‘We do, actually. I’ve got another dozen birds coming this week, and I need to extend the hen house for them.’ Another job that was added to her never-ending list. But, for now, it was nice to have a half hour of respite; sitting with her granny, and nattering over some homemade cake and a cuppa.
Settled back in the front room shortly afterwards, Granny asked, ‘So, how’s it all going with the farm developments?’
‘Not bad, not bad. But we’ve had a bit of a hold-up with the building work which is a bit frustrating.’ She explained about the delayed units and how the builders had got on so far. With all the changes now happening on the farm, Rachel felt a sense of sadness too in a way. Ruth would understand better than most. ‘I wish we could have done something like this sooner, Granny. That we’d thought of changing things back then …’
‘I know, pet.’ She sighed softly. ‘But your dad was a very private man. He kept things to himself and that was how he tried to deal with it. You weren’t to know then, pet. None of us were.’
It weighed on Granny too, Rachel could see that. How must it feel to lose a son, your child? Rachel couldn’t bear to even contemplate that … Maisy meant everything to her. Rachel pulled herself back from that thought. It didn’t help to dwell on things too much. They had to look forward, not back.
‘You’re doing a grand job, pet. Your dad’d be proud of all that you’re doing, I’m sure.’
Rachel felt a tear crowd her eye, and took a deep breath. ‘Thanks, Granny.’
There was a moment of contemplation and quiet between them. Rachel looked at the photo of her dad and mum, there on the mantlepiece. It was from before she was born, and they looked so young, so happy.
‘You’ll have to come across soon, Granny, once the kitchen in the barn is done and see how it’s all coming together,’ Rachel offered.
‘Oh yes, I’d like that. And if you ever need a little respite, even just a cup of tea and a chat like today, you know you’re always welcome, pet.’
‘Thank you.’
You never stopped being a granny or a mum or a daughter, never stopped caring about your family, whatever age you were, Rachel realised, holding onto that precious sense of love that filled this little cottage, and Ruth and Rachel’s hearts.
Chapter 22
MEMORIES AND MUFFINS
Rachel was flicking through The Baking Bible trying to come up with some new inspirations ready to help out Jill once the Pantry was open, when she heard the rumble of a tractor coming up their track, two days later. She looked out of the kitchen window to see the vehicle stop at the field gate, where Tom leapt out to open it, making his way to the first of her hay fields.
‘It’s Tom,’ she told her mum as she turned from the window.
‘Ah, I guessed so. It’s really good of him to help us out cutting the hay.’
‘Yeah, he’s been great, hasn’t he?’
‘A godsend. Right, well, I’m going to get on with making some more puddings.’ Jill was humming along to the radio as she took out her ingredients. ‘I’m thinking of trialling a selection of mini ones for our launch day actually,’ she added as she began to sift some flour.
‘Ooh, they sound good. So, we get to test out lots of them, a mouthful at a time. Perfect.’
She and Rachel had already discussed holding a launch party once the Pudding Pantry was ready, deciding that it was a must. A gathering of friends, family, their community and hopefully the local press – it’d be a fabulous way to publicise their opening and to thank everyone for their support.
Later that morning, Rachel decided to pop up to the hay field where Tom was working and take him some lunch as a thank you.
She made up some ham sandwiches in fresh white bread, along with a pork pie, a couple of apples, and two mini raspberry and dark chocolate muffins that Jill had baked that morning – now that she’d started up baking again, she was like a woman on a mission!
The field had already been cut and the grass was now being rowed up by the machine behind the tractor. It would dry further over the next few days ready for baling and would be ideal for keeping the sheep and cattle fed through the sparse winter months.
Rachel parked the quad at the top of the bank and waited for Tom to turn and come up the field towards her. The view from here was stunning out across the vivid green summer fields, the rolling hills, the gentle valley with its winding stream, towards an ultramarine glimpse of the North Sea on the horizon. The smell of cut grass was lush and strong. Tom spotted her, gave a quick wave from the cab of his tractor, and after completing two more rows he pulled the vehicle to a halt.
