‘Mu-um,’ Maisy piped up, ‘Moss is back in the river, can I go play with him?’
‘Have you had enough to eat?’ Rachel asked.
‘Yep.’
‘Okay then.’
There was no stopping her whirlwind of a five-year-old. It was lovely to see her having fun. Sometimes Rachel wondered if she did enough for her little girl; it often felt that Maisy had to just muck in alongside what they had to do on the farm, and they didn’t have a lot of money for expensive trips out. Life was so busy, it felt like a juggling act at the best of times.
Suddenly, there was a droning sound coming from across the fields – it sounded like a quad. Then, there was a creak of the field’s wooden gate and Tom appeared. He pulled up beside their picnic area with a grin.
‘Hello, there. I thought I heard some festivities going on over here.’
‘Hah, Moss barking and Maisy squealing, I expect,’ Rachel said. She looked up at Tom, suddenly remembering how close they’d been in the hay field just a few days ago, how his arms had felt around her. It gave her a strange feeling she couldn’t quite pin down.
‘Hi, Tom,’ said her mum.
‘Hello, Jill.’
Then Maisy, who was splashing happily away in the stream, called out, ‘Tom!’ and came dashing out.
‘Well, this looks fun.’ He took in the picnic scene, and wasn’t put off by a cold, wet five-year-old appearing by his knee for a cuddle, closely followed by a very damp border collie. ‘Hey, Moss. Hi, Maisy.’
His Jack Russell terrier, Mabel, then leapt off the quad to join in the fun and ran in circles around the three of them.
‘Oh, I hope you don’t mind us being here. We are technically trespassing,’ Rachel said. The best section of stream to paddle in was here on Tom’s land.
‘Of course not, it’s great. You’re not hurting anything. Well, maybe the odd minnow, but I can live with that.’
‘Would you like something to eat or drink, Tom?’ Jill offered. ‘If you’re thirsty there’s some homemade lemonade.’
‘Now that does sound tempting. It’s such a warm day, I’m parched.’ He was in T-shirt and jeans, his forearms tanned.
Jill poured some out into a plastic cup. ‘Here.’
He gulped it down quickly. Rachel noticed that there were little beads of liquid left on his top lip which he wiped off.
‘There are cupcakes,’ Rachel added, knowing his sweet tooth.
‘Now you’re talking. How can I say no?’
Jill passed him one of the lemon cakes from the Tupperware box and he took a bite.
‘Delish. So, how are all the final plans going for your Pudding Pantry?’
‘Good. We’re nearly there, aren’t we, Mum?’
‘Yes, getting there now, thank heavens. We open formally to the public on Friday next week, with a launch party first on the Thursday afternoon. We have a proper invite for you at home, but it’s from 2 p.m. You must come along,’ said Jill.
‘Oh yes, we’d love to see you there,’ said Rachel with a warm smile. ‘There will, of course, be pudding.’
‘I’d love to, wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’ll be good to see what you’ve done with the old barn too. Well, I’d better crack on, I suppose. I was on my way to check the cattle.’
‘Ah, no rest for the wicked,’ said Jill.
‘That’s farming for you. Well, enjoy the rest of your picnic. And like I say, you can come here any time, I really don’t mind. Nice to hear some laughter about the place.’
Rachel caught his eye. She suddenly thought how his home life must be so quiet, perhaps a touch lonely. A man in his thirties all on his own. Yes, she was single, but life was never really lonely what with her mum and Maisy constantly around.
She smiled at him, again remembering that recent moment of closeness. She quickly dismissed the thought.
‘Well, best of luck with the barn and the Pudding Pantry. If I can help at all, just give me a shout.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Bye, Maisy. Have fun!’ he called across.
‘I am … but sshh!’ She put her forefinger to her lips pointedly. ‘I’m looking for the fairies’ grotto. I think we might have frightened them away. Moss keeps splashing and barking.’
‘Ah, okay. I’ll drive away slowly, so the quad’s not too noisy then.’
‘Good.’
‘Come on then, Mabel. Up.’ With that the terrier bounded back on the quad behind him. ‘Bye, all.’
‘Bye, Tom.’
