‘So, the reception is here at the farm, then?’
‘Yes, after the church ceremony. We have a tipi arranged in the field next to the farmhouse – a bit of an expense, but we really can’t count on our good old Northumbrian weather, even if it will be summer. And, we can always use the Pantry space as well.’ Rachel really was beginning to feel excited about it all, despite all the planning involved.
‘Well, that sounds great.’
‘And what about the food? Will there be puddings is the big question?’ Pamela asked animatedly.
‘Hah, of course!’ Jill answered. ‘In fact, we’re planning a smorgasbord – is that the right word? – of puddings.’
‘Ooh, naughty but nice. Brilliant!’ chimed Brenda.
‘Well, won’t that be an awful lot of work for you both? Just before the wedding? Are you doing the baking all yourselves?’ Eileen looked concerned.
‘Well, that was the plan. The budget’s not bottomless I’m afraid, and well … I think it will make it extra special having our own puddings,’ explained Rachel.
‘It might well be, but you’ll be shattered, my lovelies,’ piped up Christine.
‘No, that won’t do at all. Look, why don’t you let us help make some of them at least?’ Eileen looked around the table at her fellow attendees to rally some support.
‘Yeah, we’d love to help.’
‘We can share the load.’
‘Maybe we could have a special Pudding Club night just before the wedding?’ suggested Daniel. ‘Where we can all help out? A Wedding Pudding Night, where everything we make goes towards the desserts for your big day? What do you reckon everyone?’
There were nods of agreement all round.
‘Of course. It’ll be fun too,’ said Eve.
‘Really? You’d do that for us?’ Rachel was gobsmacked.
‘You don’t want to start your wedding day worn out now, do you? I think it’s a great idea,’ added Charlotte.
‘So, who’s in?’ piped up Eileen.
Every single person around that table put their hand up, even Frank who hardly knew how to bake. Rachel felt her heart swell, and a little tear filled her eye.
‘Oh, bless you all,’ said Jill, looking somewhat overcome.
Rachel was finding it hard to speak. She took a gulp of air and managed a breathy, ‘Thank you.’
The Pudding Club really had risen to the occasion for them. This group had grown into something very special indeed over the past few months. There was friendship and support in abundance here. In fact, Rachel realised, the Pudding Club at Primrose Farm really did have all the perfect ingredients.
12
‘We need to chat about your flowers, Rachel. I know I’m all booked in for you, but I do need some more detail on what you want bloom and colour-wise, so I can get them all ordered in and organised for you.’ It was Wendy, the florist from the village, on the phone.
‘Oh, yes.’ Crikey, decisions, decisions. There was so much to think of and, well, Rachel felt much more at home with her hands-on farm work compared with the creative tasks involved in wedding planning. Right now, in fact, she was grappling with an errant sheep, trying to get it through the gate as she balanced the phone in the crook of her shoulder. They were rounding the herd of ewes and lambs up, moving them between fields. Farmhand Simon had a flicker of impatience across his brow, and sheepdog Moss was awaiting further commands; her phone call was clearly holding things up. She felt rather flustered.
Tom hadn’t been much help on the floral front either, as he’d said he was happy to go with the flow on things like the flowers and decorations. ‘Okay … right, well I had kind of thought pale pinks and whites …’ She found herself floundering, looking about her at the nearby hedgerow for inspiration. Ah yes, the blue of a cornflower stood out at her. ‘And yes, we’ve chosen bridesmaids’ dresses in a sort of lilac-blue colour. Perhaps a country look to go with that – nothing too formal?’ The rogue sheep head-butted her stomach. ‘Urgh … to be honest, Wendy, I hoped you might have some ideas too …’
‘Well, why don’t you come down to the shop, and we can look at a few designs along the lines that I’ve done in the past, which we can tweak to your own taste? Oh, and bring in any ideas or images that you’ve seen too.’
‘Okay …’ She really was feeling out of her depth. ‘Can I bring Eve along? She’s the artistic one, after all.’ Yes, she’d have far more idea. Hmm, there was method in choosing her as her maid of honour.
‘Of course. So, when can you pop down?’
‘I’ll check with Eve, but perhaps tomorrow afternoon, say three o’clock, once the Pantry eases off a bit?’
