriously.
My, she really must have been letting standards slip these past few weeks. Rachel looked down at her grubby jogging bottoms and T-shirt. She certainly hadn’t brushed her hair as yet either. As she moved, she realised there might also be a slight whiff of sweat mixed with odour of sheep about her – nice. Hmm, Maisy might in fact have a point. Rachel shook her head smiling. Nearly-five going on fifteen, that girl!
Tom arrived at one o’clock prompt with a warm smile, a bottle of red wine and a unicorn-themed colouring book for Maisy. He had also ‘made the effort’, and was out of his usual dirty-denim farm gear, dressed smartly in a pale-blue shirt and a pair of beige chinos.
‘Hello, Tom,’ Jill greeted him, whilst stirring the gravy. ‘How’s the lambing going?’
‘Fine. About three-quarters through now. There’s a light at the end of the lambing-shed tunnel.’
‘Yes, we’re getting there too,’ added Rachel. ‘Thanks again for your help the other night.’
‘Ah, you’re welcome. These things happen. It’s all part of the job.’
‘Well, it was really appreciated,’ Rachel confirmed.
Tom then lifted Maisy up in his arms and ruffled her blonde hair. ‘Hi, Maisy. How’s tricks?’
‘Good … Is that for me?’ She’d spotted the colouring book he’d brought in with him and scampered down as he nodded, saying, ‘Aha, it is.’ Delighted with her gift, and after adding a quick ‘Thank you,’ she went off to find her crayon set.
‘Take a seat, Tom,’ Jill said. ‘Make yourself at home. Dinner won’t be long.’
Sat at the table next to Tom a short while afterwards, Maisy piped up, ‘Tom, have you seen Pete, my lamb?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Can we go and see him now, Mummy?’
Rachel was about to carve the joint of beef, as the final stages of the meal were coming together. ‘I’m sure Tom’s seen enough lambs of his own this week …’
‘It’s okay, I don’t mind,’ he said, smiling.
‘Well, maybe after dinner, Maisy. In fact, it’s nearly ready now, so go and wash your hands, and then you can help put some water glasses out on the table and three wine glasses for the grown-ups.’
‘O-kay.’ Maisy headed reluctantly off to the downstairs bathroom.
‘Tom, maybe you’d open the bottle of red you brought?’ Rachel asked, hunting down the corkscrew in the cutlery drawer. They didn’t generally have wine with their meals. It was considered a bit of a luxury in their squeezed budget of late.
They were soon all sitting down to eat around the farmhouse table. Rachel had served out the plates of roast beef and crispy Yorkshire puddings with a selection of fresh vegetables, golden roast potatoes and Jill’s gorgeous gravy. At Jill’s request, Tom had taken up the seat at the head of the table. Rachel felt herself stiffen seeing him sit there. For a second, she could picture her dad, Robert, in that very place settling down for his Sunday roast. When she was big enough, she’d carefully carry his dinner plate across to him, piled with meat and vegetables and one of Mum’s delicious Yorkshire puds. Dad would give her a wink and a big smile. There were so many memories just waiting to creep up on Rachel. Tom was most welcome, of course, but it was still difficult seeing someone else sat in her father’s place.
The dinner-table conversation flowed as they chatted about their respective farms and Maisy told Tom all about her swimming lessons and the animal paintings she’d done. They ate and talked, and drank the wine. It was a lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon and a real treat after cold nights and long days lambing.
‘This is truly delicious, ladies, thank you. I hardly bother cooking a roast dinner for myself. It just takes too long. I come in starving usually and need something straight away.’
Jill gave Rachel a knowing glance. ‘Don’t beat yourself up Tom, you’ve got your hands full,’ she replied.
‘I do cook, but simpler stuff. Steak, gammon, pasta, pop a pizza in the oven, that kind of thing.’
‘Grandma’s made pudding too!’ Maisy added, gleefully.
‘That sounds good.’ Tom grinned.
‘There’s bread and butter pudding or brownies. I don’t like the nasty currant things in the pudding, so you can have mine,’ the little girl offered Tom.
‘Well, remember you need to finish your dinner first, Maisy,’ her grandma reminded her. ‘Including the broccoli trees.’
‘A-huh. I know.’
‘I can certainly recommend the bread and butter pudding, despite the nasty sultanas,’ added Rachel with a wry smile. ‘It’s divine – the custard’s all light and fluffy and nutmeg-flavoured.’
‘It’s my grandmother’s recipe,’ Jill beamed proudly. The recipe was handwritten in the family’s baking cookbook, which Rachel had nicknamed ‘The Baking Bible’, and though Jill knew the instructions off by heart, she still liked to have the page open at Grandma Alice’s swirly handwriting as she prepared the ingredients. It almost felt like she was there beside her.
It was lovely to see her mother smiling, Rachel thought. Jill had been weighted with grief for far too long.
They were soon tucking into bowls of bread and butter pudding, with its golden crispy top, soft fluffy custard and sultana middle, with a blob of thick cream melting down over it. Maisy was already happily sporting sticky fingers and smudged lips from her chocolate brownie.
‘This is amazing, Jill,’ Tom enthused. ‘Takes me back to visiting my granny in her cottage kitchen years ago. The Aga was always on and there was always something smelling wonderful, ready to come out of the oven just for you. She used to make this pudding too, I remember it well.’
‘The old recipes are often the best, I think. I have a whole book handed down from my mother and her mother before her, with extra recipes I’ve discovered over the years popped in there too. Along with my stalwart Mrs Beeton’s of course, and a few tweaks from Mary and Delia.’
‘Berry and Smith – they’re Mum’s best friends, you know,’ Rachel added with a grin.
‘You know, you could make a business out of selling these, Jill, and that glorious sticky toffee pudding I had the other night. Bet you have more pudding delights up your sleeve too, by the sounds of it. I’d certainly be queuing up to buy some.’
‘Oh, yes, proper old-fashioned puddings,’ Rachel agreed. ‘You might just be on to something there, Tom.’ The seed of an idea that had started in her mind the other evening was finding its first shoot. ‘What do you think, Mum?’
‘Well, I don’t know about that. I’m just a home baker, that’s all.’ Jill batted away the suggestion. ‘Any seconds for anyone?’ she added, spotting that Tom’s dish had been swiftly cleared.
‘Blimey, I’m full as a tick … but you know what, that’s an offer I can’t refuse, so maybe just a spoonful. I have a feeling I’m being fattened up.’ Tom laughed.
‘Definitely.’ Jill grinned.
Rachel looked across at Tom. He was of medium build, but well-muscled, and was around six foot tall. His physical lifestyle meant he was fit and well, and he could no doubt pretty much eat what he liked without putting weight on. He caught her glance and smiled warmly across the table. His eyes were a deep liquid brown – she’d never really noticed quite how dark they were before.
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to move after all this, but I really should be getting back soon to check on my ewes.’
‘You still haven’t seen Pete,’ chanted Maisy.
‘Of course, you can show him to me on my way back,’ said Tom.
‘You’ve surely time for a cup of tea first?’ suggested Jill. ‘Let your meal settle for few minutes at least.’
‘That’d be great, Jill. Just a quick one. And thanks again to you and Rachel. This has been a real treat.’
‘It’s been lovely to have you here,’ Jill added.
Rachel nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, thanks for coming. It’s been really nice.’
Fifteen minutes later, and Rachel, Maisy and Tom were on their way to visit Pete the lamb.
‘Now then, you have to be gentle with Pete as he’s only little.’ Maisy was in full bossy mode, as though Tom had never had anything to do with a sheep in his life.
He and Rachel shared a look of amusement.