After an idyllic picnic and rare evening off, Rachel and Jill knew they had to refocus and get back to preparing for their big opening. There was still an awful lot to do. Yet, the next morning, with only a couple of days’ work left, there was no sign of the builders. Their white Transit van, which had again become a fixture in the yard, was worryingly missing. All was quiet. Too quiet.
Rachel tried ringing Ian’s mobile, which was the only contact number she had, to see what was happening. They were usually there on the farm by 8:30 a.m. – neither of them had mentioned that they might be late for any reason. They had put in half the kitchen units but they still had the main area to finish off and the barn doors to replace with a window arch and a smaller entrance door to give more light.
Finally, a call came in at 9:50 a.m. ‘Hi, it’s Ian. Sorry pet, but we can’t make it today. We’re down at Alnwick. We started this job while we were waiting for your cabinets, and now the tiles they have chosen are in, they need it finished off. It’ll just take a day. We’ve promised the customer.’
What about this bloody customer? Rachel thought with frustration. ‘But won’t that delay the job here? We’re on a tight enough schedule as it is, and I was just about to put out a flyer and some posters around the town to advertise for the opening launch on Thursday of next week.’
‘Aye, well, we’ll be back with you by tomorrow lunchtime.’
‘Lunchtime?’ It got worse.
‘Aye, don’t fret. We’ll be finished by next Thursday for you.’
‘Hmm.’ Rachel wasn’t convinced and gave a sigh. ‘Well, don’t tell me that means you’ll be clearing out on the Wednesday night, as we’ve a hell of a lot of setting up to do.’
‘No worries. It’ll all work out grand, pet.’
He sounded far too laid-back about it all for Rachel’s liking. Grrrr. All she could do was focus on her own tasks, and pray they kept their word.
Damn, the bloomin’ lawnmower was broken now and she was so near to finishing the front gate area too. She needed to keep it tidy, ready for opening. It had chugged to a halt, there was still fuel in it, but she’d pulled the cord several times and it still wasn’t restarting. Hmm, Tom might have one. She decided to quickly pop around to his farm to see. That way she might still get the job done before she finished for the evening.
It was a warm sultry afternoon; the dry spell was continuing. She jumped on the quad, drove down the lane and was soon pulling up outside Tom’s house. It looked like he was about as his truck and the quad were parked outside. As she got closer to the farmhouse, she heard a ‘thwack’ that sounded like it was coming from around the back. She’d head there first. The chances were that Tom was working outside, given the glorious sunshine.
She went in through the little gate and followed the path in and around the side of the house. As she turned the corner, the cause of the thwacking was apparent … very apparent. In fact, it stopped her right in her tracks. There Tom was, chopping logs. His arm raised in the air, bicep bulging, with a small axe in his hand ready to swoop down. His shirt was off and his lean muscular torso bared in all its rather manly glory. There was a glisten of sweat across his chest.
‘Oh my,’ she breathed. She’d never really imagined what might lie beneath those shirts and T-shirts. Tom’s chest was paler than his arms with the typical farmer T-shirt tan, which made her smile to herself. But it all looked very good, very good indeed. She gulped, quickly tearing her eyes away, aware of how badly she was ogling him.
Tom hadn’t yet spotted her, being focused on his task.
Should she call his name? Interrupt him? But she had a feeling she was blushing furiously already, and she didn’t want him to lose concentration and make a mistake with the axe. Mind you, she had totally lost concentration herself. She wasn’t even sure if her voice would work properly at this point.
She decided to give herself just one more second to stay and take in the view. She’d then head back to the quad and let him finish the job. Yes, she’d just have to come back again in the morning and finish that mowing tomorrow. It wouldn’t hurt really. She didn’t think she could set back to work now as it was. Her legs felt oddly jelly-like.
Okay, that was it, enough girl, turn around, retreat!
She felt slightly dazed as she got back to the quad and sat down. Should she just wait a few minutes at the front of his house, then go back, do a re-take and pretend all was fine? She could shout out as she neared the house corner to give him a bit of warning, but then she’d have to try and talk normally whilst facing him, all bare-chested and tanned.
