She paused to clear her throat and I was suddenly flooded with terror.
‘You haven’t volunteered me to be on that Bake Off show, I hope?’ I stared at her, pausing from pouring water into the teapot.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Of course not. But I did give one of your pies to Freya Graythwaite.’
‘Thank goodness! Is that all?’ I said, clamping a hand to my chest. ‘You had me going then, I thought—’
Naomi grimaced.
‘That wasn’t all, was it?’ I said. I stirred the tea, popped the lid on the pot and poured it out.
She shook her head. ‘Not quite. Freya came into the shop a couple of weeks ago and signed us up as a member of the regional food group. She’s also been set the task of encouraging local artisan producers to enter the Cumbria’s Finest competition. Apparently Cumbria stopped running this competition a few years ago and now some new executive has been brought in to beef up the profile of food from the Lakes.’
‘But you’re not a producer.’ I frowned and handed her a mug.
‘No, but you are.’ She took a slurp of tea, eyebrows raised in hope.
‘I am not.’ I extended an arm to take in the kitchen. ‘I’m just plain old Hetty with a farmhouse kitchen.’
Although …
If I was going to start a business, not that I was … because, I mean, how? When? Not to mention why? Okay, I knew why, but if I was to do it, producing pies would be the perfect thing.
She tutted as if that was a minor detail. ‘You could be a producer. Look, I’ve wanted to start doing some own-brand products for ages. I’ve looked into preserves but everyone else is doing them. I thought about flavoured gin, or maybe soup. But pies, filled with local ingredients?’ She eyed me shrewdly. ‘What could be more exciting than that?’
My heart filled with longing. ‘Almost nothing.’
‘So I thought I might as well get the ball rolling and enter you into the competition. Whether we win or not doesn’t matter, the point is, the farm shop gets publicity for its new range of pies, baked and supplied by you. And it gives us a platform, do you see? So what do you think? Your choice, obviously.’
I folded my arms. ‘Is it? It seems to me that I’ve had little choice in any of it so far.’
By rights I should have been really annoyed, but my stomach was bubbling with possibilities and my brain had started whispering, What if …?
‘Just think, Hetty,’ she continued, ignoring my comment, ‘your own food business. I know you help Dan out on the farm, but this would be your venture.’
I nodded thoughtfully, my eyes drifting to the Ordnance Survey map on the wall. This could be the change I was looking for. Making pies was something I loved; I was good at it and I could do it in my sleep. Bringing in a bit of extra cash would be handy too. I’d never have thought of it on my own. And all because the other bakery had adopted a baby, what a happy coincidence.
I squinted as a grease blob on the map drew my eye and there, next to it, were the words ‘Crinkle Crags’. I gave an involuntary gasp and tapped the mountain on the map. She followed my gaze and grinned sheepishly.
‘Whoops.’
‘There is no Crinkle Crags Bakery, is there?’ I narrowed my eyes.
She shook her head.
And I shook mine. ‘I wondered why I’d never heard of it.’
She chuckled into her mug. ‘I think I did quite well to come up with that name on the spur of the moment; “crinkle” made me think of the crimping around a piecrust.’
I gazed at her incredulously.
‘You’ve been plotting this for ages, haven’t you? Those pie boxes you just happened to have in your office, the labels designed by Otis …’ I sat down beside her, my head spinning.
‘And asking you for cool pies so that it would be easier for me to box a couple straight away and load them into Freya’s car.’ Naomi’s face was a mixture of contrition and glee. ‘It all went so smoothly; I could hardly believe it.’
‘I feel silly for just falling in with your plans.’
‘With respect, Hetty,’ she stood up, in control once again, and found Dan’s favourite mug in the cupboard, ‘you’ve been falling in with other people’s plans since you arrived at Sunnybank Farm. I love you dearly, but I’ve watched you tinker about, making yourself useful on the farm, fitting in, doing anything and everything you can to help other people. You’re a wonderful mum to Poppy and there isn’t a community group that you don’t help. And yes I admit,’ she turned and fixed me with those determined eyes, ‘that I’ve steamrollered you into this but now I hope you take the opportunity to make your own plans.’
