Rachel's Pudding Pantry Read online

  ‘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 subje
ct.

  ‘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, really hard 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. Bli
mey, 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.