Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

Tom shifted to sit up, his top now off and discarded across the floor, revealing a very attractive chest above his jeans. He began to slowly remove Rachel’s clothing, kissing her bared skin as he went. Down to her underwear now, he traced his hand along the curve of her waist, her hip, her thigh as she lay on her side. Soon they were both naked in the firelight glow.

The emotions within Rachel were powerful … yearning, loving, learning …

As they made love, she lost herself to him. And though she hadn’t voiced those words ‘I love you’ lately, she felt it within every bone in her body.

As they lay naked in the afterglow, Tom propped himself up on one elbow beside her.

‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked.

‘Yes, the fire’s lovely.’

‘And you’re okay?’ He sounded so caring, checking she was happy, that all of this was right for her.

‘Very.’ She smiled tenderly. This was so beautiful, getting to know every inch of his body, getting to know the real Tom, inside and out.

He moved closer, snuggling up behind her, his arm slipping around her waist, moving on until he found her hand, where he laced his fingertips through hers. Then Mabel trotted in from her kitchen bed and paused, giving them a haughty look.

‘Hah, I think she’s put out,’ Tom commented, though there was a smile through his voice. ‘The rug by the fire is usually her spot of an evening.’

Rachel patted the mat beside her. ‘Ah, sorry Mabel; will you share?’

The little dog put her nose in the air as though thinking about it, then took up the spot on the rug in front of Rachel and curled up, letting Rachel stroke the short silky fur of her head. Her short tail thumped contentedly in answer.

There were a few quiet moments, where they lay listening to the crackle of the fire. It felt peaceful there, just being together. A world of two … and a terrier. Rachel hadn’t imagined it could ever be this magical, this close. Her longest relationship having been with Jake, Maisy’s father, at aged seventeen into eighteen. They had been so young, naïve, experiencing snatched moments of sex in the back of Jake’s car or at his parents’ house. It now seemed childish, experimental, as if they hadn’t known each other at all.

This was so much more … heartfelt, body and soul.

Maybe it was because it was so wonderful, so special, that Rachel’s vulnerabilities hit home. She suddenly pictured Tom there with his ex. Had they ever made love here by the fire – they’d lived in this very house for several years, after all? Had he felt all this before? He must have really loved Caitlin once to have married her. Rachel felt a strange twinge of envy for Tom’s ex-wife, for what the two of them had shared before, even though it had been over for years now.

‘Tom … what happened with Caitlin? How did it all go wrong?’

‘Ah, let’s not talk about that now, Rachel. This is so nice, let’s not think about anything else …’ He brushed the question off, seeming a little ruffled.

‘Oh.’ Well, she sure knew how to kill the atmosphere.

‘Look, we weren’t right for each other. It was never going to last,’ he added, matter-of-factly.

That made Rachel suddenly feel sad, lying there with Tom’s arm around her. Could they go wrong too? Is that the way things went? But no; she reminded herself of her parent’s long marriage, they had been happy … up until that last fateful day. She turned her thoughts to Eve and Ben and their secure little family unit. It didn’t always have to go wrong.

‘And Rachel,’ Tom spoke gently, ‘it wasn’t like this.’

She rolled over to face him and they shared a tender kiss. As she finally pulled away, Rachel gave a fragile smile. Oh my, how would it feel not to have him beside her?

The evening passed all too soon; drinking red wine, naked by the fire, with this gorgeous man she had fallen in love with.

Still wearing only her watch, Rachel glanced at her wrist to see that it was already past ten thirty.

Reluctantly, she sat up and began gathering her clothes. ‘Tom, I’m going to have to go. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to take advantage of Mum’s goodwill and babysitting services. And I like to be there in the morning for Maisy, getting her up and ready for school.’ There wasn’t only herself to think of in all this.

‘It’s okay, I understand.’ He brushed Rachel’s cheek fondly with his fingertips. ‘You’re like the three musketeers,’ he said smiling. ‘I take on one, I take you all on.’ His voice had assumed a daft French twang.

‘Exactly,’ she beamed. ‘Thank you,’ she added softly, before kissing him affectionately on the nose.

‘Though, I’m sure we could just snatch five more minutes …’ He gave a sexy grin, before adding, ‘I can achieve a hell of a lot in five minutes.’

‘I’m sure you can.’ She laughed. ‘Hmm, well, in that case …’

And they were soon back together fireside, in a tumble of arms, legs, lips and hot kisses.