‘Of course, Maisy,’ he answered in a serious tone. ‘So, which little guy is he then?’
‘This one.’ She pointed, peering over the metal railing. ‘Come on, Petie boy.’ The little lamb perked up, seeming to know his name, and trotted towards them, followed by the others. ‘Mum, can we feed him?’
‘Yes, I don’t see why not. I’ll make sure Simon knows he’s had his tea, when he comes in.’ She was having a night off tonight herself – oh yes, that would be bliss. A hot bath and cosy bed were calling her name already.
Rachel scooped out the lamb. His short wool was soft and curly-ridged under her hands. ‘I’d better go and mix up some milk feed for him and the others.’ She passed him to Tom, who knelt down so Maisy could stroke Petie. ‘Won’t be a sec.’
When she came back a few minutes later, Maisy and Tom were deep in conversation about the lambs that had been born the night before. He then told her about the Texel he’d had to help out with a few days back, and she was fascinated.
‘You had to use a rope, Mummy?’ Her little girl’s eyes were like saucers now.
‘Hah, suddenly lambing’s not so boring then, Maisy.’
It was lovely seeing them chatting away though. Tom able to bring the drama and the magic of the lambing shed alive for her little girl. It reminded her of times with her own father for a moment, whisking her back to being a little girl on this very farm …
‘Quick, Rachel lass. This one’s about to give birth.’ Her dad grasped her arm firmly but kindly with his strong farmer hands, guiding her towards the pen. ‘We’ll leave her be and just watch from here, quietly now. She’s doing a grand job by herself by the looks of it.’
And they sat together on a straw bale, overlooking the pen. The ewe was panting heavily, as she lay on her side. There was a show of some whitish sticky stuff, and … oh … wow … two little black-and-white hooves pushing through. Then, all of a sudden, out it all came in some weird balloon-looking thing. The mum was soon up and licking her baby … a whole new lamb … a whole new life.
Nearly twenty years ago and Rachel had been allowed to stay up late for a few precious hours with her dad in the lambing shed.
She was just five years old. But she’d never forget that special day – some memories lasted a lifetime.
Rachel was jerked back to the present as Pete the lamb kicked out hungrily, spotting the bottle in her grasp.
She realised with embarrassment that her eyes had misted with tears, and she turned away for a second to compose herself. Breathe.
‘Better get this little one fed then, Maisy. You take the bottle now,’ Tom said.
‘I’ve done it before. You do it like this.’ She tilted the angle just right, as the lamb made jerking sucks on the teat.
‘Great, you’ve got it down to a fine art, I see,’ said Tom.
Once the milk was emptied, which didn’t take Pete long at all, Tom stood up to put him back in the pen. ‘Sorry folks, but I’d better go.’
‘Aw.’ Maisy pulled a face.
‘Come on Maisy, Tom’s already stayed later to see Pete.’ Rachel looked across at Tom. ‘I bet you’ve got loads to do too.’
‘Certainly have. A farmer’s work is never done.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘Bye, Tom,’ Maisy said reluctantly, hugging his leg.
‘Bye, Maisy. Be a good girl for your mum now.’
‘O-kay.’
Rachel watched him as he walked to his pick-up truck and set off along the drive with a wave and a toot especially for Maisy. She had a warm feeling she couldn’t quite explain as she watched Tom go. He was great to have as a neighbour. It felt like they had someone on their side.
Chapter 6 (#ulink_5ccca635-01ea-5864-a46a-ee9c95a4305e)
PUDDINGS AND PLANS (#ulink_5ccca635-01ea-5864-a46a-ee9c95a4305e)
Later that evening, with Maisy in bed and Mum up in the bath, Rachel sat at the kitchen table with her laptop out and a mug of hot chocolate, chewing the end of her Biro. She had loads of the farm’s paperwork to catch up on. There seemed to be a never-ending stream of documents and reports to complete and return. She was tired but thank heavens she wasn’t needed in the lambing shed tonight.
It was quiet and cosy in the kitchen with the warmth of the Aga, and Moss there lying beside her too. They did have a small office, but Rachel preferred working here, in the hub of the farmhouse. She got some admin work done and then she found herself mulling over the conversation at dinner and – more crucially – Tom’s suggestion whilst they’d been spooning in their bread and butter pudding. Might there be something in this pudding-making idea?
It might just give Jill a new focus, a sense of purpose, Rachel mused. She’d been lost since her husband’s death two years ago; it was almost like a part of her had died with him and it was so sad to see. Baking was something she’d always loved doing, and Rachel could see that little spark reignited within her when she was back with her recipe books and ingredients in the kitchen these past few weeks. And, any income it might produce certainly wouldn’t go amiss in helping out the farm’s finances. They needed every penny they could get at the moment. The first lambs wouldn’t be ready to go to market for sixteen weeks yet, and the end-of-year subsidies were being stretched thin as it was. Oh crikey, she still needed to have that conversation with her mother – about just how big a financial hole they were in – but the lambing season had stalled that particular conversation. And Rachel realised she’d been ducking out of it too. She really didn’t want to give her mother anything else to be concerned about, not when she was finally showing the first signs of recovery.
Rachel did enjoy baking too, when she found the time. Her raspberry and white chocolate cheesecake, sugary-crisp yet soft-in-the-middle meringues and carrot cake had always been hits with her family and friends. Once lambing was over, and with Maisy now at school, she’d have a bit more time to experiment in the kitchen once the daily farm chores were done. She might even get The Baking Bible out herself and have a go at some of the old favourites too.
She googled ‘starting up a catering business’, jotting down some notes. She and her mum could easily sign up for the hygiene qualifications they’d need – that’s if her mum warmed to the idea. Then Rachel found herself googling ‘puddings’. A feast of delights hit the screen – taking her back to her childhood with Mum there in her pinafore, Dad sat at the farmhouse table and something sweet and comforting about to come out of the Aga – golden syrup sponge, sticky toffee pudding, treacle tart, and jam roly-poly …
Smiling to herself, Rachel remembered the time when Dad couldn’t decide which pudding he wanted. It was a toss-up between three, she seemed to remember, so Mum just went ahead and made a whole feast. He said that that was real love right there on a plate, as he helped himself to a generous portion of each two hours later, laughing that he was only having so much to please his lovely wife.
Rachel scrolled over the images with an ache of loss in her heart as she looked across at Dad’s empty chair. Why did he have to go and leave them? How the hell had that happened? So many whys and unanswered questions. She felt a tear crowd her eye.
But it was no good getting nostalgic. She had to hold it together to keep the farm going for the three of them now, look at ways of making it more profitable, to keep them afloat. She couldn’t be the one to let them all down, to see it sold off. Primrose Farm was their legacy – and their beloved home.
So, if the pudding idea could help the farm, and as it was something Jill really enjoyed, it was worth at least looking into. There were plenty of people who stayed locally in holiday cottages who might like a treat, there were busy mums and wives with little time to bake, people on their own like Tom, the elderly – a whole host of potential customers who might like to buy a lovely homemade pudding.
There was a pudding on the screen now, the packaging wrapped in muslin. Hmm, Rachel’s mind turned to Eve, her crafting friend. She’d know how to make something similar. Ooh, maybe they could have a selection of puddings, wrapped in something pretty with a bow around and a ‘Primrose Farm’ tag.
The ideas were rolling now. For the first time in a long while, Rachel felt a spark of excitement.
This was definitely food for thought!
A little while later, Jill came down from her bath.
‘Hey, Mum. Feeling more relaxed now?’
‘Yes, love. That was just what I needed – a hot soak in some bubbles.’