My own plans. The fizz of excitement in my stomach was bubbling over like hot sugar syrup in a little copper pan.
Naomi poured milk into Dan’s tea and chinked the spoon on the edge before dropping it in the sink. ‘Come on then, lass, we’d better break the news to that husband of yours.’
The fizz stopped fizzing and the bubbles burst; I had a sneaky feeling that Dan wasn’t going to like this one bit.
We found him in the small field with his Soay flock. I loved the Soays; they were dainty little things compared to our boisterous Swaledales. They’d been on the farm less than a year and so this was their first crop of lambs. Hardly any meat on them and their chocolate-brown wool wasn’t worth a bean, but helping to increase numbers of a rare breed had been on Dan’s wish list for a few years and he’d said it made a nice change to do something purely for the love of it without trying to make it pay.
He was rebuilding a section of drystone wall which had crumbled near the gatepost where Bart had reversed into it with the tractor this morning. He took his tea and leaned his elbow on the wall while Naomi and I filled him in on the Cumbria’s Finest competition.
‘So you tricked Hetty into it?’ He scowled at his sister.
‘“Tricked” is perhaps a bit harsh,’ I said diplomatically.
‘I meant to tell you on Saturday,’ Naomi confessed. ‘But the shop was so busy, and then I hurt my foot. It slipped my mind until I had an email from Freya saying that all entrants would be contacted by phone if more information was required.’
‘And you’ve passed Hetty’s pies off as your farm shop’s produce?’ He set the mug down and folded his arms.
My heart sank. ‘Sunnybank Farm produce,’ I corrected. ‘Ours.’
‘The rules are that the product must be made in the area and the ingredients sourced locally wherever possible.’ Naomi shrugged. ‘So we comply.’
Dan was shaking his head. ‘This is you all over, Naomi. You go off like a rocket without considering others.’
‘Rubbish.’ She shook her head impatiently. ‘Think of the benefits for the farm: a branded product from Sunnybank Farm, out there promoting your lamb.’
Technically, it wasn’t our lamb, I thought to myself, it was simply ‘Cumbrian lamb’.
‘What if Hetty doesn’t want to enter a competition?’ Dan demanded. ‘What if she doesn’t want to be judged?’
‘Actually, I don’t mind,’ I said, realizing that it was time to assert myself in this debate. ‘But I agree with Dan, in future please consult me before doing anything like this.’
‘I apologize wholeheartedly,’ Naomi said. ‘It was impetuous of me, Dan’s right. But I saw an opportunity to shine a light on your baking and I took it. I figured if I told you about it up front, you wouldn’t have submitted an entry.’
‘Good point,’ I conceded. ‘I probably wouldn’t have.’
Dan tipped the dregs of his tea away and I took his mug from him.
‘Of course she wouldn’t have entered because she doesn’t run a bakery,’ Dan said, still frowning at her. ‘Are Hetty’s pies even eligible? She’s a home baker, there are no health and safety policies, no hygiene regulations followed. No record of the ingredients. Where do we stand if she poisons someone?’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ I said huffily.
His face softened. ‘I didn’t m
ean it that way, love. But I’m guessing there was no label on the box, no allergy information, no instructions on how to store, how to reheat?’
Naomi and I exchanged worried looks. The box had been a plain cardboard carton with one of Otis’s labels stuck on it. Perhaps that was what Freya wanted to tell me: that I was breaking goodness knows how many laws. Dan leaned back against the wall and stared at us grimly.
‘Um, well,’ Naomi began, clearly unwilling to let her younger brother get the upper hand, ‘that was what prompted me to call in. Freya needs a list of ingredients.’
‘I can write one,’ I said hurriedly, ‘retrospectively. Most of the pie fillings were made from farm shop stock so it won’t be hard to trace everything. And I’m sure the safety stuff will be straightforward, I’ll look into it.’
‘I’ll just tend to eight hundred sheep on my own, then,’ Dan grumbled.
His moaning was slightly diluted by the appearance of Cameron on the quad bike with Jake and Fern riding shotgun in the trailer behind him and Poppy and Bart laughing and running alongside them. Cameron carried on to the farmyard to put the dogs in their kennels and the two youngsters joined us in the field.
