Page 11 of Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

Chapter 5

BREAD AND BUTTER PUDDING AND SUNDAY DINNER

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.