Rachel wondered whether to share her newly hatched pudding idea. She’d seen how her mum was starting to enjoy her baking again, but would suggesting that she turn her flair into something more business-like take away all the joy from it? Would Jill feel pressured to help out if she knew how tight their finances really were? And could letting her in on the farm’s dire financial state undo all the progress she was making?
No, Rachel decided to hold back and keep these thoughts to herself. She was afraid to broach this just yet, uncertain as to how it would be taken. She’d have to find some other way to stop the farm’s overdraft deepening for now. Her mum’s positive progress through that painful journey of grief was far more important than any business venture idea. She was just glad that the old Jill was slowly but surely finding her way back home.
Chapter 7 (#ulink_8dc95271-3aba-53a1-ba6f-febda7bc49d7)
UNICORNS AND CUPCAKES (#ulink_8dc95271-3aba-53a1-ba6f-febda7bc49d7)
Life on the farm was far too busy for Rachel to mope about dwelling on their problems, however big they were. There was lambing to get on with, the small herd of cattle to be fed and mucked out, plus there was the persistent mountain of paperwork to trawl through.
Maisy’s recent question about her missing father was also playing on Rachel’s mind – now she was growing up, how was this affecting her? And thinking of her growing up, there was also a birthday to plan for. Maisy’s special day was approaching fast. Rachel was determined to give her daughter a wonderful birthday, but how did you make a little girl’s party special on a shoestring budget? Rachel sighed. Oh well, she rallied, if anyone could do it, she and Jill could.
It was Saturday of the following week, and the day of Maisy’s birthday.
‘Mumm-ee! Come on, come on. It’s today!’
‘Ah … hi, Maisy …’ Rachel was trying to come to from a foggy haze, with a very excited five-year-old bouncing up and down on her bed.
‘Grandma’s making pancakes too!’
Five-year-old … that was it! ‘Oh fabulous … happy birthday sweetheart.’
Rachel stretched and rubbed her bleary eyes. Last night had seen her up until past midnight as she tried to get the surprise party venue ready after Maisy had gone to bed. So, just as her knees were buckling and her eyelids drooping, the grand finale was that eighteen young children were due to arrive today at 2 p.m. Rachel was getting palpitations just thinking about it.
Down in the farmhouse kitchen, Jill was busy making a breakfast of pancakes for them all as a treat, along with thickly buttered toast and mugs of warming hot chocolate.
‘Good morning, birthday girl,’ she called to Maisy. ‘You’ll need some pancakes to help you grow big and strong, I bet?’
There was a choice of scrumptious pancake fillings all lined up on the side: lemon and sugar, banana and homemade toffee sauce, or chocolate spread. Maisy plumped for the chocolate ones, Rachel for a lemon-sugar closely followed by a toffee-banana. She figured she’d need her energy levels up for the day ahead, after all. Jill sat with them soon afterwards with her own lemon stack, and a well-earned mug of tea.
There were some birthday gifts for Maisy to open – one from Grandma Ruth and a couple of small ones from Rachel and Jill, including a new party frock for today. Their main present was outside ready for Maisy to discover later – they’d been saving hard over the past few weeks, the household expenses being on an extra-tight budget to do so. Jake’s parents, who now lived further south, near to Leeds, had sent something on in the post too, which was kind of them. Typically, there was nothing from Maisy’s dad himself, and no word on his whereabouts or even whether he’d got Rachel’s message about the party today. Rachel tried to push that particular worry to the back of her mind.
Jill had set to work baking and by mid-morning twenty-four cupcakes were neatly lined up on the cooling rack in the kitchen, ready to be iced and decorated with sugar-paper unicorns and hundreds-and-thousands sprinkles. There were also two large Victoria sponge bases she had made, ready for Rachel to sandwich together with jam and buttercream and cover with royal icing. Rachel was then to create the birthday cake bonanza with an arch of rainbow-coloured icing, some edible flowers she was yet to craft and a sprinkling of coloured stars. She had bought the cutest sugar-paste unicorn and a number ‘5’ to then pop on the top.
Rachel’s mind spun as she listed all the things left to do: icing the cake, finishing the decoration of the barn party venue, setting up the bouncy castle and slide … Along with Granny Ruth, she and Jill had been saving for ages to get the new play equipment for the party as Maisy’s main birthday present. They hoped it would be a wise purchase and help entertain the rabble of children at the party, as well as provide hours of fun for Maisy and her friends for the summer months to come.
Rachel began colouring strips of icing with food dyes to make the rainbow arch. She had ready-made stars to sprinkle over and was going to cut out and delicately mould some flower shapes from the left-over coloured icing.
Fifteen minutes later, Jill walked past the kitchen bench where she was working just as she was putting on the finishing touches with the unicorn topper. ‘Wow, that looks great. I’m impressed.’
Rachel had thought the rainbow was a bit skew-whiff, but as she stood back and looked at the finished cake, she could see it wasn’t bad at all – yes, a pretty good effort.
‘Maisy will love it,’ Jill confirmed.
Rachel hoped so; her little girl had already been disappointed this morning, after once again asking if her daddy was going to come to the party. She’d been asking every day this last week, but despite Rachel sending numerous texts, phoning and leaving answerphone messages as well as trying a couple of emails to his last known contact address, Jake hadn’t bothered to respond. Rachel had tried to let Maisy down gently, but she knew that her daughter was still clinging onto the belief that he’d turn up.
Jake hadn’t made it for the last three birthdays, so Rachel didn’t expect to see him at this one. She didn’t actually even know where he was in the country, or if he still was in this country. His parents lived over a hundred miles away too, so they wouldn’t be visiting, though they had sent a gift and always kept in touch with Maisy at birthdays and Christmas and the like. Rachel didn’t think even they knew where their son was most of the time. In some ways, it was easier for Rachel that he did keep his distance so she could get on with raising Maisy her own way. But it was Maisy who was starting to need him now, or at least to need to know who he was. Who he was, was in fact an unreliable, commitment-phobic, selfish tosser. In reality, he might well be a disruptive influence and a disappointment to Maisy, Rachel mused, but maybe that was unfair. Perhaps, by some miracle, he might have grown up a bit himself by now, and of course her daughter did need her dad. She certainly wanted to be like the other kids who had dads around, her little girl having become more aware of his absence since starting school. Well, if he did turn up it would be a bit of a shock and a minor miracle, but only time would tell.
With the birthday cake completed, Rachel needed to crack on with getting the barn ready. She passed Moss in the kitchen, giving him a pat on the head, and headed through to the porch to pull on her wellies.
‘Come on Moss, boy, let’s go and get this party started.’
Rachel headed across the yard and yanked open the two heavy wooden barn doors that shaped into an arch. A sparrow darted out – it must be nesting in there. The morning light filled the space and the honeyed-stone walls glowed. It really was pretty in there. For years it had been hidden in dust and straw, with heaps of old sacks, discarded tools, and a few bags of sheep feed. Yesterday, they’d had a damned good clear-out, moving what was useful to one end of the lambing shed, discarding the rest. The flagstone floor was brushed clean, and the cobwebs and dust dispersed – it had taken some time!
Rachel did a quick count of all the chairs they’d ferried in there. They had nineteen bottoms to seat plus parents – hmm. She took out her mobile phone. She needed a friendly neighbour.
‘Tom?’
‘Hi, Rachel. All okay?’
‘Yes, thanks. I just need a bit of a favour.’
‘Okay, ask away.’
‘It’s Maisy’s birthday today and we’re having a bit of a party for her friends. I’m here getting the barn ready, but I’ve realised we haven’t enough chairs for everyone.’
‘Hah, it’ll be bedlam. And yes, I thought her birthday was sometime soon. She’ll be excited.’
