hung up her old Barbour jacket on a coat hook in the porch. ‘Sorry, mate.’
Maisy was already charging about the kitchen, loudly announcing, ‘Mummy’s going out. To see Tom. What’s for tea?’
Jill looked up. She was busy at the work surface, rubbing butter into flour in a mixing bowl. Next to her was a bag of demerara sugar, no doubt ready to add to the mix and then top her second batch of crumbles.
‘If that’s okay?’ added Rachel politely. ‘Sorry, I meant to ask earlier. It’ll be later on, after I’ve settled Maisy to bed.’
‘That’s fine, love. Well, there’s a cottage pie in the oven, and we’ll try out one of these for dessert, shall we? There’s one batch already made – Toffee Apple Crumbles.’
‘I can’t wait, it sounds delicious, Mum,’ said Rachel with a smile.
‘Yum,’ grinned Maisy.
Yes, that sticky toffee apple smell filled the kitchen. It transported Rachel back to Bonfire Nights on the farm years ago, back when she was a little girl herself. Dad used to keep old firewood and debris stacked up through the year and then they’d have a huge bonfire out in the yard. There’d be hot dogs with golden fried onions and ketchup. And, earlier in the day, Mum would have dipped apples that were picked from their tree into hot toffee and then let them set on baking parchment. Rachel would have a friend or two over, and they’d watch Dad set off some low-noise fireworks with a ‘woosh’ of falling stars and colours, dramatic and sparkly as they lit the night sky but without the alarming bangs that would upset the farm animals. Then they’d eat the candied apples on sticks as they stood by the orange, crackling glow of the fire, with the sugary toffee sticking to their teeth and dripping messily onto fingers.
Memories were catching up with Rachel again. It happened all too often these days, the rawness of losing her dad still a haunting feeling within her. Even though it was over two years since it happened, there were still times when she thought of Dad and it suddenly became harder to breathe. There were just so many things here on the farm to remind her. She missed him so much.
They needed to look forwards as well as back, however. Maybe she and Jill could put on a small fireworks event this year, give Maisy a taste of that November magic? Perhaps they could invite Eve and her family along too, and Tom. They might not have much money to spare, but if the two families went halves on some pretty fireworks, then she and her mum could easily cook up some tasty food for everyone – that was their forte, after all.
‘You all right, love?’ Jill asked.
‘Yes, just remembering those fireworks nights we had with Dad,’ Rachel shared. ‘That toffee apple smell brings it all back.’
‘Ah yes …’ Jill smiled sadly, silently acknowledging their joint grief.
It felt as though the big man himself might just walk back in to the room and take up his old seat by the Aga, holding his ‘John Deere’ mug of tea.
Sometimes Dad seemed a world away, and sometimes he didn’t seem that far away at all.
With Maisy tucked up in bed, and a tummy full of delicious toffee apple crumble, Rachel headed to her room to swap her old jumper for a pretty pink-and-grey checked blouse, teaming it with her best dark-blue jeans. She flicked on some mascara and a swipe of lip gloss – she wasn’t the type to worry about wearing much makeup, and her cheeks were certainly rosy enough from working outdoors without needing blusher.
She skipped down the stairs, finding Jill in the kitchen. ‘Right, I’m off now, Mum. I’ll just be a couple of hours.’
‘There’s no hurry, love, I’m fine here. I’ve got an episode of Emmerdale to catch up on, and Jan brought me in some magazines the other day, so I can look over those. Might even glance through the old Baking Bible and get some ideas for some warming winter puds to put on in the Pantry as specials in the coming months.’
‘Mmm, that sounds good. That crumble was delicious tonight, by the way. Just the thing after being out in the cold.’
‘Thanks, love. Hopefully they’ll go down well in the Pantry this week. We need to pull a few more customers back in. It’s been very quiet lately, hasn’t it?’
Ah, Rachel thought, so Mum was more than aware of that too. ‘Yes, I’ve noticed. It’s getting a bit worrying,’ Rachel admitted. ‘I suppose with it being October and out of season …’ The lack of customers, tourists, and income, these past few weeks was a real concern for Rachel, but she hadn’t wanted to worry her mum too much, or put a damper on her enthusiasm for the new business. The Pudding Pantry was meant to be lifting the farm’s struggling finances, but there was no sign of that lately. They were just about keeping their heads above water for now, but they needed a boost over the Christmas period or they’d soon be sinking once more. The very last of their savings from the summer trade had gone into installing a log-burning stove to keep the barn cosy and the customers warm over the winter months. It had felt like a wise investment, but that was it; there were no backup funds at all. And it was still a long while until the basic payment monies would be coming in for the farm.
‘Well, it’s bound to be quieter just now, I suppose. The summer tourists have all gone. And, remember, we’re still getting established.’ Jill was trying to look on the bright side. Rachel loved that about her mum – ever the optimist.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Rachel agreed, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
‘Well then, love, don’t let me keep you. Get yourself away. Oh, and why don’t you take one of those crumbles for Tom? I’m sure he’d like that.’
Rachel stifled a giggle. Ever since a raucous conversation in the pub one night between Rachel and her girlfriends – before she and Tom had become an item – there’d been a standing joke about Tom being ‘comforting’ like an apple crumble. Her mum was blissfully unaware.
‘Will do!’ she replied, a wide grin spreading across her face.
Rachel drove the two miles between their farms in the dark, along the familiar, twisting hawthorn-hedged country lanes. She felt a touch nervous, her tummy in a bit of a knot, as she neared his farm entrance gate. They didn’t get an awful lot of time alone, and though she was desperate to see him, all this togetherness was still strangely new. She so didn’t want to mess things up. She pulled to a halt, and soon found herself knocking at Tom’s farmhouse door, a fizz of anticipation building as she let herself in.
‘Hi, I’m here,’ Rachel announced.
Tom turned to greet her. He was standing at the kitchen island unit, opening a bottle of red wine. His hair was still slightly damp, as though he’d just got out of the shower. Hmm, just the thought of that sent a little shiver through her.
The house was a large, traditional honeyed-stone building similar to their own. Inside however, the kitchen had been modernised with light-coloured wood units and chrome fittings – a modernisation Tom’s ex-wife had insisted on, complaining that the original kitchen was archaic. It wasn’t the only thing she’d complained about, so Rachel had heard, with the relationship falling apart after four years. Caitlin had moved back to Newcastle, leaving Tom with a wrecked heart and a large bank loan to buy her out with, so