Rachel drove back to Primrose Farm through the indigo dark of the winding lane, her heart still full from their sensual night, her skin still warm from Tom’s touch.

The lights were on downstairs and, as she opened the farmhouse door, there was the sound of the radio on in the kitchen. Jill was at the kitchen work surface with a pinafore over her dressing gown.

‘Hello, love, did you have a nice time?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ Rachel still, rather embarrassingly, felt like she was basking in the afterglow. ‘Are you still baking, Mum?’ Rachel added, surprised to see the late-night activity in the kitchen.

‘Oh, I’ve just about finished, love. And don’t worry, I haven’t been here all night. I sat and watched my programme after supper, had a bath, and then I was flicking through the old Baking Bible and found this recipe of my Great-Auntie Edna’s. I was looking for some warming winter puds for the chillier months, and this seemed perfect. Look, she’s even done a little drawing, though I must say those sultanas in the pudding look very like rabbit droppings.’

They both giggled.

The finished article, stood on the side, did indeed look and smell wonderful; a baked sponge in a rectangular dish, with a rich caramel sauce over it. ‘Mmm, that looks great. What is it?’

‘Sultana and butterscotch pudding.’

‘Ooh, delightful.’

The Baking Bible was laid open on the side next to the mixer. There were at least four generations of puddings and bakes recorded there, with the earliest being penned by Jill’s own grandmother, Alice. A legacy of bakes and cakes that Jill had brought with her, and since added to, when she had married Dad back in the mid-Eighties and moved into the farmhouse.

‘I think I’ll put it on as a special tomorrow.’

‘Ideal! I can’t wait to taste it.’

‘Well then, maybe we can spoon out a little portion from the edge to try?’

‘Oh yes, go on then. We need to maintain quality control, after all,’ Rachel grinned.

Jill scooped some out into a small bowl, spooning over a little of the syrupy caramel-coloured sauce.

Lifting her spoon to her mouth, Rachel’s taste buds exploded happily. ‘Oh my, that’s going to be a hit. The sponge is so light and the sauce is naughty but very nice.’

‘Aw, thanks, love.’ Her mum beamed proudly.

Rachel loved seeing her mum in good spirits, and farmhouse-kitchen baking was most definitely Jill’s happy place. The downside was that Jill was still making nearly as much food as in the busier summer months, ‘just in case’, and they were starting to waste some now. Rachel knew she should really ask her mum to ease off on the baking, warn her that they couldn’t afford to throw things away now that it was quieter. But looking at her mother, happy there in the kitchen, knowing that baking helped to fill a loneliness that Rachel still shared … well, she bit her tongue, though she knew she’d have to say something if things didn’t turn around soon. In the meanwhile, their friends, family and the postman were benefitting from some rather scrumptious giveaways for now.

Rachel resolved that she would have to put her mind to drumming up some more business, somehow. Fingers crossed, things would turn around for Primrose Farm soon.

She smiled at her mum over the steam of the delicious pudding, and nudged closer at the kitchen side to give her hand a squeeze. ‘They’re a winner every time, Mum.’

The Third Bake of Christmas

Chocolate Cupcakes with the Cutest of Faces – Maisy’s Festive Favourite

Jill’s Chocolate Reindeer Cupcakes:

100g plain flour

20g cocoa powder

140g caster sugar

1 ½ tsp baking powder

¼ tsp vanilla extract

Pinch of salt

40g butter

120ml whole milk

1 egg

To decorate: Chocolate buttercream, large milk chocolate buttons, large white chocolate buttons, red and brown Smarties (or similar), cake decorating eyes or mini chocolate chips

Heat oven to 180°C/Gas 4. Mix flour, cocoa, baking powder, pinch of salt, and butter in electric mixer or with handheld electric whisk. Beat until everything combined.

Whisk the milk, egg and vanilla extract together in a jug, then slowly pour about half into the flour mixture. Beat to combine, then turn mixer to high speed and pour in the remaining liquid and beat until smooth.

Spoon into paper cases to 2/3rds full. Bake 20-25 mins.

Leave to cool before decorating with chocolate buttercream, half a large milk chocolate button for each of the ears, a white chocolate button with a Smartie stuck on for the nose, and the sugar paste eyes (or choc chips).

Extremely cute and very tasty!