‘Hey,’ he called, as he climbed out. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Yeah fine, just thought I’d bring you some lunch; you’ll need to keep your energy up.’
‘That’s music to my ears. My tummy’s been rumbling for the last half hour. Did you hear it from the farmhouse or something?’ He grinned. ‘Just thought I’d keep cracking on though. Get the job done. But, now you’re here …’
Rachel sat down on the grass verge, taking out the sandwiches from her rucksack. She’d made plenty and helped herself to one too.
Tom sat down beside her. ‘Wow – this is just what I needed.’ He took a hungry bite, then another. Rachel handed him a can of Pepsi too.
‘Cheers, this is brilliant.’
‘Just a bit of a thank you for stepping in with this job. It’s given me some time to go and track down the tables and chairs we needed for the tearoom. I’m all sorted now, so that’s great.’
Yes, she’d seen an ad in the local sales and wants, put in her bid for three sets that a local pub was trying to move on, and found another two in a house clearance – with a lick of paint they’d be perfect.
Tom looked up, taking in the vista before him. ‘What a spot.’
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it.’ She took a slow breath, remembering. ‘I used to come up here to see Dad. Mum would bring him a picnic, when he was working up in these fields, that’s what made me think of it. He used to do his own hay, back when the machinery was still in reasonable condition, when I was a little girl.’ She smiled at the memory. Happier days.
Tom nodded empathetically. They were both quiet then for a few seconds.
‘Thanks Tom, for doing this. I know you have all your own farm stuff to be getting on with. And, well, thanks for everything these past two years, you’ve been brilliant, really.’ Rachel took a long, slow breath. All the emotions from that fateful day were still so heavy in her heart.
‘No worries. I just want to see that you’re all all right, you know, after everything … You, and your mum and Maisy, you’ve been through one hell of a time.’
Rachel felt a lump form in her throat.
‘I’ll pay you back properly, for all this, Tom.’ They didn’t have much money, but if she could ever give her time or lend a hand back, she’d do it in a heartbeat. At least she was going to do the baling for his two fields.
‘I know you will.’ His dark eyes were kind, his next words heartfelt: ‘I saw what you went through, Rachel. No-one should have had to see what you did that day …’
Rachel found she couldn’t speak. His words taking them back to that horrendous, life-changing moment.
‘Da-ad?’
He’d been away for ages. Rachel had already driven across all their fields on the quad and still no sign of him. He’d missed supper now, and that was really unusual. She’d phoned Tom and Mr Mac next door to see if Dad had had to go and help them out with anything, but they hadn’t seen him all day.
Mum said they hadn’t had a row or anything. She’d just mentioned that he’d been a bit quiet earlier, that was all, then he’d gone out, saying he was checking on what was left of their flock.
They’d had a nightmare a couple of weeks before, with heavy snows coming in early March. They’d lost forty of their pregnant ewes in the snowdrifts – the animals huddling for shelter against the hedgerows, exactly where the drifts had formed overn
ight. Dad had taken Simon with him that next morning and they’d tried to dig and pull them out, but many had already perished. Today, by contrast, was a fine spring day with the sun shining brightly – the weather belying its previous menace.
Mum was getting Maisy ready for bed in the farmhouse, so Rachel had offered to go out and have another look. It was seven o’clock and daylight was clinging on. Dad might just be caught up on a job that had taken longer in a further corner of the farm, or maybe he’d found one of their animals in trouble. Perhaps he’d even gone to the vets? And where was Moss, come to think of it? Oh well, she’d find them both soon enough.
She’d already checked in the lambing shed. She’d even looked in the old stone barn, and no sign of him. One place she hadn’t been in yet was the old stable next to that, but no-one ever went in there nowadays. It was rarely used, only for storage, not since her childhood pony had passed away several years ago now.
But it was worth a peek in. Then, she heard Moss, and his bark had an unusual strain to it, like he was distressed. He was there in his kennel. Dad must have shut him in earlier. Strange, as they usually went everywhere together. Rachel let him out.