‘That’s fine by me. Just let me know if it’s going to be any different. See you then. Bye pet.’
‘Bye, Wendy.’
Rachel sighed as she hung up. Blimey, all this planning was even more tiring than sheep wrestling. She looked out towards Tom’s farmhouse, wondering what oh-so-glamorous task was occupying him right now. They hadn’t spoken any more about where they were going to live after the wedding, and it was niggling her. Could she picture herself and little Maisy over there with him, day after day, away from Primrose? She hated all the uncertainty clouding the future.
She saw that Simon had already whizzed on through the gate on the quad, leaving her and Moss to round up this last ewe. ‘Can we talk?’ She popped Tom a quick text. As tempting as it was to bury her head in the sand, she knew she had to face things, talk it through. ‘Ain’t that right, Mrs Sheep? Nobody likes change. But come on, let’s get you in the next field.’
Naturally, Eve was in her element with flower ideas and had gone all out that evening in her internet searches for ‘country wedding flowers’, ‘boho-chic’ florals, wedding posies and more. She had sketches, print-outs and images saved on her mobile phone – the works.
The next day the three of them gathered around the table in the back of the colourful and scent-laden ‘Flower Basket’ shop. Seeing both Eve’s and Wendy’s ideas laid out was brilliant. It made it so much easier for Rachel to sit and say, yes like that, love that, nope, no way, yes, gorgeous. Within a half-hour, and two cups of coffee and a slice of Victoria sponge later, they’d narrowed it down to some lovely natural-looking bouquets in soft pinks and whites with just a touch of blue, tied with a cornflower-blue satin ribbon to match the bridesmaids’ dresses. There’d be wicker baskets filled with flowers for Maisy and Amelia, and – for the tables in the tipi back at the farm – large milk jugs would be filled with blooms, with some wildflowers too, and posy-filled jam jars for the church and the Pantry – Granny Ruth and the WI-ers would have plenty of empties between them for sure.
‘Now then, Rachel, what about your hair?’ asked Wendy. ‘A lot of brides like something floral for their headwear … are you thinking of putting it up?’
‘They do? Oh …’ Her voice trailed. More decisions. ‘Well, I had kind of thought of leaving it fairly natural.’ In truth, she hadn’t really thought much about it at all.
‘And do you have a veil?’
‘Nope, no veil. Just a bloomin’ gorgeous dress, made by my lovely friend here.’
‘Oh wow, really, Eve? You’ve made it yourself? You clever thing.’
‘Thanks.’ Eve gave a shy smile.
‘Anyway, back to the hair?’ Wendy was not the sort to be sidetracked.
Luckily Eve piped up: ‘Ooh Rachel, what about delicate soft braids which join at the back, and then have the rest loose and wavy down to your shoulders?’
‘Hmm, that could work, yeah.’ Rachel could kind of picture that.
‘Don’t you remember we used to plait each other’s hair as little girls?’
‘Hah, yeah, of course.’ Two little girls, sitting out in the meadow, chattering away, braiding each other’s hair, Rachel remembered those days fondly. She and Eve went back so far.
‘That sounds pretty,’ said Wendy, taking up her florist’s photo album. ‘And look,’ she leafed through some images, finding the picture she
wanted. ‘I was helping a local hairdresser; we worked some flowers through the bridesmaids’ braids, and that looked gorgeous. Oh, and this one was for the bride, I made a flower wreath. If we kept it to the small pink rosebuds, a cornflower here and there to add contrast, and something white and delicate like gypsophila, that could work really well.’
‘What about daisies? It used to be daisies when we were little …’ Rachel reminisced. It was all coming back now; how they’d make daisy chains and pop them like wreaths on top of each other’s heads, sometimes tucking a single one above their ear.
‘Well, normal daisies would wilt very quickly, especially if it’s a warm summer’s day, but leave it with me, as there are certain florist types that will last longer. Hmm, I might be able to delicately wire the stalks, so they’ll stay secure. Yes, that could work well, and I’ll get the colours to all tie in with your bouquet.’ Wendy was clearly getting into the flow of the idea now.
