Page 41 of Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

Chapter 18

PROSECCO, PLANS AND MINI MERINGUES

The next morning, once Maisy was at school, Rachel and Jill were out fixing the damaged fence from where the cattle had escaped. It was a gorgeous morning, warm and dry, the birds singing happily in the green-leafed hedgerows around them. From here, they could see all the way across their grassy fields down to the valley where Primrose Farm nestled.

Jill stood up tall, stretching out her stiff back from all the physical work, and took in the view. ‘It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?’ The words came out almost as a sigh. ‘It’s far too precious to lose.’

Rachel stopped tugging at the rotten fence post, and pulled herself up tall, drinking in the gorgeous vista next to her mum. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, wondering where Jill’s words might be leading.

‘I’ve been thinking over everything these past few days, love. And you’re right, life does need to change here. We’ve been stuck in a rut these past few years. Well, we’ve just been trying to get through one day at a time, I suppose.’

‘That’s all we could do, Mum. It was the only way to make it through,’ Rachel answered, knowing just how hard life had been. In the early days after Dad’s death, it was hard just to get up, get on, to even bother to make supper. But having a farm-load of animals all waiting for you, and a young child who needed you, made you rally, drag your body out of that bed, and get on with it.

‘Well, it’s high time we started looking forward, Rachel. Primrose Farm needs a future, and your idea of having something based here seems the right way to go. I’ve been mulling it all over and … yes, why not, I think we should go for the Pudding Pantry plan. At least, let’s give it a try, anyhow.’

‘Wow, that’s great, Mum.’ Despite the words, and her joy that Jill had made a huge leap forward, Rachel couldn’t help but sigh herself; last night’s research into funding and grants had kept throwing up stones at her, in fact massive bloody boulders. ‘But … the problem is, I’ve been looking further into applying for grants, and for the works we need, we’d have to find sixty per cent of the set-up costs. Even with the rent we’re getting from the fields, and even if we saved for six months, we still couldn’t possibly put by enough. The Pudding Pantry couldn’t happen until next year at least, maybe not even then. I’m sorry Mum, I know I got all carried away with the idea, but we don’t have the funds we need to start up with. I’ve been looking at all angles and I just don’t know how we can do it.’

Mum was quiet for a few seconds, looking out across the green rolling landscape of their farm with the hedgerows of hawthorn now studded with confetti-style May blossom and their fields dotted with sheep.

‘I’ve been doing some research too, and yes, I’ve seen you need to contribute a capital sum for the rural grants scheme. But there’s something I haven’t told you.’

Rachel turned to face her mum, Jill having her full attention now.

‘You see, I have some savings. Nothing major. I was keeping it as a stand-by, as a little last-resort pot for Maisy’s future. It was from a small life insurance your dad had set up many years ago. It’s only a couple of thousand but it might just be enough to make a start on those quotes you’ve had for the work in the barn.’

‘Oh, but Mum, no, if you’ve kept the money back with that in mind, then we must keep it for Maisy.’

‘I kept it for Maisy’s future, yes. And the more I think about it, this, this Pudding Pantry idea, it is Maisy’s future and ours. If the farm can’t survive as it is, then we all go under and there’ll be no farm or future for us here anyway.’

‘Oh … I’m not sure what to think. It had all seemed so far out of reach, but now …’ Rachel was stunned, having told herself it could never happen. Yes, it was a risk. Mum’s last savings at stake, along with the future of the farm, but they were at risk of losing that already. ‘What if it doesn’t work out though, Mum? Just as you’d feared?’

‘Is anything guaranteed in life, Rachel? Look at what happened to us all before …’

Rachel took in the words as she gazed across the green fields of their valley, pausing to look at the farmhouse itself. She saw the barn there opposite it, like a beacon of promise, its stone walls lit honey-gold in the morning sunshine.

‘Well?’ Jill was waiting for her response.

Rachel turned towards her mum. She looked at her face and couldn’t help but notice the fresh twinkle in her eyes – a sparkle of promise, and hope.

‘Wow, okay then, yes! I think we should do it. For the three of us.’ Rachel’s mouth stretched into a broad grin.

‘For the three of us,’ Jill echoed, taking her daughter’s hand in hers.

There was a palpable sense of excitement at Primrose Farm with Pudding Pantry plans afoot. They’d chosen a local building company to work with (who’d given a reasonable quote and had a sound reputation) who could start in four weeks’ time. That would take them towards mid-June. The work itself, they’d been advised, should take around one month, so the Pudding Pantry might be open by mid-July – how amazing – and hopefully just in time for the school summer holidays.

In the meanwhile, Jill was still baking the popular sticky toffee and chocolate puddings for the Kirkton Deli. The farm kept Rachel busy, but with the cows now calved and all the animals out in the fields, farm life was far simpler and she had more time to help Jill.

They needed to get an order made up quickly, as Brenda had phoned them to say she’d had a flurry of sales, so later that day Rachel, Jill and Maisy set up an afterschool pudding packaging production line. The radio was on, and they were singing away to one of Mum’s old favourites, the happy beat of The La’s ‘There She Goes’. Jill was pouring rich toffee sauce over the sponges that she’d already baked in their foil containers, Rachel was in charge of lidding, and Maisy set out the material squares, ready for Rachel to wrap and tie with a bow. Maisy then had to stack the finished puddings very carefully, checking they stayed flat to avoid spillage, in the cardboard box ready for delivery.

‘You’re doing a great job, Maisy,’ Rachel praised. She could see how serious her little girl was, with a furrow of concentration on her brow, making sure she didn’t tilt the cartons as she carried them.

‘Were there any pudding spares, Grandma?’ Maisy asked hopefully, as she put the last one into the box. ‘I do think we should try them to make sure they’re okay.’

‘Yes, quality control is essential,’ Rachel agreed with a grin.

‘Oh yes, I know what you two are like. There’s a chocolate one already in the fridge that I kept back.’

‘That’s what we like to hear.’ Rachel gave a big thumbs up to Maisy, who started giggling away.