They said their goodbyes to Eve and Amelia and set off up the farm track, walking past the field where their small herd of black, Aberdeen Angus cattle were out to pasture, making the most of the late-growing grass. Macduff, the sturdy bull, gave them a stare and one of his ladies mooed. The autumn had been mild so far, but who knew when that might change. Winter could be hard in the Cheviot Hills, as Rachel well knew. Soon enough they’d have to come into the shelter of the cattle shed.
‘Can we go and see Petie, Mummy?’
Petie was Maisy’s favourite pet lamb from this spring. He’d joined the other sheep out in the fields several months ago, but was still the friendliest of the bunch by far. Maisy (plus Rachel, she had to confess) had a soft spot for him, so much so that when the other male lambs went off to market recently, they couldn’t bear to send him. So, he was still here on the farm, even though he was nearly fully grown, full of bounce and cheeky affection. Rachel swore he thought he was a dog at times, chasing about after the quad and their Land Rover, and he loved playing with Moss, the farm’s border collie.
‘Yes, I don’t see why not. We could go and have a check of the sheep before it gets dark.’ There had been that bother with the ewes stuck in the fence yesterday, so it’d be good to check the others were all all right and that the fence repair she’d made had stayed sound. ‘We could jump in the Land Rover and go before tea. It’ll be muddy, mind, so you’d better get changed out of your school uniform and get your wellies on.’
‘Yay!’
They popped in to say hello to Grandma Jill, who was now keeping an eye on the Pudding Pantry which was disappointingly devoid of customers. With it being nearly four o’clock, it seemed unlikely there’d be any more. Jill was still baking like a trojan, but the customers weren’t there in the numbers they had been over the summer. Rachel might have to have a word. She didn’t want to dim her mum’s baking enthusiasm, but they really couldn’t afford to waste all those ingredients.
Jill was already starting to pack up. ‘I’ll be across to the farmhouse soon, love. I’ll just get tidied here and pop back and check on the crumbles I have in the Aga. Then, we can have a quick cup of tea before I start organising supper.’
No wonder it had smelt so good – Mum’s crumbles were divine.
‘That sounds great. But first, Maisy and I are going out to quickly check on the sheep.’
‘We’re going to see Petie, Grandma.’
‘Ah, how nice. Well, give him a pat from me.’
‘I will.’
‘We won’t be long.’
‘That’s fine. See you later, then. Oh, here, take a couple of these oat flapjacks with you. You might fancy a little treat whilst you’re out and about.’
Rachel rolled her eyes – Jill was unstoppable when it came to feeding them up with her delicious wares – but couldn’t resist a smile as her mum popped the syrupy flapjacks into a paper bag.
‘Thank you, Grandma.’ Maisy broke into a gappy grin, having recently lost her two lower front teeth.
‘Cheers, Mum.’
‘See you soon, my loves.’
Maisy bounded into the passenger side of their slightly battered Land Rover as Rachel took up the driver’s seat. Moss, the collie dog, was in the back, more than happy to join them, and little Maisy was soon chattering on about school and squirrels once more. After a bumpy ride over the fields that made Maisy giggle, they were soon up at the Top Field, where Petie and the hoggs, as the lambs selected for breeding were called, were grazing. Rachel had taken a couple of cobnuts from the lambing shed store to give their fleecy friend a treat. There was no need to call out to him, as he was already galloping across the field to meet the vehicle as they slowed to a halt on the rise.
‘Hello, Petie boy!’ Maisy was out of the Land Rover in a dash, rubbing his nose and ears affectionately, and feeding him the cobnuts.
The little (well, rather stocky now) lamb was so familiar and friendly. He nibbled happily at the treats. It was lovely to see the bond he had with Maisy, but it had meant a difficult decision a couple of months ago, when Rachel should have been pragmatic and sent him to market along with the others. She just hadn’t had the heart to do it, nor to have to explain his fate to Maisy. They’d had enough sorrow in their lives. On this rare occasion, Rachel had let her heart rule her head, even considering the farm’s very limited finances.
On a quick drive around, they checked the other sheep, who thankfully seemed to be fine and were keeping away from the fences and out of trouble – for the moment, anyway.
‘Can we have Grandma’s flapjack now?’ a rather hungry Maisy asked.
‘Good idea.’
Rachel slowed the Land Rover and pulled up near a rocky outcrop at the top of the hill. They got out and walked up the last of the rise, with Moss at their heels. As they reached the top, Rachel popped Maisy onto a large, flat mossy stone that made the perfect seat, and clambered up beside her. They sat perched together with the sheepdog at their feet.
‘Here you go, petal.’ Rachel took out the golden-baked flapjacks.
Rachel’s first bite was a toffee-crunchy delight that melted in the mouth – scrumptious.
‘Yummy!’ Maisy announced her approval. ‘Ooh, look Mummy, the farm’s gone all fuzzy.’ Maisy was pointing down to their valley where, sure enough, you could only just make out the dim golden lights of their farmhouse. And there, further in the distance, was the soft glow from the buildings of Tom’s farm next door. It matched a soft tender glow within Rachel too.
Since they’d left the house, an autumn mist had swirled in across the lower fields and the stream that ran through the valley, and the view looked as though it was in soft focus. That gentle glowing scene of Primrose Farm made Rachel’s heart lift. It had suddenly got chillier so the two of them sat side by side, keeping closely snuggled for warmth, eating their flapjacks. Moss was keeping alert beneath them, on the lookout for the odd tasty crumb that might drop his way.
Dew was beginning to form on the rocks and the grass as dusk crept upon them, the sky deepening to a purply-grey. Rachel was looking forward to heading back down to a warming supper, eaten sitting around the old pine table in the farmhouse kitchen. Mum would be there now, having closed up the Pantry for the night. Rachel could picture the golden-topped crumble puddings sitting there tantalisingly, cooling on the side.
She tightened her arm around her daughter as they gazed down at their farm. And though Rachel’s heart had been shredded these past couple of years – with losing her dad so devastatingly – this legacy of Primrose Farm, though not always easy, warmed her soul. Keeping it going for the three of them, and especially for Maisy and her future, this gave her purpose. This was home.
The next morning, there was the telltale ‘fut-fut’ of Frank’s old Fiat coming up the farm track. Frank was in his mid-seventies, and a real gent. He lived in the nearby small town of Kirkton and he had become one of their Pudding Pantry regulars.