‘She sure is. She’s across with Eve and Amelia just now, whilst we get everything ready. There’re eighteen children coming … I can’t wait,’ Rachel groaned. ‘Anyway, do you have any spare chairs that we could borrow for this afternoon? Just some old ones will do, we don’t need anything fancy.’
‘Hah, there’s not much fancy in my house. I can bring across my patio ones and my kitchen set.’
‘Yes, please, that’d be brilliant. Cheers, Tom.’
‘No worries. I’ll be across in a while. I’m just up at The Ridge checking the ewes and lambs.’
‘Okay, well there’s no mad rush, just whenever you can make it before the two o’clock kick-off, if at all possible.’
‘Yeah, that’s fine. See you soon.’
‘You’re a star. Thank you.’ Rachel put away her phone.
Tom really was turning into a bit of a knight in shining armour these days, though she hoped she wasn’t leaning on him too much and becoming a pain.
Time rushed by in a whirl of bunting-fixing and paper-chain-hanging. Tom had arrived with the chairs and didn’t bat an eyelid when Rachel asked him to blow up thirty fuchsia-coloured balloons and to help lay the tables with paper plates and unicorn napkins.
She glanced at her watch – it was gone one-thirty already.
‘Crikey, we’ve only got half an hour to go. Maisy’ll be back any minute too, to change into her party dress.’
‘Well, I’ll let you get on. I have bought a little something for the birthday girl, so I’ll pop back across with it in a while,’ Tom said.
‘That’s very brave. Are you sure you’re up to handling nineteen four and five-year-olds?’
‘Well … I can try, but I’ll leave it at least an hour or so, let them all settle in. When are they expected to go?’ He gave a wry smile.
‘Hah – good thinking. It finishes around five-ish.’
‘Best of luck then, and I’ll see you all later. Wish Maisy a lovely time from me.’
‘Will do.’
‘It looks great in here by the way,’ he added, scanning the barn as he turned to leave.
‘Yeah, I’m really pleased with it. And, it’ll be far better than them all going crazy in the house.’
‘Hah, yes – well, have a good time!’
Jill arrived with a tray of clingfilmed sandwiches and freshly baked sausage rolls, just as Tom was about to leave.
‘Don’t tempt me.’ He grinned, eyeing the platter hungrily.
‘Go on, help yourself. A sausage roll won’t hurt, I’ve made a double batch. There’s a load more in the kitchen.’
‘Well, it’d be rude not to, I suppose.’ He took a bite of the crispy, melt in-the-mouth, sage, onion and sausage goodness. ‘Delicious!’ And with that he set off in his truck, giving a farewell toot.
Five minutes later, Eve turned up with a very excited little girl in tow – in fact two!
Maisy dashed out of the car. ‘Mumm-ee, we’ve been making finger puppets for the party. Animal ones – look, they’re so cute. There’s one for every party ba …’ She stopped in her tracks and stared, open-mouthed at the inside of the barn. ‘Wow-wee!’ she shouted, running in and doing a lap of the trestle tables. ‘A-maz-ing!’
Phew, she liked it! Rachel and Jill were beaming, their efforts having evidently been worthwhile.
‘Right petal, well you need to go upstairs and get changed into your new party dress right now, before all your friends get here.’
‘Ooh, yes.’ And Maisy skipped off towards the house, Amelia by her side, with Moss on their heels scooting across the yard, picking up on the buoyant mood.
‘Shall I stay and help?’ offered Eve. ‘Amelia’s already in her party gear, and I’ve got time on my hands. No point heading back home just to turn around again in twenty minutes.’
‘Aw, you are a star. That’d be great. Could you help Mum bring across the rest of the food whilst I’ll check Maisy’s getting dressed and ready okay?’
‘Yeah, no worries. Looks really great in there by the way,’ Eve nodded at the barn. ‘Think we’ll need to borrow the barn for all our kids’ parties. Save the wreckage to our own homes.’
‘Hah, we’ll see how it goes first! You might not be saying that by the end. It could be kiddie carnage.’
‘Well, at least you can just close the doors on the barn afterwards and retreat to the farmhouse for a glass of wine.’
‘True.’
‘Do you think we could close those doors for a while during the party too?’ Rachel added cheekily. ‘Adults outside and the kids in.’
The two friends chuckled.
‘It’ll be fine,’ rallied Jill. ‘What’s the worst a bunch of five-year-olds can do?’
Eve and Rachel both looked at each other, pulling a grimace. Anything could happen!
Chapter 8 (#ulink_9fb54530-2e43-5ed5-89a3-d2e08d74cdf4)
BIRTHDAY TREATS, TEARS AND CHOCOLATE PUDDING (#ulink_9fb54530-2e43-5ed5-89a3-d2e08d74cdf4)
With Musical Chairs, Pass-the-Parcel, and the fabulously peaceful-for-the-parents Sleeping Lions game completed, it was time for the birthday tea.
The party food looked amazing, and Jill, Rachel and Maisy beamed proudly as the adults ‘Oohed’ and ‘Aahhed’, saying how delicious it all appeared, and the children tucked in. There were homemade sausage rolls, mini sausages, neatly cut triangle sandwiches, crisps and two ‘hedgehogs’ made of pineapple and cheese on sticks that Granny Ruth had brought with her – basically silver-foil-covered grapefruits with spiky snacks and some wiggly stick-on eyes. And, that was before you even got to the dessert selection of unicorn cupcakes, mini jam tarts, jellies and rocky road squares!
‘Granny Ruth, you need to come and sit here next to me.’ Maisy patted the chair next to her, with Amelia already settled on her other side.
Rachel caught Granny Ruth’s eye and had to suppress a giggle as she sat down with all the children. But, she soon looked like she was having a ball, smiling broadly and passing around the plates of treats.
‘I love your hedgehogs, Granny. They’re sooo cute,’ said Maisy.
‘Ah, thank you pet. I’m glad you like them. I used to make them just like that for your grandad when he was a little boy.’
‘Really? That must be ages ago.’
‘Yes, it was.’ And there was a tell-tale glisten in Granny Ruth’s eyes as she spoke.
Rachel found herself with a lump in her throat and Jill said she’d better head back across to the farmhouse to warm her individual sticky chocolate puds, which she was to serve with a blob of thick cream or local vanilla ice cream for the adults.
Amongst the attendees were Eve, Charlotte – another close friend of Rachel’s who lived nearby and worked as a teacher at a primary school – several of the school mums and a couple of the dads, and Jill’s closest friend, Jan, who was also a farmer’s wife. They could relax for a few precious minutes whilst the children were busy tucking into the party food – lulling their minders and parents into a false sense of security ahead of their imminent sugar rush!
With just one hour of the party to go, Rachel rushed up to get ready for the big ‘Birthday Cake Lighting Ceremony’. As she headed across the garden, Maisy came up and grabbed her hand.
‘Hey petal, you all right? Enjoying your party?’ Rachel asked.
‘Yes, it’s good, but is Daddy coming?’
Oh my, she was still hoping, bless her.
‘Nicholas says he’s not real,’ Maisy then blurted out. That figured … he was the brat-kid who Rachel had seen fighting over the last cupcake. ‘That I don’t really have a daddy, but I do, don’t I?’
‘Of course you do, Maisy, but like I said, Daddy’s a long way away right now and I really don’t know when he’ll come back.’ She could only be honest (though economical with the full detail) with her little girl. Lies would just lead to more disappointment. Maisy brushed away a fat tear with the back of her hand, breaking Rachel’s heart. She lifted her daughter up into a hug. Sometimes, as much as you tried to protect them, they still got hurt.
‘Hey sweetheart, you go and have some fun with your friends. Show them your brilliant new slide and bouncy castle. I bet Nicholas hasn’t got one of those in his garden.’