The dog ran to the old stable door, scratching frantically at the earth and stones beneath it, trying to get in. Her hackles rose. ‘It’s okay, Moss. It’s okay,’ she said soothingly, trying to ignore the cold feeling creeping down her spine.
The bolt was already undone. The wooden door heavy as she dragged it open.
‘Da-ad?’ She felt a prickle of fear.
Light shafted in through the open door, and that was when her world and everything in it came tumbling down.
‘Dad. No!’ she cried out. ‘No … no … no.’ The shout reducing to a murmur – she didn’t want Mum and Maisy to hear and come running across. There was no way they could see this.
She ran towards him. Couldn’t reach him other than his feet at first. Tried and failed to prop them up. Saw the stool, discarded. Had he kicked it away in that moment of utter desperation? There might still be a chance. There had to be. If she could get on the stool. Hold him up. She felt dizzy with fear but knew she had to focus.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was real. She needed to act quickly. She got the stool back in place, climbed up and with all her strength lifted, then held onto him. Her father, who’d hanged himself from the rafters of the stable.
His body felt stiff, so heavy, there was no give or warmth in it. She knew she needed help desperately but there was no way Mum and Maisy could witness this. With one arm still wrapped around her father’s legs she fumbled for her phone, somehow managing to call Tom.
He had come straight away. Helped her bring her father down. Stayed with her until the ambulance came.
Too late. They had all been too late.
Back in the hay field, Rachel felt herself shiver despite the glow of the summer sun. Tom put a reassuring arm around her. She leant in, finding herself resting her head against his chest, grateful for his warmth, his comfort. In that instant something shifted; this physicality between them, this sense of need, togetherness, it felt far more than simple friendship. Under his cotton T-shirt, which was soft against her face, she could hear the steady beat of his heart. The sensation reassuring and unnerving all at once.
It was because she was upset, she told herself, nothing more. There’d never been that kind of attraction between them. Let her girlfriends, Eve and Charlotte, have their fantasies on that front. Rachel pushed these weird feelings aside, sitting upright, telling herself they were inappropriate, misdirected, the results of her heightened emotions, their shared grief. Tom was a friend, a neighbour who’d been a great help, that was all.
But as she raised her head, he gave her a look, just for a second or two, that held so many emotions. Was he feeling something too?
Her eyes connected with his, but then confusion and fear descended. ‘Ah, I’d better be getting back,’ she spluttered. She was already rising to her feet. ‘I’ll leave you with the packed lunch. It’ll keep you going for later.’
He looked somewhat surprised at her haste to get away, at the sudden change in the atmosphere. ‘Okay, well … The lunch has been great. Thanks for bringing it across. Take care, Rachel.’
‘Will do. Catch you soon.’
She was on the quad and driving away before her emotions could take any more crazy turns. She didn’t know quite what was going on, but it could damn well stop before it started. Life was confusing enough as it was.
Chapter 23
A PUDDING PICNIC
The sun was warm on their backs as Rachel and Maisy knelt at the strawberry patch in the farmhouse garden. They were busy picking the now ripe, juicy sweet berries. The smell and taste of them was like candyfloss on their fingers. Maisy was eating as many as went into the punnet, Rachel noticed with a smile, taking in her little girl’s red-stained lips.
As a respite from the building noise and the hot early-July weather – yes, the builders were back, just on a slightly later track, phew! – Rachel had promised Maisy a picnic after school, down by the stream that ran through their farmland. There was an amazing pool you could paddle in across into Tom’s land, and he’d said in the past that he didn’t mind them going there.
Back in the farm’s kitchen, the picnic basket was soon loaded up with ham sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs from their hens, tomatoes from Jim’s greenhouse (he’d dropped off a bag, after telling Rachel during the taxi trip home the other night that he had lots ripening up), and, of course, an assortment of cakes and puddings. Jill’s latest trials were mini meringues that she thought might go well for the launch day and lemon drizzle cupcakes. Rachel, who knew she’d need to step up to the mark to assist with the Pudding Pantry supplies, had made some chocolate-honeycomb traybakes. All would go equally well with their loaded punnets of strawberries and raspberries.
