Page 27 of Summer at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

‘Really? You’d do that for us?’ Rachel was gobsmacked.

‘You don’t want to start your wedding day worn out now, do you? I think it’s a great idea,’ added Charlotte.

‘So, who’s in?’ piped up Eileen.

Every single person around that table put their hand up, even Frank who hardly knew how to bake. Rachel felt her heart swell, and a little tear filled her eye.

‘Oh, bless you all,’ said Jill, looking somewhat overcome.

Rachel was finding it hard to speak. She took a gulp of air and managed a breathy, ‘Thank you.’

The Pudding Club really had risen to the occasion for them. This group had grown into something very special indeed over the past few months. There was friendship and support in abundance here. In fact, Rachel realised, the Pudding Club at Primrose Farm really did have all the perfect ingredients.

12

‘We need to chat about your flowers, Rachel. I know I’m all booked in for you, but I do need some more detail on what you want bloom and colour-wise, so I can get them all ordered in and organised for you.’ It was Wendy, the florist from the village, on the phone.

‘Oh, yes.’ Crikey, decisions, decisions. There was so much to think of and, well, Rachel felt much more at home with her hands-on farm work compared with the creative tasks involved in wedding planning. Right now, in fact, she was grappling with an errant sheep, trying to get it through the gate as she balanced the phone in the crook of her shoulder. They were rounding the herd of ewes and lambs up, moving them between fields. Farmhand Simon had a flicker of impatience across his brow, and sheepdog Moss was awaiting further commands; her phone call was clearly holding things up. She felt rather flustered.

Tom hadn’t been much help on the floral front either, as he’d said he was happy to go with the flow on things like the flowers and decorations. ‘Okay … right, well I had kind of thought pale pinks and whites …’ She found herself floundering, looking about her at the nearby hedgerow for inspiration. Ah yes, the blue of a cornflower stood out at her. ‘And yes, we’ve chosen bridesmaids’ dresses in a sort of lilac-blue colour. Perhaps a country look to go with that – nothing too formal?’ The rogue sheep head-butted her stomach. ‘Urgh … to be honest, Wendy, I hoped you might have some ideas too …’

‘Well, why don’t you come down to the shop, and we can look at a few designs along the lines that I’ve done in the past, which we can tweak to your own taste? Oh, and bring in any ideas or images that you’ve seen too.’

‘Okay …’ She really was feeling out of her depth. ‘Can I bring Eve along? She’s the artistic one, after all.’ Yes, she’d have far more idea. Hmm, there was method in choosing her as her maid of honour.

‘Of course. So, when can you pop down?’

‘I’ll check with Eve, but perhaps tomorrow afternoon, say three o’clock, once the Pantry eases off a bit?’

‘That’s fine by me. Just let me know if it’s going to be any different. See you then. Bye pet.’

‘Bye, Wendy.’

Rachel sighed as she hung up. Blimey, all this planning was even more tiring than sheep wrestling. She looked out towards Tom’s farmhouse, wondering what oh-so-glamorous task was occupying him right now. They hadn’t spoken any more about where they were going to live after the wedding, and it was niggling her. Could she picture herself and little Maisy over there with him, day after day, away from Primrose? She hated all the uncertainty clouding the future.

She saw that Simon had already whizzed on through the gate on the quad, leaving her and Moss to round up this last ewe. ‘Can we talk?’ She popped Tom a quick text. As tempting as it was to bury her head in the sand, she knew she had to face things, talk it through. ‘Ain’t that right, Mrs Sheep? Nobody likes change. But come on, let’s get you in the next field.’

Naturally, Eve was in her element with flower ideas and had gone all out that evening in her internet searches for ‘country wedding flowers’, ‘boho-chic’ florals, wedding posies and more. She had sketches, print-outs and images saved on her mobile phone – the works.

The next day the three of them gathered around the table in the back of the colourful and scent-laden ‘Flower Basket’ shop. Seeing both Eve’s and Wendy’s ideas laid out was brilliant. It made it so much easier for Rachel to sit and say, yes like that, love that, nope, no way, yes, gorgeous. Within a half-hour, and two cups of coffee and a slice of Victoria sponge later, they’d narrowed it down to some lovely natural-looking bouquets in soft pinks and whites with just a touch of blue, tied with a cornflower-blue satin ribbon to match the bridesmaids’ dresses. There’d be wicker baskets filled with flowers for Maisy and Amelia, and – for the tables in the tipi back at the farm – large milk jugs would be filled with blooms, with some wildflowers too, and posy-filled jam jars for the church and the Pantry – Granny Ruth and the WI-ers would have plenty of empties between them for sure.

‘Now then, Rachel, what about your hair?’ asked Wendy. ‘A lot of brides like something floral for their headwear … are you thinking of putting it up?’

‘They do? Oh …’ Her voice trailed. More decisions. ‘Well, I had kind of thought of leaving it fairly natural.’ In truth, she hadn’t really thought much about it at all.

‘And do you have a veil?’

‘Nope, no veil. Just a bloomin’ gorgeous dress, made by my lovely friend here.’

‘Oh wow, really, Eve? You’ve made it yourself? You clever thing.’

‘Thanks.’ Eve gave a shy smile.

‘Anyway, back to the hair?’ Wendy was not the sort to be sidetracked.

Luckily Eve piped up: ‘Ooh Rachel, what about delicate soft braids which join at the back, and then have the rest loose and wavy down to your shoulders?’

‘Hmm, that could work, yeah.’ Rachel could kind of picture that.