She drove back to Primrose Farm on autopilot – part of her trying not to dwell on the scene she’d just witnessed, telling herself that her reaction was just physical, that was all. God knows she’d been alone and detached for such a long time. Yet, the other half of her was totally wanting to re-live the moment and picture the scene in all its fine detail.
Well, she didn’t see that one coming. But, she couldn’t afford to lose sight of the road ahead – she desperately needed to concentrate on the new business, her mum, Maisy … no, this distraction – whatever it was – wouldn’t do at all …
Chapter 24
PUDDINGS GALORE
A Sunday afternoon brainstorming session was in full flow at Primrose Farm.
Rachel, Jill, Granny Ruth, and Eve were gathered around the kitchen table, with The Baking Bible laid out open in front of them, mugs of coffee to hand and choc-dipped flapjacks on a plate within reach of all (essential brain fuel). Even Maisy and Amelia had decided to forego the garden and slide for a while to join in the important discussion that was taking place. What should go on the Pudding Pantry menu?
All ages were represented, and the ideas were flowing fast.
‘There has to be the two stalwarts we have already at the Kirkton Deli, so sticky toffee pudding and chocolate pudding,’ Jill said.
‘Yes, agreed,’ Rachel backed her up.
‘So, what other all-time favourites do we need?’ Jill asked. She was happy to try some new things as well as pitch her own ideas.
Eve added, ‘I love a lemon pudding.’
‘Great, I know a good one of Delia’s, Canary Pudding. That’d be nice, especially in the summer months,’ Jill said.
‘And then other desserts?’ Rachel prompted. ‘Puddings don’t just have to be sponge puddings as such. What about a banoffee pie or a gorgeous cheesecake or something?’
‘Ooh yes, remember we chatted about that a few weeks ago, you make that gorgeous raspberry and white chocolate cheesecake, Rachel. And, what about a pavlova with strawberries and cream?’ Eve was on a roll. In virtual pudding heaven in fact.
‘Absolutely, pavlova was something I’d already been thinking of. I’d like to have some variety too, and the chance to keep creating new things. So maybe we could have a Pudding of the Week, like a special?’ said Jill.
‘Oh yes. Brilliant idea, Mum.’
‘And what about a taster plate or something?’ Eve asked. ‘I can never decide which I want, as they are all so fab.’
‘A trio of puddings, then,’ Rachel suggested.
‘Well, I’m already making mini puddings for the launch party. We could have a selection of those.’
‘Cupcakes!’ shouted Maisy. Her all-time favourites.
‘With pretty flowers on,’ added Amelia.
‘Like sugar-paste ones, Amelia? Ones you can eat?’ Jill asked.
‘Yes, those ones.’ The little girl was beaming, happy to have joined in.
‘Great idea, girls.’
‘And other cakes, of course. You can’t beat a well-made Victoria sponge with jam and fresh cream,’ said Granny Ruth.
‘Moist yummy carrot cake,’ added Eve.
‘Coffee and walnut, too,’ said Jill. ‘Again, we can vary the cake options weekly.’
‘And we need to make sure we cater for gluten free, so there’ll always be an option for that,’ suggested Rachel. ‘I know Kirsty’s little girl at school is coeliac, she always has real trouble with menus out. It’d be nice for her and others with allergies to still be able to come out for a treat.’
‘That’s a great idea. I can research some nice recipes, and source some gluten-free flour.’
‘We need something traditional too,’ Granny Ruth added. ‘Proper old-fashioned puddings like jam roly-poly or a spotted dick. We used to love them back in the day. With lashings of thick creamy custard.’
Rachel and Jill burst into laughter at that point. ‘Hah, we were meaning to ask you, look at this …’ Rachel leafed through the pages of The Baking Bible to find Dad’s naughty scribble on the spotted dick page.
Granny peered closer with her reading glasses poised. ‘Ah yes, that was your dad all right, the little monkey. Thought it was the funniest thing ever.’
Maisy peered at the page too. ‘Why?’
Oh my, who was going to tell a five-year-old what a ‘dick’ meant? Awkward moment alert.
Eve gave Rachel a cross-eyed look, trying so hard not to laugh.
‘Just Grandad being a naughty boy, writing on Granny’s recipe sheet, and spoiling it.’ Well, it was mostly the truth.