‘O-kay, yes. I will.’
Rachel popped her down next to the garden gate.
‘Come on, Amelia,’ Maisy called her best friend to her side. ‘Come see. I’ve got a new slide!’ The others heard and were soon dashing forwards too.
Tom’s truck then appeared on the driveway. He parked up and made his way over, avoiding an incoming tide of excitable children. ‘Hi Rachel, Jill.’
Several sets of ladies’ eyes seemed to light up as he approached the gathering, Eve’s, in fact, turning into saucers.
‘So, where’s the birthday girl?’ He seemed unaware of the effect he was having. He was holding a gift, wrapped up in Peppa Pig paper.
Maisy heard him, turned in her tracks, and ran to him gleefully. ‘Tom!’
‘Hey, I heard it was someone’s birthday today.’
Her eyes lit up as Tom handed her the present. She couldn’t wait to open it and promptly sat down on the driveway to tear the paper off. It was a bracelet-making set along with a storybook, some acrylic paints and coloured card with lots of glitter and sticky shapes to decorate it with.
‘Thank you, Tom, thank you!’ she squealed.
Rachel was proud her daughter had remembered her manners. The little girl gave him a quick hug and then ran off to be with her friends who were enjoying the bouncy castle and slide.
‘Survived?’ Tom asked Rachel, with an understanding smile.
‘Just,’ she replied. ‘Do you fancy a tea or anything? There’s birthday cake coming shortly too.’
‘Well, now you’ve got me.’ He gave a grin.
‘Hi, Tom.’ Eve came across rather coyly, and Rachel left the two of them chatting whilst she went to fetch Tom a mug of tea and organise the candle-lighting for the birthday cake.
‘Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!’ they all chorused.
The unicorn cake was met with delight, and Maisy’s face was a picture – she actually couldn’t speak. Rachel felt a happy tear crowd her eye.
It was time to blow out the candles. Maisy scrunched up her face and made a silent wish. Rachel had a feeling she might well be wishing for a daddy – one that came to birthday parties. She felt a lump form in her throat for her little girl, and for the little girl inside herself too, still yearning for her own daddy to come back home, even though the adult in her knew that that was never going to happen.
Jill sliced the cake up into rectangles of moist sponge, jam and icing. They ate it from napkins out in the sunshine, then the adults watched the children play once more. The early April day was warm and pleasant. The sky ultramarine with wisps of puffy white cloud. The fields, hills and countryside where their sheep and cattle grazed, were spring-green and bursting into life all around them.
After eating a slice of cake and a sausage roll, Tom stood to say his goodbyes to the group. He then came across to Rachel. ‘I’d better be heading back.’
‘Well, thanks so much for taking the time to come across. I know Maisy loved seeing you.’
‘It’s no problem. She’s a great kid. And hey, you’ve done a brilliant job here, Rachel. The barn, everything. She’ll have had a real special day.’ His hand rested on her shoulder for a brief second. It felt reassuring, warm.
‘Thanks.’
Tom then set off back to work at the farm next door. It was so nice that he’d made the effort to call. And, Rachel smiled to herself, it had certainly cheered up Eve’s day by the soppy look on her face.
The party was wrapping up for another year, and after a flurry of farewells, a few tired tears, happy hugs and party bags distributed, it was finally time for home. Quiet – phew.
Back at the house, Maisy crashed out on the old armchair by the Aga – Granny Ruth’s favourite seat. It had most likely been there when she and her husband, Grandad Ken, had lived in the farmhouse themselves with Rachel’s dad growing up as a little boy. There were so many memories over the generations in this farm, and there was a sense of history and comfort from that. Rachel placed a cosy blanket over Maisy, giving her tired daughter a kiss on her forehead, and set about doing the last of the washing-up in the kitchen.
Jill arrived back from dropping off Granny Ruth, and Rachel poured out two glasses of left-over fizz as they collapsed at the kitchen table, with Maisy now sound asleep in the chair. A wave of fatigue hit Rachel.
‘Well, I’d say that was a success,’ pronounced Jill.
‘Yes.’ Rachel stifled a yawn. ‘Thanks Mum, for all your help. I couldn’t have pulled that off without you. All the food was just brilliant, and the second round of Sleeping Lions out in the garden was a triumph.’ In fact, two of the children had actually gone off to sleep.
‘The old games are the best.’ Jill winked.
Rachel glanced over to check that Maisy was still sleeping, before lowering her voice. ‘Mum, I’m a bit worried about Maisy, lately.’
‘Oh … why’s that, pet?’
‘She’s been asking about her dad, and why he’s not around. I think the other kids at school have been asking questions and teasing her.’
‘Oh dear … bless her.’ Jill sighed. ‘It’s a tricky one, isn’t it. I don’t suppose you heard a thing back from him about her birthday, either?’
‘Now then … what do you think?’ Rachel asked, ironically.
‘Well, we can only be honest with her, Rachel. Be there to field her questions. She’s growing up, she’s bound to be curious.’
‘Yes … I think she’s missing him. Well, missing a father figure anyway. Especially with Dad …’ Rachel couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
‘Yes, I know, I know, love. We’ve just got to be strong for her. Be her mum, dad, grandparents … everything. Families come in all shapes and sizes, especially these days.’
‘You’re right. Thanks, Mum. We can only do our best, can’t we.’
‘Indeed. And, today was a pretty good shot at a super birthday party for her.’
‘It was. Well then, I don’t think I’ll need any help getting off to sleep tonight.’ Rachel gave in to another yawn.
‘Nor me.’
They spent a few quiet moments sat in the kitchen, Rachel looking out of the window at the view; the fields with their white woolly sheep dotted about and the valley below – all green and lush, and rather beautiful. The gentle foothills of the Cheviots which cradled their lovely farmhouse. Rachel gave a tired, yet contented sigh. It was lovely to stop for a second and take in the scene – sometimes you were so busy you forgot to look.
Later that evening, Rachel carried Maisy upstairs and, after a nice warm bath, they started reading Tom’s birthday book, all about magical adventures at a fairy glen – a good choice.
Maisy’s head was heavy on the pillow.
‘Night, night, Maisy. Happy birthday, my love.’
‘Night, Mummy.’ Maisy went quiet for a second and looked thoughtful. ‘Mummy … do you think … maybe Tom could be my daddy?’ she said sleepily.
‘Oh, Maisy. It doesn’t quite work like that, sweetheart.’ Rachel kissed her little girl gently on the forehead. ‘Night, night, petal. Sweet dreams.’
If only life was that simple.
Chapter 9 (#ulink_23092833-a0bc-5c67-a220-c4824c8d9566)
COFFEE, CHAT AND CHOCOLATE BROWNIES (#ulink_23092833-a0bc-5c67-a220-c4824c8d9566)
A few days after the party, reality was hitting home all too hard for Rachel. With lambing over and birthday dreams delivered, the cold hard facts of the farm’s ever deepening financial woes were impossible to avoid. Rachel could no longer shield Jill from the truth, as leaving their heads in the sand any longer would lead to far bigger issues – and the chance that they might lose the farm altogether. That was one thing Rachel could not risk.
The time had come to face the music. Maisy was at school, Rachel had done the morning’s farm checks and she and Jill were pottering around in the farmhouse kitchen.
Rachel took a deep breath. ‘Mum, we need to talk.’
‘Okay, right. What about … you sound awfully serious?’
‘Well, it is.’
‘Does it warrant a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, I think maybe a gin actually.’
‘Ah …’
Jill quickly put the kettle on and set about making a pot of tea, placing a small milk jug and two cups in the centre of the pine table.
