Coming in from school, Rachel would often wonder what pudding delight might be waiting for her. She used to try and guess by the scents that greeted her at the door. Today’s smelt undeniably of cocoa.
‘Ooh yes, it’s the chocolate one,’ Maisy said, as if reading Rachel’s thoughts. ‘I’ve been helping, haven’t I, Grandma?’
Yes, that was the smell she’d recognised, that rich chocolate sponge and sauce. It was one of Rachel’s favourites.
‘You certainly have,’ Jill answered. ‘You’ve been a great little helper … been sifting the flour for me and all sorts.’
It was lovely to see the friendship and love so apparent between grandmother and granddaughter. And, it was wonderful that Jill was baking again too, returning step by step to the things she once loved to do.
‘Oh my, I don’t think I can wait. It smells divine, Mum. I’m famished.’
‘Well, supper’s not ready for another half hour yet, I’m cooking a stew,’ said Jill.
‘That sounds great … but a whole half hour … I couldn’t have a little taste of that pud just now, could I?’ teased Rachel.
It was sitting there, still warm on the kitchen side by the Aga, tempting her. Moss had sniffed it out too, standing tall with his nose to the air, before he settled down, resigned to snooze beneath it.
‘Why don’t we have pudding before dinner, Grandma?’ Maisy asked cheekily, with a big grin.
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ Jill answered.
Rachel was nodding in time enthusiastically with her daughter now.
‘Pretty please?’ Maisy’s grin widened.
‘You’d have to be sure to eat all your dinner, mind …’ Jill’s resolve was weakening, ‘But well, maybe just this once, why not.’
‘Yay! Yesss!’ they cried out. The three generations of Swinton girls started giggling together. And, it was lovely to hear laughter back in the farmhouse once more.
‘Come on, then.’ Jill organised some dessert bowls and spoons, and dished out three portions for them, pouring over some of the spare dark and glossy chocolate sauce she’d made, with a swirl of double cream to finish. They sat together at the old pine table that had been the focus of many a family meal and celebration over the years – Christmases, birthdays, anniversaries – where they’d shared stories of their days and lives, and of late where they had shared their tears. It was the very same table where Rachel had sat as a little girl herself, and it was very much at the heart of their farmhouse home. Now, watching her young daughter sat next to Mum, digging into the delicious homemade pudding, was the most comforting sight and made Rachel feel all warm inside.
There were soon plenty of ‘Umms’ and ‘Ahhs’ coming from Rachel and Maisy as they tucked in with delight. The pudding melted in the mouth, with rich cocoa-sweet flavours.
‘Thank you, this is wonderful, Mum,’ Rachel said.
It felt like a big move in the right direction for Jill, and for their newly shaped family. For a while now, the laughter had stopped, and her mum had stopped her baking too, saying that it hardly seemed worth it. There had been, still was, this huge, gaping hole in their lives … yet, slowly but surely, they were trying, and beginning, to knit it back together.
TROUBLED TIMES AND MIDNIGHT PUDDING
The farmhouse kitchen was lit by the glow of a single lamp at the desk where Rachel sat staring at her laptop. Jill had gone up to bed an hour before and little Maisy was tucked up fast asleep, no doubt hugging her favourite soft-toy lamb, in her lilac-painted room that had been so carefully and lovingly decorated by her grandad. The tug at Rachel’s heart was strong right then, for her father to whom she could no longer go for advice, and for the three of them who were here trying their best to hold the farm together.
The clock ticked away on the kitchen wall. It was already past midnight. However long she looked at those figures, they weren’t going to get any better. Rachel sighed, rested her elbows on the wooden desk and held her forehead in her hands for a few seconds, her dark wavy fringe tumbling down over her fingertips. She wasn’t going to let this beat them, no way. Primrose Farm had been in their family for generations. She had to keep it going for the three of them, for their future, and also for their animals – the sheep and cattle they’d reared and cared for over so many years. What they had all been through, two years ago now, could not be in vain.
But every month, when she drew up the farm accounts, it was plain as day that any profits had been squeezed further and their income was down. They lived a frugal enough life as it was. Luckily, they didn’t need fancy clothes or holidays. The only one getting new shoes or clothes was Maisy, as she was growing so fast. Rachel felt the tension knot across her brow. She got up to make herself a cup of tea and, fetching the milk from the fridge, spotted that there was some of Mum’s gorgeous chocolate pudding left. She helped herself to a slice and warmed it in the microwave – a little cocoa magic might help lift her spirits.
Rachel knew the time had come to talk about the farm’s struggling finances with her mother. She’d tried to protect her from this until now – her mum had had enough to cope with – but it was only right that Jill knew what they were facing, and they needed to approach this as a team. If it meant selling a couple of fields for the sake of the farm, Rachel mused, then so be it, except she wasn’t quite sure how Jill would take that news. And, any income from that might only be a drop in the ocean.
There might be other avenues they could explore. Farming friends in the area had started doing bed and breakfast ventures. In fact, traditional farmhouse B&Bs were becoming quite the thing. After all, they lived in the most beautiful Northumbrian valley in the foothills of the Cheviot Hills, but with Maisy so young, Rachel was wary of opening up their home to strangers. There must be other ways to diversify.
For tonight, however, her head was tired and fuzzy, and she was feeling cranky. It was hard to think clearly any more. Time for bed. Tomorrow was for taking things forward. Yet, having to tell her mum the truth about their dire financial situation filled her with a gnawing anxiety. It was one conversation she really wasn’t looking forward to, but it would have to happen soon.
‘Hey, Moss.’ She smoothed the head of the black-and-white sheepdog who was lying down beside her. ‘Come on then, boy.’
It was time for him to go back out to his kennel in the yard. He was meant to live outside, but often sneaked in for the warmth of the Aga and some affection. Rachel liked him there with her, to be honest; he was great company as well as being excellent when working with the sheep, her dad having trained him well. How much they both missed him.
A week later, and lambing