5

There was a promising flurry of customers at the Pantry the next morning. By ten thirty, Anne and Irene, two senior citizens from the village, were chatting away, enjoying coffee and shortbread.

‘Oh, by the way, Jill,’ Irene called across from their table, ‘that apple and blackberry crumble I took home last week went down a real treat. I passed it off as my own,’ she confessed. ‘Well, I didn’t exactly lie; I just didn’t tell my Ronald that I hadn’t made it myself. Anyway, he liked it that much he said I’d have to make it again soon, so I’d better take another one home today.’ She grinned mischievously.

‘Of course, but this week’s crumble is an apple and pear.’

‘Ah, not to worry, that’ll do nicely. I’ll just make out I’ve been experimenting. He’ll be impressed and I’m sure it’ll go down as well.’ Irene started chuckling.

‘Well, that’s the way to do your home baking,’ added Anne, ‘sitting here having coffee and biscuits with a friend, and getting a takeaway bake as you leave.’

‘Hah, absolutely, that’s what the Pudding Pantry’s all about my lovelies.’ Jill smiled.

‘Oh yes, that’s the way to do it, ladies,’ Rachel joined in, enjoying the camaraderie.

Two more regulars, Denise and Christine, who Jill knew from the local Women’s Institute, called in soon afterwards for tea and cake. Trevor, the postman, stopped by for a takeaway coffee and a flapjack, and then gorgeous Tom for his elevenses. Just picturing last night’s fireside activities made Rachel blush bright pink at the counter – she hoped her mum hadn’t spotted that and busied herself with the coffee machine.

Tom was in a bit of a dash to get back as he needed to catch up with his farmhand, Jack. ‘I’ll maybe catch you later, Rach. It was a great evening last night, by the way.’ His eyes held hers with a sexy intensity.

‘Yes,’ was all she could answer, in a pitch higher than normal, remembering all too well.

After a promising morning, the Pantry was disappointingly bare by the time lunchtime swung around.

The slowing of trade nagged at Rachel. ‘It’s gone so quiet here these past few weeks, Mum, hasn’t it?’ She stifled a sigh. It had cost so much in money, time and energy to get the Pudding Pantry up and running; they really couldn’t afford for it to belly-flop so soon. There was no magic pot of savings to bail them out, no stash of money in the bank. This was it – every last penny was invested in this project. Their livelihoods and future, in fact the whole farm, depended on it.

‘I know, love. It is a concern. I don’t suppose the takings have been much to speak of, either.’

‘No, I doubt we’ve even covered our costs these past few weeks, to be honest.’

‘Now then …’ Jill placed a reassuring hand on Rachel’s shoulder, ‘let’s not get too despondent, love. Like I said the other day, it’s a quiet time of the year for most businesses around here. The tourists are fewer just now. We’ll just have to be patient. I’m sure things will pick up again before Christmas.’

Mother and daughter looked about them; there wasn’t a soul in the tearooms. It was hard not to feel downcast about it.

‘But yes,’ Jill continued pragmatically, ‘maybe, we do need to get our thinking caps on just now and drum up a bit of interest.’

‘No time like the present, then,’ Rachel rallied, determined to lift their mood and take some action. ‘I’ll make us a pot of tea and grab a pad and a pen. Let’s smash out some ideas, Mum.’

Sitting down at one of the white wooden tables just a few minutes later, Jill kick-started the brainstorm, ‘Well, the Kirkton Country Show, where we had the stall back in the summer, that went off really well … so what about finding out about any other shows, or local Christmas Fayres and such like, that might be coming up soon?’

‘Good thinking. I’ll do some research. Eve might know of any craft events coming up in the area. And, of course, we absolutely need to make the most of the build-up to Christmas here at the Pantry.’ Rachel doodled a holly leaf, and a Christmas tree on her pad as she wrote ‘Christmas Fayres’ down. ‘Yes, we can feature a feast of festive flavours, Christmas puddings, mince pies …’

‘That Gingerbread Pudding went down well with Frank the other day, and oh, what did I used to make for you when you were small? Yes, those little meringue snowmen. They might go down well with the children.’

‘They sound good. You used to make reindeer cupcakes too. I remember the noses were chocolate buttons,’ said Rachel.

‘Hah, yes so I did. Chocolate sponge ones.’