‘It’s the farm. We’re struggling, Mum.’ Rachel found herself all choked up just saying the words aloud. Yes, she’d known it herself for some time, but telling her mum made it all much more real. She was incredibly worried about how it would affect her.
‘Oh … Well, it’s always been a bit of a juggling act, love. Even years back.’ Mum’s tone was light.
Rachel realised that she’d not quite grasped the seriousness of the situation. How very wrong it had all gone since Dad’s death.
‘It’s getting harder and harder to earn a living, Mum. I didn’t want to have to involve you, I hoped we might see a turnaround, but the prices for sheep aren’t looking too good for when we come to market, and our costs are forever rising. We are already struggling with an overdraft now and if things carry on the way they are, in a few months’ time we’ll hit rock bottom – the farm’s subsidy payment for this year is already nearly used up.’ Most of it had disappeared into the black hole of the farm’s overdraft straight away.
‘It’s gone already?’ Jill looked shocked.
‘Yes, I’m sorry, Mum.’
In fact, at any point the bank might pull the plug on them and that would be it. Rachel held back from voicing that last hammer blow.
‘Oh dear …’ Jill grasped the edge of the table. ‘Well, it’s not your fault, pet. It’s the way things are, have been, for a long time. Your dad …’ Jill couldn’t finish that sentence. Instead, she stirred the teapot and poured out the tea on autopilot.
There were a few seconds of heartfelt silence between them.
Jill took a deep breath. ‘So, what do we do?’
Rachel had already been thinking so much about this. ‘Okay, one, I think we have to sell some land. Just one or two fields for now, to get some extra income in to keep us afloat.’ It wasn’t ideal and was very much a last resort. Losing land was heart-breaking and there was always a sense of shame within the farming community somehow, in letting it get to that. But sod it, they had already been through enough, who gave a stuff about rural tittle-tattle? If it meant keeping the rest of the farm together, giving them time to find some way out of this, then so be it.
Jill couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips. There were a few seconds before she said pragmatically, ‘All right, if needs must. But that still won’t solve the long-term income problems, will it?’
‘No … but …’ Maybe it was time for Rachel to share her pudding business ideas. Sow the thought that they might be able to do things differently. She didn’t have much else up her sleeve. ‘Look, Mum, I’ve been doing some research. We need to do something new, to diversify.’
Jill was nodding, listening.
‘So hear me out. I’m thinking … puddings,’ Rachel continued. ‘A pudding business. Something we can do from here. I think it might have legs.’
‘Oh, blimey. So, how do you see it working?’
‘Well, you’re great at baking. And you really enjoy it, don’t you?’ Rachel felt nervous broaching the idea.
‘Well yes, but … a business … I’m sure there’s a darn sight more to it than just enjoying baking, love.’
‘Of course. I know that. But what if we made the farm kitchen our base? We can do the qualifications like health and hygiene we might need, both of us, and just start small, give it a try. Make some puddings to sell. Just have a think about it, yeah … And in the meanwhile, I’ll look into it some more.’ Rachel was trying to gauge her mum’s reaction, but Jill’s face was hard to read. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘It’s a lot to take on board, pet. I’ll need a little time.’
Rachel didn’t like to say that time was one thing they didn’t have on their side. But she knew her mum needed a bit of space to get her head around all this. And that was fair enough. After all, Rachel herself had been mulling it over for several weeks now.
‘Okay, I understand. Promise you’ll at least consider it, yeah?’
‘I will, pet.’
‘And tomorrow, I’d better make that call to the land agent,’ Rachel stated, facing up to the worst of it.
Jill placed her hand gently over her daughter’s on the table top, then nodded her acquiescence sadly.
A week later, there was a large wooden sign mounted on a post by the farm gate. It read ‘Land for Sale’ and it tugged at Rachel’s heartstrings every time she saw it.
One evening soon after the sign went up, Jill went along to the local WI meeting for a talk on jewellery making. She’d come home deflated, telling of the hassle she’d had from a certain Vanessa Palmer-Pilkington there. ‘Honestly, that woman was probing so much. Wheedling for information. Was it the whole farm up for sale? She was so sorry to hear it, blah, blah, bloody blah. She wasn’t sorry at all, just wanted some juicy gossip to tell her neighbours and the village.’
‘Oh dear, doesn’t sound like it was the best of nights for you, Mum.’ That was such a shame too, as Jill had still been a bit reclusive of late. Rachel had hoped that getting out and about more would do her good.
‘Bloody woman was like a vulture at the end of the talk circling me, looking for every juicy scrap of information. Pretending to be concerned, when all she wanted was some tittle-tattle.’
‘Well, don’t worry about her, Mum.’ Rachel knew the woman was a bit of a nightmare. ‘Some people have nothing better to do with their lives. I bet the others there were supportive.’
‘Oh yes, I do have some nice friends there, of course. And all the farming folk know the tough issues we face every day in this business. Anyway, I was getting fed up with Vanessa’s constant wheedling, so I told her we were using the money from the sale of the fields to build a new indoor swimming pool. Well, you should have seen her face. It was a picture.’
‘Hah, I love it. Go, Mum.’
‘Well, that shut her up. She moved off swiftly then. And Jan, who was there beside me, nearly choked on her tea and biscuits. We couldn’t stop chuckling.’
‘Good for you, Mum.’
It was never easy in such a small community where everybody knew everybody’s business – or at least they thought they did.
‘So, what was the jewellery talk like?’
‘Good, actually. Very informative. She’d brought some really pretty examples too. It was just the end with old V.P.P. that spoilt the night a bit, that was all.’
‘Well, I think you handled it brilliantly. We stand tall and we fight back, Mum. We can hold our heads high. I, for one, am proud that we’re trying to keep things going here, whatever that takes. We can only do our best.’
‘I know, I know that, love. I just wish certain people would mind their own bloody business.’
‘Yes. I know. So, why don’t we rename her? V.P.P.: Visible Panty-line Palmer – has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Then every time we see her, it’ll make us smile.’
Jill spluttered on her tea. ‘Hah, that’s genius!’
For all her fighting talk, Rachel had to admit that she was desperately worried too. What if the land didn’t sell soon? Or what if it did but the money they received didn’t make enough of a difference in the long term?
She swallowed down her fears and managed to smile across at her mum. ‘We’ll be okay, Mum. Together, we’ll find a way.’
The next day, after the heart-to-heart with Mum, puddings were very much on Rachel’s mind. Not just that she could eat a very generous portion of some left-over lemon pudding that she knew was still in the fridge right now, but also, and more-so, that there might actually be something in this pudding-making business idea. Thinking back to Maisy’s party last week, the parents had raved about Jill’s sticky chocolate pudding – and Charlotte wouldn’t go home without the recipe. Rachel was desperate to dig a little deeper, and find out what her mum was really thinking, but knew she’d asked for some time – and it was only fair to give her that space.
Of course, Jill would have to be fully behind the idea to make it work, as they’d be relying heavily on her commitment as well as her baking skills. But they could start small, Rachel mused, test the waters. Sign up for their health and hygiene course together and trial a few sales locally. There were bound to be some nearby shops who’d be interested in stocking local farmhouse-made puddings, or perhaps they could even try a stall at the local farmers’ market.
Rachel had given herself a headache looking at their accounts again this morning and yes, whilst they were still just about okay, their heads above water for now, they’d need money to keep the farm going until the first lambs were ready for market and beyond. There were wormers and medicines to buy, machinery to keep going, their farmhand to pay, the household bills to cover too. The list could go on … and on.
