Page 38 of Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

‘Oh,’ Jill looked deflated.

‘It’s good that we’re on the right lines, don’t get me wrong. But what we need to do is think bigger, think differently. In fact,’ Rachel paused, aware she was about to launch a whole new idea in the mix, ‘think about having an outlet right here.’

‘Like a shop or a stall, do you mean?’

‘Not quite. We need more than that. I feel we’re a little out of the way for just a shop. We need to draw the customers in … with somewhere to sit and relax. A tearoom … or, a Pudding Pantry.’

‘Crikey, you have been thinking. So how on earth do we suddenly do that?’

‘I was thinking of the barn. Maisy’s party worked so well there. We’d have to do some work to it of course. We could hopefully get some grants in place, and I can save some of the monthly rental we’re now getting from Tom on the fields. It’d all have to be done on a careful budget, of course.’

‘Oh Rachel, that’d be a hell of a lot of work. The barn’s in a bit of a state. We’d need a working area for a kitchen to start, and that won’t come cheap.’

‘Yes, I know there’s a lot to consider. But I’d like to look into the idea more, Mum. I’m thinking of getting some companies in for quotes, actually.’

‘Blimey, it all seems rather sudden. You always were one to jump in feet first.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll do my homework first. And, only if you’re in agreement, of course. It will need both of us on board to make this work.’

‘Look, I don’t want us to rush in and get this wrong, Rachel. It’s a big thing.’ Jill’s tone was calm but serious. ‘You still have the farm to work, that’ll take several hours a day, and there’s Maisy to think of too. And … if it didn’t work out, we might well be even worse off and lose the lot, the farm too. I don’t want to dash your plans by any means, but this needs careful consideration.’

‘I know, I know. I’ll do some more research and we’ll keep up the pudding making to supply the Kirkton Deli just now. That will hopefully continue to get our name out there, as well as helping prop up our income a bit. It’ll all take time.’ Rachel took a slow breath, remembering the most recent farm accounts.

Jill spotted her concern. ‘But I don’t suppose we have a lot of time, do we?’

‘With the farm finances the way they are just now, Mum, realistically … not a lot. And if it’s something we feel we should do, then we need to make it happen sooner rather than later before the main summer season starts – to take advantage of the holiday tourist trade. Don’t you think?’

They were already in early May. Could a facelift to the barn really happen by the summer holidays? Or was it all just pie in the sky?

‘Okay then, I’ll do some research too.’ Jill suddenly sounded upbeat. ‘I’m sure I’ll have friends of friends who’ve done something similar. There’re often new ventures within the farming community in the area. I’ll ask around. But we can’t afford to get this wrong, Rachel. I’ll not take any unnecessary risks.’

They shared a look, as they thought of Dad, the farm, their precious legacy.

‘I know that, Mum,’ Rachel replied earnestly.

But doing nothing at this point wasn’t a great option either.

It was a wet afternoon, so Rachel made the most of being stuck indoors by researching further into local building companies and electrical firms as well as grant opportunities. During a break in the rain showers, she wandered across to the barn, opening its creaking wooden doors and turning on the single electric lightbulb that hung from a wooden rafter above. She walked in and stood, looking around her. The two trestle tables were still left from Maisy’s party, but otherwise it had all been cleared. The barn’s honeyed-stone walls and smoothed-over-time flagstone floor were just waiting to be transformed. With a little building work, some imagination and hard graft, they really could bring this place to life.

A shaft of warm spring sunlight beamed in through the open doors and, for a few seconds, Rachel half closed her eyes and dared to dream. Yes, there could be a small kitchen area and a wooden counter over there at the far end, with a selection of quaint tables and chairs, maybe a pine dresser with a jug of sweet peas and blue-and-white patterned vintage plates and teacups on it, resting against the back wall.

Oh, and of course, a display of delicious homemade pudding and cakes and scones … in fact all kinds of foodie delights. Cheesecakes, pavlovas, crumbles, brownies …

‘Rachel?’ Jill’s voice came from the yard.

‘In here,’ she replied.

‘Oh … I wondered where you’d got to.’ Jill came on in.

‘I was just imagining how it might be … our Pudding Pantry. All set out with tables and chairs and cosy lampstands.’

‘Daydreaming, were you, love?’

‘No … not daydreaming. I want this to be real, Mum. I’ve got a good feeling about this. Can you picture it … a kitchen and a counter over there, piled with your amazing puddings and bakes, people gathered happily chatting over tea and scones, or sticky toffee pud and coffee?’

‘It is a lovely thought. But,’ Jill seemed to hesitate, wary of breaking her daughter’s reverie, ‘we do need to be careful, love. So many businesses fail.’

‘I know.’ But, were some dreams worth the risk? Or was she being foolish? Rachel needed to find out more at least.