‘Phew, here comes the cavalry,’ said Naomi with a smirk.
‘But no one’s as good at spotting any injuries as Hetty,’ Dan said sulkily.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ Naomi muttered under her breath.
‘It’s fine, I can do the list later,’ I said breezily. This pie competition had planted a seed and if it was going to sprout into life, I’d need Dan on side.
‘I’m as good as Mum,’ said Poppy, out of breath, her red hair tangled and windswept around her pretty face. ‘Better even, because I’m a faster runner so I can catch them easier. And if I find any abscesses, I love popping them.’ She mimed the pressing action around a lump and blew a raspberry.
I winced and I could see poor Bart was doing his best not to look disgusted.
Dan looked at me, his face softening into a slow smile, and I held his gaze, understanding without the need for words that he was apologizing for being childish. I smiled back.
‘Go and do the paperwork, Hetty,’ he said softly, rubbing a hand through his hair. ‘Looks like I’ve got plenty of expert help.’
I nodded, smiling back, and Poppy punched the air.
‘Catch.’ Dan threw his daughter a can of antiseptic spray. ‘Show Bart how to check for scald on the Soays. We don’t want any more with foot rot.’ He turned to Cameron, who’d come back from the kennels. ‘You’re in here with me, lad, we can finish this wall that Bart demolished and then take a ride over to the valley bottom.’
Cameron immediately picked up a rock and wedged it in place on the wall.
‘It’s green slimy stuff between their toes,’ Poppy began explaining to Bart, striding up to the nearest ewe and her lamb.
Naomi bumped her arm against mine as we walked back to the farmyard where she’d parked her van. ‘So if Freya calls, you’ll say that Sunnybank Farm is definitely entering the competition?’
‘Definitely,’ I confirmed.
She heaved a sigh of relief and opened her van door. ‘You won’t regret it,’ she said with a grin.
‘Oh,’ I called just before she slammed the door shut. ‘One thing I meant to say, I’ll be telling Freya that the pies aren’t from the Sunnybank Farm range.’
My sister-in-law’s mouth opened to protest but I jumped in quickly.
‘I’m taking over the project,’ I said firmly. ‘So I’ll choose the name.’
‘You’re the boss,’ said Naomi with a grin.
That night, after Poppy had texted me goodnight from her sleepover at a friend’s house and Dan had gone to bed, I gave the dying fire a poke to spread out the ashes, made myself a hot chocolate and took a seat at the kitchen table with the laptop. The clock ticked, the fire made occasional hissing sounds and upstairs I could hear Dan turning on taps and padding across the creaky floorboards and into bed.
It was peaceful here: just me in my kitchen, the heart of Sunnybank Farm. It was a cosy, homely space and the aroma of the rhubarb and apple pie we’d had for dinner filled the air with sugary sweetness. The ancient Kilner jar full of utensils on the window-sill, the lovely long table pitted and scarred from countless family mealtimes, the embroidered cushion in the small of my back, a memento from when this had been Viv’s domain, and the pen marks on the door frame recording Poppy’s growth over the years … These details were what made this room special and I felt more at home here than in any other place on earth.
I’d said to Naomi earlier that I was just plain old Hetty with a farmhouse kitchen. But you know what? That was fine. A smile settled over my face as I set up and named a new folder on the laptop: Hetty’s Farmhouse Bakery.
And as I began to type a list of ingredients for the pie Naomi had entered into the Cumbria’s Finest competition, a vision of my own cottage industry began to form in my mind. I would make pies for the farm shop right here, at my kitchen table, using the very best of local produce to create unusual flavours that would delight Naomi’s customers and have them returning for more. It would be a small business, baking as many as she could sell in a day, so that they’d be perfectly fresh every morning. I could bake at night, in the quiet hours when the farm chores were done …
The clock struck eleven; the last hour had whizzed by and I was normally in bed by now. I finished the list, glad that Naomi had insisted on me concocting recipes from what the farm shop had on offer, thus making the job a whole lot easier, and emailed it off to Freya. I turned off my laptop and went up to bed.
‘’Bout time,’ Dan muttered with a yawn. He flipped his pillow over to the cool side, something he did constantly through the night. ‘Busy day tomorrow. Tagging and tailing. You’ll help, won’t you?’
