‘Ah yes, that’s always been one of my favourites.’
‘So, you’re thinking of selling puddings then? That’s such a great idea. Where and when can I buy some?’ Eve clapped her hands together enthusiastically.
‘Well, we’re still thinking about outlets. I wondered if maybe the Kirkton Deli would be good to try, what do you think? It’s on our doorstep and Mum knows Brenda there pretty well.’
‘Yeah, that sounds a great place to start. No harm in asking anyway.’
‘Yes, I’m feeling really positive about it, but I just get the feeling that Mum’s a little reluctant just now, despite her being a brilliant cook. I’m looking into everything in detail and doing my homework. I’ve said I’ll help Mum as much as I can with the business side, as well as with the cooking too.’
‘Hmm, I see.’
‘I don’t want to push her too hard, but I can see this really working. We need to do something, Eve, I don’t want the farm to get into deeper trouble. We’ve chatted all about the pudding idea, she obviously loves her baking, but then … well, I think she’s really lost her confidence lately.’
‘Oh, Rachel. You’ve all been through so much … it’s no wonder.’
‘I know,’ Rachel’s tone softened.
‘Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. Whatever you need to make this venture work, say the word if we can help. And tell your mum she needn’t worry about whether or not they’ll sell, she makes the best puddings around. They’ll be queuing down Kirkton High Street like it’s the Harrods’ sale.’ Eve grinned.
Rachel felt wrapped in a warm glow of friendship. ‘Thank you.’
They ate some of the gorgeously-gooey chocolate brownies Eve had made and sipped rich strong coffee, chatting about country life, their girls’ latest antics, a smattering of rural gossip. Apparently Melanie Bates had got engaged, and there’d been sightings of escapee pet rabbits appearing amongst the rural burrows – there’d be a medley of black, white and brown ones soon enough – and there was the drama of a couple on their hiking holiday who’d had a fall on some loose shale further up the valley, resulting in a broken leg and the air ambulance having to be called out.
‘Right, best stop this gossiping, I should get myself away,’ Rachel announced ten minutes later. ‘Mum’ll be wondering where I’ve got to, and I’ve a list of chores still to finish on the farm before school’s out and the whirlwind that is Maisy arrives home.’
‘Yes, I’d better make a few more of these animals to fulfil my orders. It’s been great to catch up. See you soon then.’
Rachel glanced at her watch. ‘Yeah, at the bus stop in about three hours. How does it roll around so quickly? And thanks for the coffee. It’s been really good to chat.’
‘You’re welcome. It’s nice to get you back out from the lambing shed.’
‘Hah, absolutely.’
‘Well, you all take care. Oh, and best of luck with your pudding plans.’
‘Thanks, hun. I’ll keep you posted.’
When Rachel arrived back at the farm, Jill handed her a parcel that the postman had just delivered. Her mum couldn’t disguise the frown that had formed across her brow. Rachel was curious and, as she looked closer, she recognised the scrawled handwriting of Jake, her ex. It was addressed to Maisy. Most likely a late birthday gift, Rachel mused. She turned the parcel over in her hands. He was there loitering on the edges of their lives, unpredictable, unreliable. She wondered how Maisy would feel about this reminder of her dad’s long-distance relationship – if it could in fact be described as a relationship, him being far more absent than present.
Rachel couldn’t help the twist of anger in her gut that he hadn’t even bothered to get a gift to his own daughter on time. It always seemed like Maisy was an afterthought to him. Maisy should never be an afterthought.
A couple of days later, Rachel made her way back into the warmth of the farmhouse for some lunch after being out in the tractor spreading fertiliser on the Low Pasture, preparing it for growing grass to make hay. She was quite happy driving the tractor, with her country music on her iPod to keep her company, her favourite at the moment being Colbie Caillat’s ‘Try’. And at least she’d had a dry and comfy seat for the morning.
As Rachel slid off her wellies at the porch, the sweet, warming smells of home baking once again greeted her. She opened the kitchen door to find Jill humming away to the radio, with Moss lying down quietly by her side, and an array of ingredients, bowls and baking trays around her.
Rachel smiled to herself. Her mum looked so content there in her baking haven; it was a scene that warmed Rachel’s heart like nothing else, she could stand there and watch her forever. The family Baking Bible was open beside her, and Jill was concentrating on the page, her reading glasses propped on the end of her nose. She then weighed out some glacé cherries before taking a can of pineapple rings to hand.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Oh Rachel, hello love.’
‘You look busy.’
‘Oh, I was making some cherry scones just before, and then I thought about my mother’s old recipe for pineapple upside-down pudding. I thought we might have a can of pineapple rings in the cupboard to go with the spare cherries and, hey presto, here we go. I found the recipe written out here, in her lovely loopy handwriting. Yes,’ Jill smiled to herself, remembering, ‘Granny Isabel always used to make this as a bit of a treat. Pineapple was rather decadent back in the day. So, I thought it might be an idea to treat ourselves today, too. It’s high time there was a bit more light in our lives.’
‘Absolutely.’ It was wonderful to see Mum happier, with glimpses of her old self shining through, and she was evidently enjoying her baking. Could Rachel chance mentioning the pudding business idea again? It seemed the ideal time to broach it, and time was beginning to run short on their nose-diving finances – as yet, there had been no interest in the two fields they’d put up for sale.
‘Mum, look, I don’t want to pile the pressure on or anything, but did you get a chance to think about the pudding idea? Of trying to sell some? You’re so talented, and I know everyone’s been raving about your chocolate puddings since Maisy’s party.’ There had indeed been some thank-you texts from parents gushing about how delicious they were.
Rachel spotted the tell-tale frown straight away. Damn, she’d broken the lovely spell that her mum’s baking had cast over the kitchen.
‘Well, selling them to paying customers is a bit different than offering some puds around at a party.’ Jill sounded unsure of herself, nervous in fact.
‘I’m sure people would buy them! I’ve heard so many “yum”, “scrumptious”, and “divine” compliments being thrown around whilst