‘I used to love those.’ Mum’s Christmas bakes were legendary. They were a tradition that came out annually along with the decorations. ‘Oh, and we can have a festive facelift with our displays on the dressers, with Eve’s Christmas decorations and toys for sale. She’s already mentioned that she’s busy making lots of new things.’

‘Great. And I agree, we can really up the ante with our Christmas goodies too; I can make Christmas cakes and puddings for people to take away. I’m sure Brenda at the deli would take some to sell too. I could make up packs of shortbread and those reindeer cupcakes – in fact, there could be all sorts of festive foodie gifts and treats to take away. Folk are busy enough as it is over Christmas, without having all that extra baking to do.’

‘Yes, that’d be brilliant. Some great ideas there, Mum. But … hmm … it’s still not much good if we can’t get the people here to start with.’ Rachel was looking around the empty barn once more. ‘We need to step up our promotion and advertising, remind people that we’re here. It’s like the initial buzz has gone. Though that’ll cost, of course.’ Rachel took a sip of tea. ‘I could design some new flyers. And, maybe we could get a bit of free editorial in the Gazette, if I make it newsworthy enough and ask Amanda there nicely.’

‘Perhaps we could drop by the newspaper office with a sticky toffee pudding or two, or even better a Christmas Pudding to try?’ Jill suggested.

‘Hah, that sounds like bribery to me, but it’s definitely worth a try.’ Rachel smiled at her mother’s wily ways.

‘Well, at least we have a few ideas to be going on with,’ added Jill.

‘It’s all good, but I just feel like we need something else, something a little different, to make us stand out from the crowd … something unique that only we can do.’

‘But what, love?’

‘Hah, I wish I knew! I’ll have a think on it whilst I’m sorting out the cattle shed this afternoon. Can you handle the rush in here?’ Rachel added ironically, the reality of the pretty but empty space bringing it all gloomily home once more. Empty chairs and empty tables …

‘I’m sure I’ll manage,’ Jill answered drily.

‘Right, well, I’ll be back in time to collect Maisy from the school bus.’

‘Okay, pet.’

Rachel finished off her cup of tea and stood up to leave.

‘Rachel?’ Jill stopped her in her tracks. ‘Chin up, love. We’ll find a way.’

Oh how her mum’s encouragement brought a lump to her throat. Over the past couple of years, it had been Rachel who’d stood strong, Rachel the one to rally Jill, especially through the dark days they’d had, but lately Rachel’s own fears were beginning to get to her. There was so much at stake. The future of the farm and their lives here were tied up with the Pudding Pantry. The pressure was really on for it to do well.

‘Thanks, Mum.’ Rachel nodded, appreciating that prop of support and finding a grain of hope.

No stupendous brainwave hit in the cattle shed, unfortunately. The only thing that came like a bolt from the blue was a large male pheasant who’d decided to take up residence in there, roosting in the rafters and bursting out with a piercing squawk that frightened Rachel half to death. After taking a breather and waiting for her heart to stop hammering – every day brought a new surprise on the farm – Rachel set about splitting open and spreading huge circular bales of straw, ready to bed down the cattle. The time would soon come for them to come in from the fields.

Something unique – something special for the Pudding Pantry. This manifesto kept rolling along in Rachel’s mind like the ruddy bales. There didn’t seem to be any magic answer, but hey, was there ever?

When Rachel looked at the farm’s accounts later that evening, it was obvious that they were still sliding down that slippery slope of debt. Her mood felt black and a headache hung over her right eye. What was it all for? All that hard work, the never-ending routine of getting up at dawn, working with the sheep, the cattle, feeding, tending, mucking out, filling in mountains of paperwork – and that was before all the things she needed to do at the Pantry, as well as looking after Maisy. Life was more than a juggle right now; it was a big struggle.

She sighed and took a sip of her coffee. The Pudding Pantry was meant to be the thing that turned it all around and saved them. What if it ended up being the thing that pulled them under?

‘Is everything all right, love, you seem a bit quiet tonight?’ Jill asked kindly once they’d finished having dinner later that evening.

‘Ah, I’m just tired, that’s all.’

‘Of course.’ Jill paused, giving Rachel the chance to talk more if she wanted.

‘Oh, Mum, sometimes I just feel like I’m on a hamster wheel, working so damned hard and juggling it all, on the farm, the Pantry, and getting nowhere.’

‘It’s been a hard couple of years, love. And you’ve got so much to carry on your shoulders just with the farm. It’s no wonder you feel the pressure of it sometimes. We’ve all been thrown in at the deep end.’