It was when the land agent had come around to value the fields that reality had really hit home. He’d pushed them to make a larger acreage available, suggesting that three or four fields might be more saleable, but Jill and Rachel hadn’t been ready to give up too much land. They’d compromised at two, understanding that something had to be done, but he’d warned them that unless it was a local farmer or someone wanting a field or two for a pony to graze, it might not be snapped up that quickly. They’d have to see, but neither of them had felt ready to allow too much of the farm to go just yet. There must be some other way … if they could just think creatively.
Yes, she’d have to do lots more research on this pudding business idea, find out if there were any grants available for such things to help them get set up, and she really needed to talk over this idea properly with her mum. Without the Queen of Primrose Farm Puddings by her side, it was a non-starter.
Chapter 10 (#ulink_9d5596dd-e4ea-50b6-a653-65cd9ccc427f)
COFFEE, BROWNIES AND CHAT (#ulink_9d5596dd-e4ea-50b6-a653-65cd9ccc427f)
The next morning Rachel had been checking the boundary fences and was trying to repair a bolt-hole that the lambs were escaping from.
‘Want a coffee?’
Rachel jumped. Eve’s head popped over the hedgerow.
‘Jeez, Eve, you frightened the life out of me!’
‘Sorry, hun. I spotted the quad, knew you’d be about somewhere. I was on my way back from Kirkton, been getting a few groceries.’
‘Let me just finish securing this fence here – the lambs have been making a bid for freedom.’ She was weaving a mesh of chicken wire through the existing fencing to stop the gap.
‘Okay, call up at the cottage when you’re ready. Be nice to have a catch-up.’
‘Yes, I’ll do that. Thanks.’
When she got to Eve’s ten minutes later, there was a cafetière of coffee ready on the kitchen side along with a plate of chocolate brownies – the room was smelling of cocoa-coffee gorgeousness.
‘Shall we take it outside?’ Eve suggested. ‘It’s nice and sunny.’
‘Sounds divine, coffee and a view.’
Eve picked up a tray and loaded the goodies onto it, along with a couple of mugs. ‘To be honest, the dining room and lounge are covered in my craft stuff just now. There’s not a lot of space left in the cottage. It’s driving Ben crazy, but I need to keep it all somewhere handy, especially when I’m mid project.’
They settled at a slightly rickety table-for-two, on a flagstone patio to the rear of Eve’s cottage. Their stone two-bedroomed cottage was rented from grumpy Mr Macintosh, whose farm bordered Primrose Farm on the opposite side from Tom. The farmer didn’t keep the cottage in the best state of repair for them but the young family did their best with it and always kept the garden tidy. The cottage itself, though pretty, was tired-looking, with its white wooden window sills in need of a re-paint, but it was still full of character and Eve was happy there.
‘So, what are you making just now?’ Rachel took a sip of rich, delicious coffee.
‘Children’s toys … knitted and felt mice, rabbits, a fox, sheep, teddy bears. Hang on, I’ll fetch one to show you.’ Eve stood up to go back into the house.
‘The kids at the party loved those finger puppets by the way. Thanks again for doing that,’ said Rachel, whilst she was still in earshot.
‘You’re welcome, glad I could help you out with the entertainment.’
Eve went on into the cottage and came back a couple of minutes later with some extremely cute knits.
‘Aw, these are so sweet,’ Rachel exclaimed.
‘I’m selling them as a set of three online. Like a friendship group.’
‘They’re brilliant. You are so clever.’
Knitting and delicate craft work had never been Rachel’s thing. She just about knew how to sew a button back on, but it wouldn’t be too neat a job. She was far better handling real animals or driving the tractor. She had always been a bit of a tomboy and relished getting stuck in around the farm. It was her dad who had taught her how to drive the tractor, just slowly around the yard to start, at the age of fourteen. She’d been watching and learning for years up until that point though – right beside him in the warmth of the cab. Oh yes, she could still remember his voice from that first lesson. ‘This is one powerful and heavy machine, mind, lass. You treat her with respect,’ he’d said in his warm but cautionary tone. She’d felt so proud sat there at the wheel, with a beaming smile. She’d be happier with a spanner and screwdriver than a needle and thread any day. But, hey, each to their own.
‘So, it’s going well so far, the Etsy thing?’ Rachel asked with interest.
‘Yes, I’ve got a few orders already. I’m so glad I made that leap.’
‘That’s great … Actually, we’re thinking of setting up something of our own from the farm, me and Mum.’ Rachel felt it was time to share her idea. It would be good to get some honest feedback.
‘Ooh, I’m all ears. So, what’s the plan?’
Eve was her closest friend, and the truth spilled out. ‘Between you and me, we’re struggling a bit. Finances are really tight and we need to think of other ways to make a living and support the farm.’ It was actually a relief to speak to someone about this, other than her mum. She knew she could trust Eve to be discreet.
‘Well, if there’s anything at all that me and Ben can do to help …’
Aw, bless her. They didn’t have a lot to spare for themselves. And, putting money into Primrose Farm at the moment would be like donating to a black hole, Rachel feared.
‘Thanks Eve, I really appreciate the offer but we’ll be fine. We just need to think creatively and out of the box on this. Then we can shore things up a bit, that’s all.’
‘So, what’s your idea then, hun?’
‘Okay, so what’s the one thing guaranteed to put a smile on your face when you come into Primrose Farm?’
‘That’s easy, Jill’s amazing cooking. I always leave about two stone heavier whenever she’s been baking away in the kitchen.’
‘Exactly! So, that’s the nub of it, I keep coming back to the idea of Mum’s puddings.’
‘Ooh, interesting. Well, you know that I’m a big fan. They are just divine. I still remember that strawberry and passionfruit pavlova she made for the barbecue we had here last summer. And her sticky toffee pud on a cold winter’s night … mmmnn.’
‘Ah yes, that’s always been one of my favourites.’
‘So, you’re thinking of selling puddings then? That’s such a great idea. Where and when can I buy some?’ Eve clapped her hands together enthusiastically.
‘Well, we’re still thinking about outlets. I wondered if maybe the Kirkton Deli would be good to try, what do you think? It’s on our doorstep and Mum knows Brenda there pretty well.’
‘Yeah, that sounds a great place to start. No harm in asking anyway.’
‘Yes, I’m feeling really positive about it, but I just get the feeling that Mum’s a little reluctant just now, despite her being a brilliant cook. I’m looking into everything in detail and doing my homework. I’ve said I’ll help Mum as much as I can with the business side, as well as with the cooking too.’
‘Hmm, I see.’
‘I don’t want to push her too hard, but I can see this really working. We need to do something, Eve, I don’t want the farm to get into deeper trouble. We’ve chatted all about the pudding idea, she obviously loves her baking, but then … well, I think she’s really lost her confidence lately.’
‘Oh, Rachel. You’ve all been through so much … it’s no wonder.’
‘I know,’ Rachel’s tone softened.
‘Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. Whatever you need to make this venture work, say the word if we can help. And tell your mum she needn’t worry about whether or not they’ll sell, she makes the best puddings around. They’ll be queuing down Kirkton High Street like it’s the Harrods’ sale.’ Eve grinned.
Rachel felt wrapped in a warm glow of friendship. ‘Thank you.’
They ate some of the gorgeously-gooey chocolate brownies Eve had made and sipped rich strong coffee, chatting about country life, their girls’ latest antics, a smattering of rural gossip. Apparently Melanie Bates had got engaged, and there’d been sightings of escapee pet rabbits appearing amongst the rural burrows – there’d be a medley of black, white and brown ones soon enough – and there was the drama of a couple on their hiking holiday who’d had a fall on some loose shale further up the valley, resulting in a broken leg and the air ambulance having to be called out.