‘I think that sounds absolutely lovely.’ Rachel gave a wide grin, happy and relieved that it was all settled, just as Eve burst tunefully into, ‘Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do …’
The two girls dissolved into happy giggles.
‘That look is just you, Rach, and definitely boho-chic. And, how perfect will it be with your dress?’ she added with a beam.
It certainly did all look pretty, but Rachel couldn’t help but be aware of her limited budget. Yet Wendy assured her these were sensible choices with costings in mind, and that she’d work out detailed prices for Rachel as soon as possible.
They left with grateful thanks, a hug from Wendy, and a sigh of relief from Rachel. It had gone blooming well. And it was yet another item for Rachel to check off the mammoth wedding planning list – phew.
‘Oh, I can just picture the name settings for the tables now … handwritten on cute brown luggage labels with a dried pink rosebud stuck on to match your wedding flowers. What do you think, Rach?’ Eve was on a creative high as they made their way back in the Land Rover along the country lanes.
Rachel thanked heavens that her best friend was full of artistic ideas. Goodness knows how her big day might turn out if she was left to her own devices. She might well have resorted to using black marker pens on cattle tags for her place names!
‘So,’ Eve gave a big grin from the passenger seat, ‘the flowers are going to look stunning. I can already picture the tables in the tipi, set up with that gorgeous country look. Everything’s coming together brilliantly, isn’t it? Oh Rach, it’s going to be such a fantastic day.’
‘Yeah,’ Rachel answered, a little flat. Of course, it was all great, but the small matter of where exactly they were going to live as a married couple was still weighing on her mind.
‘Okay … what’s up? You’re about to marry Mr Absolutely Gorgeous and your face looks like a wet weekend. What’s going on, Rach?’
Rachel concentrated on the road ahead for a few seconds. The text she’d sent to Tom earlier had so far gone unanswered. He might well have been busy out and about on the farm – it wasn’t always easy to chat as she well knew – but his silence had left her feeling distinctly uneasy. ‘Oh, Eve … if we can’t even sort out where we are going to live, how are we going to get through the months and years ahead? All the decisions, the curveballs that life throws at you on the way?’
‘Look, I know it’s hard making the right decision about where to live, but you’re no quitter, Rachel Swinton. That’s not enough to pull the rug from under you … I’ve seen you two together, how bloody amazing you are together. You really are made for each other; it just took you both a while to realise it. You’ll work it out, hun.’
‘Yes, I suppose … I just haven’t heard from him either. I want to talk but I’m getting a bit of radio silence.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, hun, he’s probably just caught up. And would it really be so bad living there, at Tom’s? It’s not as though you’d be a million miles away, and it’d give you both some space. You can’t really be canoodling in front of your mum.’
‘No, I know,’ Rachel managed a small smile. ‘But hah, remember we do have Maisy in tow too. So, there won’t be that much canoodling going on.’
‘Tell me about it …’ Eve gave an understanding groan.
‘But you’re right about Mum, there’s no way I’d ever want to suggest she finds somewhere new to live. I’d feel like I was chucking her out. It’s her home as much as mine. More so, as it’s where she and dad have been since they were married …’ She realised she needed to make this clear to Jill too, once she and Tom had had a proper heart-to-heart. It was time to sort all this out, for everyone’s sake.
Maybe it was the thought of leaving all of those memories of Dad behind that was really holding her back – her childhood home, the tug of her heartstrings. Was she being stubborn, selfish? But after his death, she’d given a silent promise that she’d take the farm forward, keep it precious for them all. Could she still do that if she lived next door? So many thoughts were pulling her in contrary directions.
‘It needn’t be for ever, either,’ added Eve sagely. ‘Life can change. Look, if Tom’s so keen on having you both there, why not try starting out at his and see how it goes? You’ll be at Primrose every day to work, for the farm, the Pantry too. So, you’ll still be there in essence.’
It was beginning to make sense, and it was good to have a new perspective on all this.
‘Thanks, Eve. That’s great advice.’ Rachel smiled across at her friend as she pulled to a stop outside Eve’s cottage.
‘Time for a coffee, hun?’
‘Much as I’d love to, I’ve a million jobs waiting for me on the farm. The most exciting prospect being checking the sheep’s armpits and arses for fly-strike.’ Oh, the glamorous life of a farmer.