Yes, farm life could be hard, but like most farmers, a bit of hard work had never bothered the Swinton family. It was losing Dad in such a devastatingly tragic way that had left a gaping hole in all their hearts. Much as she’d wanted to, Rachel couldn’t just curl up in a ball of grief after it happened, she’d had to keep going for Mum and Maisy, for the farm. And the aftershocks kept rolling with them, like waves.

They had all got up one early spring morning, had breakfast together around the kitchen table, expecting life on the farm to drift along in much the same way as it always had. But that day life was smashed like a raw egg, and their world had been shattered. They were still struggling to find their way.

Rachel gazed absently into the flickering flames of the cosy fire in the living room, her mind elsewhere for a while, taking her back to her childhood days here on the farm, memories of working with her dad, learning the ways of the farm and of the animals. Her voice when she finally spoke was soft, yet filled with emotion. ‘It’s not just a job though, is it? When I go and stand on the hill above the farm – our hill, our farm – and I look around at the valley and see our animals … Well, this is it, this is everything. It’s where my heart is.’

‘I know. Mine too.’ Jill’s voice was tinged with sorrow as well as love.

‘Well, then, we battle on, until we’ve given it every last shot,’ Rachel resolved. ‘I know I’ve just got to do my best with the farm work. But we’ll try not to be blinkered about it; and if it all gets too much and we’re about to go under financially, then …’ She sighed deeply and looked down at her hands in her lap. ‘We’ll have to be realistic and look to sell up. But until then, we give it everything we’ve got, yeah?’

‘Yes, absolutely. And it’s understandable that you’re tired, pet, it’s been hectic and you haven’t stopped for months. Heaven knows, the farm work’s enough on its own. And, even now with the Pantry being slower, you’re still on the go, looking for ways to boost business. You need to look after yourself too.’

‘I suppose.’

‘I know.’ Jill gave her a stern look.

‘Hah, “Your mother is always right”,’ Rachel quipped.

‘Too true.’ Jill quirked an eyebrow. ‘And Rachel,’ her mum’s tone became serious, ‘don’t keep it all in, will you? If it feels like things are getting too much, talk to me, love, tell me. We’ll face things together.’ They both knew what Jill was referring to; the dreadful circumstances surrounding her father’s death. ‘It’s good that we’re talking tonight, but don’t feel you’ve got to carry the load on your own. Don’t ever be afraid to ask for help.’

‘Of course, Mum, and I promise.’

‘So, we won’t be giving up cowpats, boiler suits and baking aprons any time soon then,’ Jill said, resolutely.

‘Of course not – and oh, the glamour, hey?’

They both raised a smile, as they gazed into the flickering fire.

6

The weekend rolled around and it was one of those picture-perfect autumn days with golden and russet trees glowing against the fresh, blue backdrop of sky, which was streaked with soft wisps of cloud.

Maisy was helping out around the Pantry. She had her own little pink apron on, with white polka dots, that matched her grandma’s, and she seemed happy enough wrapping up knives and forks in napkins. Rachel did worry that her little girl spent far too much time with them working at the Pantry or on the farm. Yet, they didn’t have a lot of choice. Yes, Eve would have her sometimes or Granny Ruth might stop by, but otherwise, where else was she going to go?

As elevenses time swung around, Tom stopped by for his Saturday morning coffee break.

‘Good morning, ladies. It’s a beauty out there, isn’t it?’ His sunny smile lit the room, as well as Rachel’s heart.

‘Too right. Morning, Tom.’

‘Hi, Tom.’

‘Hi, Maisy. I see you’re doing a grand job there. I bet you’re a star helper.’

‘She is indeed,’ agreed Grandma Jill.

‘Hey, Maisy,’ Tom grinned, ‘what do you say to a cow if it’s in your way?’

‘Ah … Don’t know?’

‘You tell it to Mooooove!’ He gave her a wink.

Maisy started giggling, then repeated the phrase exaggeratedly, ‘MOOOOVE – that’s funny, Tom. I’m going to tell that to Granny Ruth and my friend Amelia.’

‘So, what’s on today then, folks?’

‘Well, it’s just another day here at the Pantry for us,’ answered Rachel, ‘and we’ll just have to see how many people we get in.’

‘Ah, well, I have a couple of hours to spare and I wondered if I might whisk you off somewhere, actually.’