The girls giggled innocently, with Maisy shouting out, ‘Ice creams’, whilst pretending to lick her lips.
‘Oh yes, we can use the local Doddington’s Dairy ones,’ Jill replied. ‘And pair the best flavours with the puddings.’
‘Keeping it local is such a good idea, Mum, yes,’ Rachel agreed. ‘I think we need something savoury on the menu too, so people can have a lunch or brunch option. Not too many choices, as we obviously want the puddings to be the stars. But say some nice local ham sandwiches, and chutney with Northumberland cheeses, or we could use our own eggs from the farm for Eggs Benedict. People love the home-grown touch.’
‘Or smoked salmon from the Tweed with Primrose Farm scrambled eggs on toast,’ Eve added. ‘That’d be delicious, and keeping it local is an excellent idea. It supports our area and it’s what holiday makers want to taste.’
‘We can use local bread from the Kirkton Bakery too,’ said Jill.
‘Absolutely. I’m loving all this already. The menu’s going to be amazing,’ enthused Rachel.
A little while later, when the flow of ideas was beginning to wane, and the flapjacks were being passed around for the second time, there was a knock on the farmhouse door.
Rachel went to answer it. ‘Oh … Tom, hi.’
‘Just dropping off that push mower you needed.’
‘Ah, right, thanks.’ Rachel found herself blushing. She had finally gathered her nerve the next day after that Poldark moment, and had gone back to find Tom fully clothed in a boiler suit and treating a sheep with flystrike for maggots. That scenario was far easier to handle, though she hadn’t quite forgotten the image from the previous day – still hadn’t, in fact.
‘Oh … well, that’s great. Ah … umm …’
‘You okay?’
‘Yes, fine.’ Her words were clipped; she was aware of trying way too hard to sound normal. ‘Yep, come on in for a second. We’ve quite a gathering here actually.’
‘Hi all.’ Tom poked his head into the kitchen. ‘So, what’s all this in aid of?’
‘We’re having brainstorms,’ Maisy announced seriously.
‘For the Pudding Pantry menu,’ Jill explained further.
‘But we don’t have any boy ideas yet, do we Mummy? Can Tom join in?’
‘I don’t see why not. That’s actually a great id
ea, Maisy. You can be the token male, Tom. As well as Moss.’ Rachel added, smiling, ‘Who has already advised that he’d be happy to eat the lot.’
‘Mummy, don’t be so silly, Moss can’t talk …’ Maisy crossed her arms, whilst shaking her head.
Rachel laughed. ‘So, erm, would you like a coffee, Tom? I mean, I don’t want to keep you … you’re probably busy …’
‘No, that would be great, I can stay a little while.’ He pulled out the last chair. ‘I’ll get my thinking cap on. Hmm, what would I like to eat at your delicious Pudding Pantry? Obviously, that amazing sticky toffee one.’
‘That was the first pud mentioned,’ Jill responded.
‘Ah, okay, what else have we got so far then?’
Jill read out the list.
‘I’d devour all of that, no questions asked.’
‘Not all in one go?’ Maisy asked, astounded.
‘No, maybe in two though.’ Tom winked.
‘He sounds like Moss then,’ Eve laughed. ‘It’s definitely a male thing.’
‘Right, there must be something else.’ Tom rubbed his chin as he was thinking. ‘Oh yes, what about a crumble of some kind?’
Eve caught Rachel’s eye and couldn’t help but snigger. Rachel felt herself blush, and gave her friend a small kick under the table.
‘Of course, how did we miss that off?’ Jill said. ‘That’s great, we could do different flavours depending on what’s in season. Yes, there could be apple and blackberry, a warming winter cinnamon apple and in summertime, rhubarb or apple and raspberry.’ Jill’s creative flair was flowing now.
‘With cream, custard or ice cream,’ Rachel suggested.
‘Or what about all three on top?’ Tom grinned greedily.
‘Sounds good to me. Delicious,’ Eve agreed, with a cheeky smile.
‘We’re planning on having a few savoury options too. Any ideas?’ Rachel prompted, realising that it’d be good to get the male perspective. ‘We’re thinking more of light bites really.’
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