Rachel’s Pudding Pantry. Caroline Roberts
Rachel counted her blessings for having such a supportive parent. She admired how Jill had kept going so stoically, especially considering the circumstances; the three of them often struggling to find their way in this new uncharted landscape. Maybe keeping busy was the only way to keep afloat.
‘Oh, I popped out to the shops for a few essentials while you were sleeping, happened to see Tom on my way back, so I’ve asked him across for Sunday lunch. He seemed delighted. Goodness knows what he cooks for himself, a man there on his own all the time.’
‘Hah, I’m sure he can cook, Mum. It’s not the dark ages. And I bet he pops across to Jim and Barbara’s often too.’ His parents only lived a few miles away, after all.
‘Yes, but still, I’m sure he’ll enjoy being looked after. It’s a busy enough time on the farm. And, you don’t tend to cook a roast dinner for one, do you now.’
‘No, I suppose not. Thanks for asking him.’ It would be a lovely way of thanking him for his help and support last night, not to mention the past months.
‘Be nice to have some company here, too,’ Jill added.
It was true that farm life could be quite isolating at times, especially out in rural North Northumberland. Yes, it was beautiful and quiet and such a special place, but that also meant you were quite some way from towns, cities, cinemas, airports. Mostly you didn’t think about it, just got on with it. But often it was just the three of them there: Rachel, Jill and Maisy. Sometimes, Granny Ruth, her dad’s mother and Rachel’s last surviving grandparent, would visit as she lived not far away on the far side of Kirkton, but other than her, Simon, Eve and the bus driver, it could be days before she saw anyone else – in fact weeks at lambing time.
School bus time soon came around again. Rachel strolled back down the lane to meet Maisy, scanning the fields on the way, checking that the sheep and lambs that had recently been turned out from the lambing shed seemed okay. The minibus was already pulling up at the lane end as she got there, with Maisy skipping down the steps within seconds to give her a big hug. Rachel had a quick chat with Eve and Amelia, and then they were on their way back to the farm.
As they walked together, Rachel asked about her daughter’s day and what she’d been doing. Painting, reading, really hard spellings and skipping with ropes at playtime was the answer. As they neared the top of the track Maisy went unusually quiet, then she stopped walking suddenly and looked up at Rachel with a serious expression on her face.
‘Mummy … why haven’t I got a daddy?’ she blurted out.
‘Oh,’ the question floored Rachel momentarily.
‘Well?’ Maisy chanted. ‘Amelia’s got one and Nell’s got one, and even Harry says he has one but he only sees him on Saturdays.’
‘Oh Maisy, of course you have a daddy. Everyone does. It’s just that …’ Rachel knew she had to frame the words carefully, not wanting Maisy to feel unwanted. ‘Well, he’s not here much. He lives a long way away.’
‘Why doesn’t he live here … with us … like Amelia’s daddy? Doesn’t he like me?’
Rachel’s heart went out to her daughter. Because he’s an irresponsible, immature, selfish little git came to mind.
‘Oh petal, of course he does, he loves you. It’s just a bit more complicated for us. Your daddy and mummy aren’t together – a bit like Harry’s, but because your daddy is so far away it’s hard for him to come and see you, even on Saturdays.’ She was trying her best to explain the mess that adults make of their lives and their relationships in simple terms for a young child. ‘He did come and see you a year ago, don’t you remember?’ It was actually a bit more than that, but a year sounded better.
Maisy stood shaking her head, whilst screwing up her little face as though she was trying so hard to remember. Blimey, Rachel realised, thinking about it, it was more like sixteen months ago, just before Christmas. Maisy would only have been three-and-a-half. He’d turned up out of the blue with a Christmas gift for his daughter, and a twenty-pound note to help Rachel out. (Hah – that had gone a long way, not! Did he even realise what a pair of children’s shoes cost?) He’d never managed to pay any formal child support, being mostly unemployed, or so he’d told the authorities. But in a way, for Rachel, it was easier not having him around. They could manage just fine themselves, on a budget of course. They didn’t need his kind of inconsistent and unreliable support. Oh yes, a kiss and a hug for Maisy, empty promises to visit more often, then – poof – he’d be gone again.
‘Remember the monkey toy?’ Rachel asked, trying to help Maisy out.
The little girl nodded.
‘Well, that was your Christmas gift from your daddy.’ It was now sitting on the shelf in Maisy’s bedroom – after being hugged for several months, and with no further appearance from her dad, Monkey had got moved aside in favour of the soft-toy lamb she’d had as a baby from Grandma Jill.
‘Oh,’ was all Maisy said. She went quiet again for a few moments. ‘Well, it is my birthday soon,’ she piped up, her face brightening. ‘He could come to my party.’
Rachel didn’t want to give her daughter any false hope, but yes, she’d send a text to his last known number. She thought she had an email address she could try too. But she wasn’t holding out a lot of hope. ‘Well, I’ll try. We’ll invite him, shall we?’ Maisy was nodding vigorously. ‘But I still think he might have to be at work, a long way away.’
Who knew whether he even had a bloody job?! Or money for a train fare, or a car he could use. Argh, why the hell had she chosen her first love so poorly? She was seventeen when it all happened and so bloody naïve. He’d dipped in and out of her life for the next two years, never able to commit to anything even then. By the time she’d seen past the boyband-style good looks and charm and realised how useless he was, it was too late, she was pregnant with Maisy. But in all honesty, she couldn’t wish it hadn’t happened either, Maisy was far too precious to wish away.
BREAD AND BUTTER PUDDING AND SUNDAY DINNER
Sunday rolled around in a blur of lambing late nights and early starts.
When Rachel got up from a few hours’ sleep on the Sunday lunchtime, having done the previous night shift in the lambing shed, the smells that greeted her as she opened the kitchen door were delicious! Jill was preparing a roast beef dinner with all the trimmings. The meat must have been cooking away in the Aga, along with roast potatoes.
‘Wow, that smells divine,’ Rachel commented.
Maisy turned around, perched on her little wooden stool beside her grandma. ‘Mummy, I’m Grandma’s special helper today. We’ve made bread and butter pudding for Tom,’ she said, grinning.
‘That sounds very scrummy.’
‘Hello love,’ Jill added. ‘It’ll be ready in a half hour, so if you want to take a shower first.’
‘I’ll just grab a cup of tea.’ Rachel stifled a yawn. There was never enough sleep nowadays. She ran her fingers through her bed-head hair, finding a strand of straw stuck in it. No wonder her mother was suggesting a shower, she probably looked like that scarecrow character, Worzel Gummidge, right now. She switched on the kettle, asking Maisy about her morning, and listened to her chitter-chatter whilst she sat at the big pine table, cradling her mug. The tea started to work its magic, and Rachel began to feel a little more human. ‘Right, I’ll just whizz upstairs and get ready then.’
‘See you soon, Mummy. Don’t forget Tom is coming so you need to brush your teeth and your hair too,’ said Maisy seriously.
My, she really must have been letting standards slip these past