Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry. Caroline Roberts
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.
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.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure …’ Rachel glanced across at her mum.
Jill was quick to respond. ‘Go on, get yourself away. Look