‘Right, best stop this gossiping, I should get myself away,’ Rachel announced ten minutes later. ‘Mum’ll be wondering where I’ve got to, and I’ve a list of chores still to finish on the farm before school’s out and the whirlwind that is Maisy arrives home.’
‘Yes, I’d better make a few more of these animals to fulfil my orders. It’s been great to catch up. See you soon then.’
Rachel glanced at her watch. ‘Yeah, at the bus stop in about three hours. How does it roll around so quickly? And thanks for the coffee. It’s been really good to chat.’
‘You’re welcome. It’s nice to get you back out from the lambing shed.’
‘Hah, absolutely.’
‘Well, you all take care. Oh, and best of luck with your pudding plans.’
‘Thanks, hun. I’ll keep you posted.’
When Rachel arrived back at the farm, Jill handed her a parcel that the postman had just delivered. Her mum couldn’t disguise the frown that had formed across her brow. Rachel was curious and, as she looked closer, she recognised the scrawled handwriting of Jake, her ex. It was addressed to Maisy. Most likely a late birthday gift, Rachel mused. She turned the parcel over in her hands. He was there loitering on the edges of their lives, unpredictable, unreliable. She wondered how Maisy would feel about this reminder of her dad’s long-distance relationship – if it could in fact be described as a relationship, him being far more absent than present.
Rachel couldn’t help the twist of anger in her gut that he hadn’t even bothered to get a gift to his own daughter on time. It always seemed like Maisy was an afterthought to him. Maisy should never be an afterthought.
Chapter 11 (#ulink_d0dfb5f8-53c5-5361-a0f1-08bf3c4841e5)
FULL STEAM AHEAD (#ulink_d0dfb5f8-53c5-5361-a0f1-08bf3c4841e5)
A couple of days later, Rachel made her way back into the warmth of the farmhouse for some lunch after being out in the tractor spreading fertiliser on the Low Pasture, preparing it for growing grass to make hay. She was quite happy driving the tractor, with her country music on her iPod to keep her company, her favourite at the moment being Colbie Caillat’s ‘Try’. And at least she’d had a dry and comfy seat for the morning.
As Rachel slid off her wellies at the porch, the sweet, warming smells of home baking once again greeted her. She opened the kitchen door to find Jill humming away to the radio, with Moss lying down quietly by her side, and an array of ingredients, bowls and baking trays around her.
Rachel smiled to herself. Her mum looked so content there in her baking haven; it was a scene that warmed Rachel’s heart like nothing else, she could stand there and watch her forever. The family Baking Bible was open beside her, and Jill was concentrating on the page, her reading glasses propped on the end of her nose. She then weighed out some glacé cherries before taking a can of pineapple rings to hand.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Oh Rachel, hello love.’
‘You look busy.’
‘Oh, I was making some cherry scones just before, and then I thought about my mother’s old recipe for pineapple upside-down pudding. I thought we might have a can of pineapple rings in the cupboard to go with the spare cherries and, hey presto, here we go. I found the recipe written out here, in her lovely loopy handwriting. Yes,’ Jill smiled to herself, remembering, ‘Granny Isabel always used to make this as a bit of a treat. Pineapple was rather decadent back in the day. So, I thought it might be an idea to treat ourselves today, too. It’s high time there was a bit more light in our lives.’
‘Absolutely.’ It was wonderful to see Mum happier, with glimpses of her old self shining through, and she was evidently enjoying her baking. Could Rachel chance mentioning the pudding business idea again? It seemed the ideal time to broach it, and time was beginning to run short on their nose-diving finances – as yet, there had been no interest in the two fields they’d put up for sale.
‘Mum, look, I don’t want to pile the pressure on or anything, but did you get a chance to think about the pudding idea? Of trying to sell some? You’re so talented, and I know everyone’s been raving about your chocolate puddings since Maisy’s party.’ There had indeed been some thank-you texts from parents gushing about how delicious they were.
Rachel spotted the tell-tale frown straight away. Damn, she’d broken the lovely spell that her mum’s baking had cast over the kitchen.
‘Well, selling them to paying customers is a bit different than offering some puds around at a party.’ Jill sounded unsure of herself, nervous in fact.
‘I’m sure people would buy them! I’ve heard so many “yum”, “scrumptious”, and “divine” compliments being thrown around whilst collecting Maisy after school, and if that’s anything to go by, well, they’ll be queuing up.’ Rachel grinned at her mum.
‘Oh, I really don’t know, love,’ Jill answered honestly. ‘I do like my baking, but it’s more for pleasure, for us as a family. It was … well, it was always about Dad coming home to a hearty meal and a lovely pudding to look forward to, about you and Maisy tucking in. About Grandma Isabel and Granny Ruth, and all those recipes handed down from the generations before. I don’t know if making it into a business would spoil all that. Like it might lose its heart somehow …’ She gave a small sigh.
‘But, maybe, you could share all that with lots more people. Give them a taste of a hearty farmhouse pudding, one made with love, instead of some packet mix or one off the supermarket shelf loaded with preservatives and such like.’ She paused, her tone then becoming serious. ‘We need to try something new to help the farm, Mum.’ Rachel stopped talking, feeling that she had pushed far enough.
Jill was nodding, but her look was of concern, of wariness. ‘Oh, Rachel, love, I’m just not sure.’
Jill was notably quieter than usual for the rest of that afternoon and evening, and Rachel felt saddened that she had spoilt her mum’s magical baking moment. So, late the next morning, after coming in from her farm chores and with it all still mulling over in her mind, Rachel felt an apology was called for. She caught up with Jill collecting eggs at the hen house.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I shouldn’t have pushed you yesterday about the baking business. I’d just got excited about the idea. But if it’s not for you …’
Jill looked up, wicker basket in hand, with several chickens clucking happily around her feet. ‘No, you were right, I need a little shaking up. I’ve had my head stuck in the sand about the farm’s finances for too long now, hoping it would all somehow magically improve. I don’t think I felt I could cope with any more bad news … So, I have been thinking, in fact, more than that … I’ve called in and spoken with Brenda when I went into town this morning … at the Deli in Kirkton. She really liked the idea of selling some of our puddings, especially as they’d be locally made. With the busier summer season coming up, she said she’d be happy to try a few there should we decide to go ahead.’
‘Oh wow! That’s great news, Mum.’ And so wonderful that Jill had come on board with the idea.
‘So,’ added Jill animatedly, having evidently been thinking more on the project herself, ‘which flavours do you think we should try first?’
‘Oooh, now then, your sticky toffee is the bee’s knees and my all-time favourite, so that’s a must, and the sticky chocolate from the party was really popular. What about just keeping it simple while we start out and do those two to begin with?’
‘Hmm, we can always add more pudding varieties later, I suppose.’ Jill stood, framed by the stone outbuildings of the farmyard with the rolling hills behind, the warm April sunlight giving her a golden glow.
‘Exactly, this is great, Mum. I love the new enthusiasm. You seem excited about the idea. What’s changed?’
‘I’ve just been thinking about it, that’s all. And, I did bump into Jan on the high street this morning too and we got chatting.’ Jan was also a farmer’s wife, and understood their lifestyle and situation all too well. She had been Jill’s close friend over many years. ‘We ended up going for coffee and she was telling me all about how the Glen-Robertsons have set up their jam and chutney business at their farm. It seems to be going really well. So, I thought, you know, why not
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/caroline-roberts/rachel-s-pudding-pantry/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Caroline Roberts
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: Step into Rachel’s farmhouse pudding pantry – where there’s always love, laughter, scrumptious puddings, and a hearty slice of romance!Pre-order the gorgeous new novel from Caroline Roberts, the Kindle bestselling author of the ‘Cosy Teashop’ series.