pudding to look forward to, about you and Maisy tucking in. About Grandma Isabel and Granny Ruth, and all those recipes handed down from the generations before. I don’t know if making it into a business would spoil all that. Like it might lose its heart somehow …’ She gave a small sigh.
‘But, maybe, you could share all that with lots more people. Give them a taste of a hearty farmhouse pudding, one made with love, instead of some packet mix or one off the supermarket shelf loaded with preservatives and such like.’ She paused, her tone then becoming serious. ‘We need to try something new to help the farm, Mum.’ Rachel stopped talking, feeling that she had pushed far enough.
Jill was nodding, but her look was of concern, of wariness. ‘Oh, Rachel, love, I’m just not sure.’
Jill was notably quieter than usual for the rest of that afternoon and evening, and Rachel felt saddened that she had spoilt her mum’s magical baking moment. So, late the next morning, after coming in from her farm chores and with it all still mulling over in her mind, Rachel felt an apology was called for. She caught up with Jill collecting eggs at the hen house.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I shouldn’t have pushed you yesterday about the baking business. I’d just got excited about the idea. But if it’s not for you …’
Jill looked up, wicker basket in hand, with several chickens clucking happily around her feet. ‘No, you were right, I need a little shaking up. I’ve had my head stuck in the sand about the farm’s finances for too long now, hoping it would all somehow magically improve. I don’t think I felt I could cope with any more bad news … So, I have been thinking, in fact, more than that … I’ve called in and spoken with Brenda when I went into town this morning … at the Deli in Kirkton. She really liked the idea of selling some of our puddings, especially as they’d be locally made. With the busier summer season coming up, she said she’d be happy to try a few there should we decide to go ahead.’
‘Oh wow! That’s great news, Mum.’ And so wonderful that Jill had come on board with the idea.
‘So,’ added Jill animatedly, having evidently been thinking more on the project herself, ‘which flavours do you think we should try first?’
‘Oooh, now then, your sticky toffee is the bee’s knees and my all-time favourite, so that’s a must, and the sticky chocolate from the party was really popular. What about just keeping it simple while we start out and do those two to begin with?’
‘Hmm, we can always add more pudding varieties later, I suppose.’ Jill stood, framed by the stone outbuildings of the farmyard with the rolling hills behind, the warm April sunlight giving her a golden glow.
‘Exactly, this is great, Mum. I love the new enthusiasm. You seem excited about the idea. What’s changed?’
‘I’ve just been thinking about it, that’s all. And, I did bump into Jan on the high street this morning too and we got chatting.’ Jan was also a farmer’s wife, and understood their lifestyle and situation all too well. She had been Jill’s close friend over many years. ‘We ended up going for coffee and she was telling me all about how the Glen-Robertsons have set up their jam and chutney business at their farm. It seems to be going really well. So, I thought, you know, why not
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