They set off in the Land Rover, bumping across the fields, to park up in the low meadow, with its comforting smell of warm hay that was drying in the sun. A verge that had been left untouched was filled with deep-blue, wild cornflowers and a splash of red poppies that swayed between the pale-gold shafts of grass in a gentle breeze.
Maisy skipped down from the vehicle with Moss leaping eagerly behind her. Jill set out a tartan rug beside the stream. Moss was soon entertaining himself sniffing around the field and then playing chase-the-ball in the water, splashing them as he bounded in and out, much to Maisy’s delight. With her swimming costume on and her school clothes discarded, she was soon in the water too. The stream was shallow at this time of year, with just a few slippery stones to beware of. Every now and then there was a flash of a silvery brown minnow in the waters. Rachel dipped her bare toes in and leaned back on the soft grass of the riverbank, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face – until Moss took to shaking off icy cold droplets right next to her, that was.
‘Aw, Mo-oss!’
Jill couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Right, picnic time,’ she announced. ‘Come on out of the water, Maisy. I’ve got a cosy towel here ready for you.’
Maisy was a little shivery as she came out the stream – the waters from the hills were cool and fresh even in summer – but she was soon wrapped up in a big fluffy beach towel.
‘Look, Grandma. Look over the other side, where it’s all green and shady. I think there might be a secret fairy glen there, like in my story.’
‘Hmm, yes, maybe you’re right.’
It did in fact look rather mystical. A small tree had uprooted on the opposite bank, and in the space between its bare and twisted roots were ferns and patches of moss, and clusters of stones that caught the light from the stream.
‘You can make wishes at fairy glens,’ said Maisy authoritatively.
‘Oh, I see. They must be special places then,’ said Rachel.
‘Of course they are. You can’t always see the fairies, but they’re there.’
Who was to argue with the imagination of a five-year-old, spurred on by a world of magical storybo
oks?
Maisy sat down on the rug, her bare toes peeping out from the big towel that was wrapped around her. ‘Ooh, can I have cake?’ The little girl was as quick as a whip and was about to plunge her hand into the Tupperware box of lemon cupcakes.
‘A sandwich first, and then you can,’ said Rachel.
Maisy took the sandwich somewhat grudgingly, but was soon tucking in happily, hungry after her day at school and splash in the stream. Moss lay beside her on the rug, watching patiently, waiting for any crumbs to drop.
This was so nice, the three of them together, spending a little time out on a summer’s afternoon in the sun. Time to take a pause, to breathe in the fresh Northumberland air, and enjoy the here and now. It was a rare treat with the farm always busy and their business plans in motion. The food was good, and life seemed good too just now, Rachel realised with a sense of calm relief, like the future was finally looking up for them.
Rachel batted away a wasp, and then enjoyed one of Jill’s moist and zingy lemon cupcakes along with a refreshing glass of lemonade.
‘Only a week to go until we open, Mum. It’s crept up quickly.’
‘I know, it’s hard to believe it’s really happening. I’ve got so much baking to do in the next few days. No point starting too soon though, as it needs to be nice and fresh.’
‘I’ll help with some of the cooking too, of course … for the launch party and the opening. I can do a couple of my white chocolate cheesecakes and my carrot cake is usually pretty acceptable. I could make a big one for the launch event, if you like.’
‘Oh yes, thank you. I’ll stick with making my traditional puds, and all the mini items for the party. Oh, and I must make a pavlova for opening day too.’
‘By the way, Eve’s working on a sign for us to go at the farm’s front gate and also one for above the barn door. We thought a deep-grey wooden plaque with looped white writing might work well. What do you think?’
‘That sounds like just the ticket.’
‘She’s coming around tomorrow too, to help me paint the teashop furniture white. We’re hoping for a nice dry day to get it all done outside.’ Eve was almost as excited as they were about the Pantry’s opening, and despite being busy herself, she wanted to help out where she could.
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