I pulled a face in the dark. Lambs didn’t mind having their ears tagged; docking their tails was a different matter.
‘Of course.’ I slipped under the duvet and felt for his hand. He wrapped his fingers around mine and I kissed him goodnight. I listened as his breathing slowed and grew deeper and gradually the pressure of his hand in mine lessened as he fell asleep.
My mind was still racing too much for sleep. There was so much to do, and learn, but the thrill of it, the mere thought of creating something for me, of my own, sent pinpricks of excitement down my spine. I’d tell Dan all about it just as soon as I’d got some firm plans. He loved me therefore he’d be happy for me, wouldn’t he? I let out a quiet sigh. In my heart of hearts, I knew I was kidding myself; he’d grown so used to me being on hand to help him out. What I needed, I realized, as my eyelids began to grow heavy, was an ally, someone he couldn’t say no to …
Chapter 10
‘A pot of tea, apple pie and cream, a Belgian bun and a spare plate?’ The young waitress set the tray down with a smile, admired Viv’s chiffon scarf and sauntered off.
‘So it makes good business sense really,’ I said, resuming my Get the Mother-in-law Onside campaign as I cut the pie in two. Tactically, I put the largest half on the spare plate for her. ‘Naomi wants to sell home-made pies filled with Cumbrian produce and I get to earn some pin money.’
‘Hmm.’ Viv smoothed down her apricot-coloured bob, pulled her chair in closer to the table and tucked a paper napkin into the neck of her jumper. Her face gave nothing away.
She looked lovely today, I mused. When I’d first met her she’d been perpetually hidden under a big striped apron. Over the years, she’d rebranded herself: styling her hair, adding little accessories, wearing make-up. She was slimmer too, which she put down to not having to cook big farmer’s meals which she’d invariably eaten. Mike would hardly recognize her these days, although her facial expressions had remained the same and she was as difficult as ever to impress.
‘She won’t be happy until she’s as big as Sainsbury’s, that one.’ Viv shook her head, her lips pursed. She wasn’t fooling me: she might try to hide it but she couldn’t be prouder o
f Naomi. Or any of her family.
‘The farm shop is just what the village needs, though, and the open day last week was fantastic. Hats off to her, I say.’ I held up my cup for Viv to pour the tea.
‘I had my doubts about that shop, you know,’ she said with a sigh. ‘When I think of what her life could have been like.’
I stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’
Viv flushed. ‘Oh nothing, I just mean, well, you know, if she and Tim had gone up to Scotland to be nearer his job.’
She was hiding something but I knew better than to push.
‘Well, selfishly I’m glad they didn’t go. Naomi’s always been like a big sister to me, and I don’t know what I’d have done without you all when Mum and Dad first went away.’
‘You wouldn’t have ended up baking pies for a living, that’s for sure.’
‘True,’ I laughed. ‘I’ve got a lot to thank you all for, you especially.’
My meals with Anna had been heavily pasta-and-pesto-based until I started coming to the farmhouse regularly. At first, Anna had been a bit grumpy about me spending so much time with Dan, but when I started bringing home portions of shepherd’s pie, dishes of hotpot and slices of home-made pie, she soon changed her tune. But it wasn’t until I moved into Sunnybank Farm that Viv started to give me cookery lessons. She’d only just lost her husband, Dan was finding his voice with the two old farmhands that had used to work for Mike and I, at eighteen, had still felt like a child staying in someone else’s home. It had been around the kitchen table, mixing pastry, that Viv and I had found a way to really get to know each other while my new puppy lay asleep in his basket near the fire. I’d already learned how to make a pasty in Cornwall, but making the shortcrust pastry itself was a skill I’d learned at Sunnybank Farm.
‘How is your mum?’
I smiled at the memory of our recent late-night conversation. I’d been up late again tinkering with my cherry and almond pie recipe when my phone had started to buzz with a Skype call.
‘She’s making the best of her life,’ I replied fondly. ‘Just like you.’
Both women had been widowed far too early, both of them had had their lives turned upside down as a consequence. Viv had chosen a busy existence at the heart of the community she’d always lived in. And Mum …
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