‘Ha! No worries, maybe another time soon.’
Rachel sensed a hint of disappointment in her friend’s tone. Damn, she hadn’t had a chance to ask Eve how things were with her and Ben lately. Maybe Eve wanted more time to talk, just the two of them.
‘You okay?’ She looked across at Eve.
‘Of course.’ It came out in a tight cheery tone – a lie?
Maybe she could take ten more minutes … But, with that, Rachel’s phone started buzzing. It was Simon, their farmhand. She’d better answer it. His voice came in an urgent tone. One of their cows, Morag, was sick with what appeared to be mastitis. With such conditions, things could get serious, and quickly. She had a young calf in tow too, and she was already reluctant to feed it.
‘Sorry, hun. I’m going to have to go.’ She took Eve’s hand for a second. ‘Morag’s not well at all.’
Eve also knew the cows at Rachel’s farm by name. ‘It’s fine, I understand. You get on.’
‘We’ll catch up real soon, I promise.’ Rachel sensed there was a lot going on under the surface with Eve just now.
‘Yeah, of course. Go. Go. You’re needed elsewhere.’
The girls shared a quick hug and Eve hopped down out of the truck. Rachel quickly turned the Land Rover in the lane, her heart pulling as she saw her friend linger outside her cottage gate watching her go – her earlier joy in the flower shop now shaded by a look of sadness.
13
The days rolled on, never-ending tasks on the farm occupying Rachel and stopping her mind from drifting towards the dilemma with Tom. And thankfully Morag and her calf made a full recovery. The balmy early June weather broke with a stormy grey sky that turned into pelting summer rain. Typical, as they’d been hoping to start cutting the hay soon.
Rachel had heard from a customer at the Pantry that some of her errant sheep and their lambs had made a bid for freedom; they were now roadside and happily grazing the verges in the lane, apparently. So, she needed to go and herd them back, and check on the pasture’s fencing a.s.a.p. Honestly, keeping the farm’s borders and fence line intact felt like maintaining the Forth Rail Bridge: no sooner had you finished one repair than another turned up. Rachel dashed across to the farm
house, popped a waterproof mac on, grabbed her wire-repair kit from the shed, and called Moss up to ride on the back ledge of the quad, ready to round up the escapees.
After securing the mischievous Petie – who was most likely the ringleader of the escape team – and his ovine pals back in their field, Rachel discovered the damaged area of fencing and set to work on a repair, crouching beneath a rather prickly row of hawthorns that made up part of the hedge line.
Just as she was concentrating on re-fixing some new wire, she heard a truck slow in the lane, just as another car approached. The vehicles paused. Strange, they didn’t usually get much traffic on the lane at this time of day. Rachel looked up to see the dark grey of Tom’s truck on her side of the lane. She was just about to stand up and call out to him when another voice sounded out.
‘Hey!’ It was Ben, calling to Tom from the other car.
‘Hi, Ben.’ Tom’s toffee-warm tones; Rachel would recognise them anywhere. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘Just popping over to Brenda’s Deli to get a few bits for lunch for the missus. All okay?’
‘Yeah, so so.’ Tom’s voice sounded strangely flat.
‘Hey, anything up, mate?’ asked Ben.
Rachel remained crouched down in the verge. She could easily just spring up and say hello, but something kept her rooted to the spot.
‘No, it’s all okay, honest.’
‘Come on mate, I can read you like a book. A problem shared is a problem halved and all that.’
‘Ah, just women trouble … ex trouble, I mean. Honestly Ben, I don’t know why I’m even thinking of getting married again.’
Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t hear Ben’s response, her heart plummeting like a stone in her chest, a horrid queasiness swirling in her gut. She stopped her work at the fence and slumped to the rain-sodden ground.
Tom … was he having second thoughts? Why was he suddenly questioning everything?
Oh, God.
Yes, she knew how much Tom’s ex-wife, Caitlin, could wind him up. But she was in the past, wasn’t she? And to think he was worried he was about to make another huge mistake … No wonder he hadn’t answered Rachel’s earlier text about them having ‘a talk’. There were obviously other things on his mind.
Summer at Rachel's Pudding Pantry Page 8