Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry. Caroline Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ she can come to the first night if the Pudding Club went ahead,’ added Rachel.

      ‘So, what date shall we start, and what’s the first pudding theme to be?’ Jill was sounding quite animated now.

      ‘Sooner rather than later. We may as well get going quickly, to hopefully pick up some new customers. So, what’s coming up soon and what puddings can we tie that in with?’ Rachel paused and suddenly thought of Bonfire Night and Jill’s scrumptious crumble. Ooh, yes, something around November Fifth would be ideal. ‘This might work – Guy Fawkes, fireworks, and your …’

      ‘Toffee Apple Crumble,’ Jill finished the sentence for her, with a smile.

      ‘Hah! We could make our first Pudding Club go off with a real bang!’ Rachel announced with a huge grin.

      Later that day, another autumn beauty with soft sunshine and just a gentle nip of cold, Rachel reached the small row of honeyed-stone cottages where her Granny Ruth had lived since leaving the farmhouse at Primrose Farm herself, when Rachel and her family had moved in, following the long-standing family tradition that the eldest son would eventually take over. She pulled up outside, and walked up the neat front garden path, ready to collect Granny to take her back to the farm for supper with them. The last blooms of a pale-pink rose that climbed the wall beside the cottage door were holding on in the autumn chill. There was a pot of bold deep-purple and yellow winter pansies on the front step to greet any guests. Granny loved her gardening, even though she struggled with arthritis that was particularly bad in her knees.

      Rachel knocked on the door and then went on in, knowing that the house would be unlocked and that she was always welcome. ‘Only me, Granny,’ she called.

      There was an intense smell of warm sugary fruits as Rachel entered the kitchen. There was Granny, standing stirring the contents of a large steel pan with a wooden spoon. ‘Oh, sorry pet – is that the time? I’m not quite ready for you.’

      ‘No worries. What delights are you concocting here?’ Rachel leaned over to take a look at the glossy mixture.

      ‘Jam – blackberry and apple. I’m using those apples you gave me from your tree last week. Thought it might go nice on a fruit scone with some butter.’

      ‘Well, it certainly smells delicious.’

      ‘I’ve finished one batch of blackberry and raspberry, already. Thought that’d go nicely in the next Jam Roly-Poly I make.’

      Rachel was impressed. Despite being in her eighties, her grandmother still loved to cook and nurture. Baking was such a strong influence from both sides of Rachel’s family – no wonder she had got the bug.

      ‘Oh, yes.’

      ‘Well, next week, I’ll make one of those for you all, too. I know it’s one of Maisy’s favourites.’

      ‘That’d be lovely, Granny. Just perfect with lashings of creamy custard.’

      ‘Right, well, this just needs to cool a little and then we can pour it into the jars here.’

      A row of squeaky-clean jam jars was waiting on the kitchen side. Beside them were squares of red gingham muslin and thin elastic bands ready to cover the lids.

      ‘I’ll just nip upstairs and get my things together. I’ll not be long; I’ve already packed an overnight bag.’

      ‘I’ll help fill these if you like, while you finish getting ready.’

      ‘Thank you, pet, that’d be grand.’

      The old lady came back down just as her granddaughter was placing the material squares over each metal lid.

      ‘Take some back with you, lass, and you can use them in the Pantry.’

      ‘Will do, thanks Granny. I’m sure they’ll go down a treat.’

      ‘So, how are you, pet? And how are things going with that nice young man of yours?’ Ruth was gathering her coat and shoes.

      ‘Good, thanks …’ Rachel’s voice trailed a little.

      ‘Rightio – but you sound a little disheartened, lass.’ Granny Ruth could pick up on Rachel’s mood like no one else.

      ‘Oh, Granny! It’s just life getting in the way. I’m so busy right now, and me and Tom, well, we get on so well, and it’s been lovely, but we don’t get an awful lot of time to see each other really. Well, not on our own. I can’t keep upping and leaving Maisy and Mum and the farm.’

      Granny was nodding, listening.

      ‘I’m worried he might be getting a bit fed up with it all …’

      ‘Ah, and have you spoken with him about it?’ asked Ruth in a gentle tone.

      ‘Well, not properly, no. It should be pretty obvious how busy I am, though.’

      ‘Hmm, well in any relationship, you need to start by being honest with each other. You’ve got to be a team. Me and your granda didn’t always see eye to eye, but we learnt to talk things through, to come to understand each other. And life’s always going to be busy for you with the farm and everything else, Rachel, but if this relationship with Tom is worth it, maybe you need to make some time, don’t you think?’

      ‘Maybe …’ Rachel breathed out with a small sigh. ‘Thanks, Granny.’

      ‘He seems a good man, Tom. I like him, and it’s obvious that he cares for you. Nothing like that waste-of-space Jake you paired up with.’

      Rachel grimaced; it was no secret that the intuitive Granny Ruth was far from Jake’s biggest fan – not that she’d say anything in front of Maisy.

      ‘And don’t be afraid to ask for help, pet. Me and your mum are always happy to help out with Maisy, and where we can on the farm. Don’t pile too much on yourself, you’re not Wonder Woman.’

      ‘Hah,’ Rachel smiled. ‘I rather hoped I might be. It’d mean I could get things done a bit quicker. And she does wear one hell of an outfit,’ Rachel quipped.

      ‘Well, I’m ready when you are, lass. Shall we head over to the farm?’

      ‘Of course. Mum’ll be wondering where we’ve got to otherwise.’

      ‘Right then, I’ll just pop my shoes on. I’ll need a seat for that. Here we go, just give me a second.’ She sat down stiffly on one of her kitchen chairs. Her body might be struggling, but her mind was still sharp as a tack. She was one of the few people who said it how it was. Rachel admired her for it, even if, at times, the truth was a bit too close for comfort.

      Rachel was towel-drying Maisy after her bath that evening when her mobile rang. She glanced at the caller ID: Jake. She gave an inward groan. How did he always manage to pick a bad time? She was trying to settle Maisy, ready for bedtime on a school night. But of course, Maisy’s dad would hardly be aware of her routine. Living so far away, he was never really there for her, was he? But, she supposed, at least he was phoning and his promised ‘weekly’ call could be hit and miss at the best of times.

      Rachel wrapped the towel tightly around her daughter to keep her warm, СКАЧАТЬ