Rachel’s Pudding Pantry. Caroline Roberts
and Tom were on their way to visit Pete the lamb.
‘Now then, you have to be gentle with Pete as he’s only little.’ Maisy was in full bossy mode, as though Tom had never had anything to do with a sheep in his life.
He and Rachel shared a look of amusement.
‘Of course, Maisy,’ he answered in a serious tone. ‘So, which little guy is he then?’
‘This one.’ She pointed, peering over the metal railing. ‘Come on, Petie boy.’ The little lamb perked up, seeming to know his name, and trotted towards them, followed by the others. ‘Mum, can we feed him?’
‘Yes, I don’t see why not. I’ll make sure Simon knows he’s had his tea, when he comes in.’ She was having a night off tonight herself – oh yes, that would be bliss. A hot bath and cosy bed were calling her name already.
Rachel scooped out the lamb. His short wool was soft and curly-ridged under her hands. ‘I’d better go and mix up some milk feed for him and the others.’ She passed him to Tom, who knelt down so Maisy could stroke Petie. ‘Won’t be a sec.’
When she came back a few minutes later, Maisy and Tom were deep in conversation about the lambs that had been born the night before. He then told her about the Texel he’d had to help out with a few days back, and she was fascinated.
‘You had to use a rope, Mummy?’ Her little girl’s eyes were like saucers now.
‘Hah, suddenly lambing’s not so boring then, Maisy.’
It was lovely seeing them chatting away though. Tom able to bring the drama and the magic of the lambing shed alive for her little girl. It reminded her of times with her own father for a moment, whisking her back to being a little girl on this very farm …
‘Quick, Rachel lass. This one’s about to give birth.’ Her dad grasped her arm firmly but kindly with his strong farmer hands, guiding her towards the pen. ‘We’ll leave her be and just watch from here, quietly now. She’s doing a grand job by herself by the looks of it.’
And they sat together on a straw bale, overlooking the pen. The ewe was panting heavily, as she lay on her side. There was a show of some whitish sticky stuff, and … oh … wow … two little black-and-white hooves pushing through. Then, all of a sudden, out it all came in some weird balloon-looking thing. The mum was soon up and licking her baby … a whole new lamb … a whole new life.
Nearly twenty years ago and Rachel had been allowed to stay up late for a few precious hours with her dad in the lambing shed.
She was just five years old. But she’d never forget that special day – some memories lasted a lifetime.
Rachel was jerked back to the present as Pete the lamb kicked out hungrily, spotting the bottle in her grasp.
She realised with embarrassment that her eyes had misted with tears, and she turned away for a second to compose herself. Breathe.
‘Better get this little one fed then, Maisy. You take the bottle now,’ Tom said.
‘I’ve done it before. You do it like this.’ She tilted the angle just right, as the lamb made jerking sucks on the teat.
‘Great, you’ve got it down to a fine art, I see,’ said Tom.
Once the milk was emptied, which didn’t take Pete long at all, Tom stood up to put him back in the pen. ‘Sorry folks, but I’d better go.’
‘Aw.’ Maisy pulled a face.
‘Come on Maisy, Tom’s already stayed later to see Pete.’ Rachel looked across at Tom. ‘I bet you’ve got loads to do too.’
‘Certainly have. A farmer’s work is never done.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘Bye, Tom,’ Maisy said reluctantly, hugging his leg.
‘Bye, Maisy. Be a good girl for your mum now.’
‘O-kay.’
Rachel watched him as he walked to his pick-up truck and set off along the drive with a wave and a toot especially for Maisy. She had a warm feeling she couldn’t quite explain as she watched Tom go. He was great to have as a neighbour. It felt like they had someone on their side.
Later that evening, with Maisy in bed and Mum up in the bath, Rachel sat at the kitchen table with her laptop out and a mug of hot chocolate, chewing the end of her Biro. She had loads of the farm’s paperwork to catch up on. There seemed to be a never-ending stream of documents and reports to complete and return. She was tired but thank heavens she wasn’t needed in the lambing shed tonight.
It was quiet and cosy in the kitchen with the warmth of the Aga, and Moss there lying beside her too. They did have a small office, but Rachel preferred working here, in the hub of the farmhouse. She got some admin work done and then she found herself mulling over the conversation at dinner and – more crucially – Tom’s suggestion whilst they’d been spooning in their bread and butter pudding. Might there be something in this pudding-making idea?
It might just give Jill a new focus, a sense of purpose, Rachel mused. She’d been lost since her husband’s death two years ago; it was almost like a part of her had died with him and it was so sad to see. Baking was something she’d always loved doing, and Rachel could see that little spark reignited within her when she was back with her recipe books and ingredients in the kitchen these past few weeks. And, any income it might produce certainly wouldn’t go amiss in helping out the farm’s finances. They needed every penny they could get at the moment. The first lambs wouldn’t be ready to go to market for sixteen weeks yet, and the end-of-year subsidies were being stretched thin as it was. Oh crikey, she still needed to have that conversation with her mother – about just how big a financial hole they were in – but the lambing season had stalled that particular conversation. And Rachel realised she’d been ducking out of it too. She really didn’t want to give her mother anything else to be concerned about, not when she was finally showing the first signs of recovery.
Rachel did enjoy baking too, when she found the time. Her raspberry and white chocolate cheesecake, sugary-crisp yet soft-in-the-middle meringues and carrot cake had always been hits with her family and friends. Once lambing was over, and with Maisy now at school, she’d have a bit more time to experiment in the kitchen once the daily farm chores were done. She might even get The Baking Bible out herself and have a go at some of the old favourites too.
She googled ‘starting up a catering business’, jotting down some notes. She and her mum could easily sign up for the hygiene qualifications they’d need – that’s if her mum warmed to the idea. Then Rachel found herself googling ‘puddings’. A feast of delights hit the screen – taking her back to her childhood with Mum there in her pinafore, Dad sat at the farmhouse table and something sweet and comforting about to come out of the Aga – golden syrup sponge, sticky toffee pudding, treacle tart, and jam roly-poly …
Smiling to herself, Rachel remembered the time when Dad couldn’t decide which pudding he wanted. It was a toss-up between three, she seemed to remember, so Mum just went ahead and made a whole feast. He said that that was real love right there on a plate, as he helped himself to a generous portion of each two hours later, laughing that he was only having so much to please his lovely wife.
Rachel scrolled over the images with an ache of loss in her heart as she looked across at Dad’s empty chair. Why did he have to go and leave them? How the hell had that happened? So many whys and unanswered questions. She felt a tear crowd her eye.
But it was no good getting nostalgic.