Читать книгу Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry - Caroline Roberts, Caroline Roberts - Страница 14

There was a promising flurry of customers at the Pantry the next morning. By ten thirty, Anne and Irene, two senior citizens from the village, were chatting away, enjoying coffee and shortbread.

‘Oh, by the way, Jill,’ Irene called across from their table, ‘that apple and blackberry crumble I took home last week went down a real treat. I passed it off as my own,’ she confessed. ‘Well, I didn’t exactly lie; I just didn’t tell my Ronald that I hadn’t made it myself. Anyway, he liked it that much he said I’d have to make it again soon, so I’d better take another one home today.’ She grinned mischievously.

‘Of course, but this week’s crumble is an apple and pear.’

‘Ah, not to worry, that’ll do nicely. I’ll just make out I’ve been experimenting. He’ll be impressed and I’m sure it’ll go down as well.’ Irene started chuckling.

‘Well, that’s the way to do your home baking,’ added Anne, ‘sitting here having coffee and biscuits with a friend, and getting a takeaway bake as you leave.’

‘Hah, absolutely, that’s what the Pudding Pantry’s all about my lovelies.’ Jill smiled.

‘Oh yes, that’s the way to do it, ladies,’ Rachel joined in, enjoying the camaraderie.

Two more regulars, Denise and Christine, who Jill knew from the local Women’s Institute, called in soon afterwards for tea and cake. Trevor, the postman, stopped by for a takeaway coffee and a flapjack, and then gorgeous Tom for his elevenses. Just picturing last night’s fireside activities made Rachel blush bright pink at the counter – she hoped her mum hadn’t spotted that and busied herself with the coffee machine.

Tom was in a bit of a dash to get back as he needed to catch up with his farmhand, Jack. ‘I’ll maybe catch you later, Rach. It was a great evening last night, by the way.’ His eyes held hers with a sexy intensity.

‘Yes,’ was all she could answer, in a pitch higher than normal, remembering all too well.

After a promising morning, the Pantry was disappointingly bare by the time lunchtime swung around.

The slowing of trade nagged at Rachel. ‘It’s gone so quiet here these past few weeks, Mum, hasn’t it?’ She stifled a sigh. It had cost so much in money, time and energy to get the Pudding Pantry up and running; they really couldn’t afford for it to belly-flop so soon. There was no magic pot of savings to bail them out, no stash of money in the bank. This was it – every last penny was invested in this project. Their livelihoods and future, in fact the whole farm, depended on it.

‘I know, love. It is a concern. I don’t suppose the takings have been much to speak of, either.’

‘No, I doubt we’ve even covered our costs these past few weeks, to be honest.’

‘Now then …’ Jill placed a reassuring hand on Rachel’s shoulder, ‘let’s not get too despondent, love. Like I said the other day, it’s a quiet time of the year for most businesses around here. The tourists are fewer just now. We’ll just have to be patient. I’m sure things will pick up again before Christmas.’

Mother and daughter looked about them; there wasn’t a soul in the tearooms. It was hard not to feel downcast about it.

‘But yes,’ Jill continued pragmatically, ‘maybe, we do need to get our thinking caps on just now and drum up a bit of interest.’

‘No time like the present, then,’ Rachel rallied, determined to lift their mood and take some action. ‘I’ll make us a pot of tea and grab a pad and a pen. Let’s smash out some ideas, Mum.’

Sitting down at one of the white wooden tables just a few minutes later, Jill kick-started the brainstorm, ‘Well, the Kirkton Country Show, where we had the stall back in the summer, that went off really well … so what about finding out about any other shows, or local Christmas Fayres and such like, that might be coming up soon?’

‘Good thinking. I’ll do some research. Eve might know of any craft events coming up in the area. And, of course, we absolutely need to make the most of the build-up to Christmas here at the Pantry.’ Rachel doodled a holly leaf, and a Christmas tree on her pad as she wrote ‘Christmas Fayres’ down. ‘Yes, we can feature a feast of festive flavours, Christmas puddings, mince pies …’

‘That Gingerbread Pudding went down well with Frank the other day, and oh, what did I used to make for you when you were small? Yes, those little meringue snowmen. They might go down well with the children.’

‘They sound good. You used to make reindeer cupcakes too. I remember the noses were chocolate buttons,’ said Rachel.

‘Hah, yes so I did. Chocolate sponge ones.’

‘I used to love those.’ Mum’s Christmas bakes were legendary. They were a tradition that came out annually along with the decorations. ‘Oh, and we can have a festive facelift with our displays on the dressers, with Eve’s Christmas decorations and toys for sale. She’s already mentioned that she’s busy making lots of new things.’

‘Great. And I agree, we can really up the ante with our Christmas goodies too; I can make Christmas cakes and puddings for people to take away. I’m sure Brenda at the deli would take some to sell too. I could make up packs of shortbread and those reindeer cupcakes – in fact, there could be all sorts of festive foodie gifts and treats to take away. Folk are busy enough as it is over Christmas, without having all that extra baking to do.’

‘Yes, that’d be brilliant. Some great ideas there, Mum. But … hmm … it’s still not much good if we can’t get the people here to start with.’ Rachel was looking around the empty barn once more. ‘We need to step up our promotion and advertising, remind people that we’re here. It’s like the initial buzz has gone. Though that’ll cost, of course.’ Rachel took a sip of tea. ‘I could design some new flyers. And, maybe we could get a bit of free editorial in the Gazette, if I make it newsworthy enough and ask Amanda there nicely.’

‘Perhaps we could drop by the newspaper office with a sticky toffee pudding or two, or even better a Christmas Pudding to try?’ Jill suggested.

‘Hah, that sounds like bribery to me, but it’s definitely worth a try.’ Rachel smiled at her mother’s wily ways.

‘Well, at least we have a few ideas to be going on with,’ added Jill.

‘It’s all good, but I just feel like we need something else, something a little different, to make us stand out from the crowd … something unique that only we can do.’

‘But what, love?’

‘Hah, I wish I knew! I’ll have a think on it whilst I’m sorting out the cattle shed this afternoon. Can you handle the rush in here?’ Rachel added ironically, the reality of the pretty but empty space bringing it all gloomily home once more. Empty chairs and empty tables …

‘I’m sure I’ll manage,’ Jill answered drily.

‘Right, well, I’ll be back in time to collect Maisy from the school bus.’

‘Okay, pet.’

Rachel finished off her cup of tea and stood up to leave.

‘Rachel?’ Jill stopped her in her tracks. ‘Chin up, love. We’ll find a way.’

Oh how her mum’s encouragement brought a lump to her throat. Over the past couple of years, it had been Rachel who’d stood strong, Rachel the one to rally Jill, especially through the dark days they’d had, but lately Rachel’s own fears were beginning to get to her. There was so much at stake. The future of the farm and their lives here were tied up with the Pudding Pantry. The pressure was really on for it to do well.

‘Thanks, Mum.’ Rachel nodded, appreciating that prop of support and finding a grain of hope.

No stupendous brainwave hit in the cattle shed, unfortunately. The only thing that came like a bolt from the blue was a large male pheasant who’d decided to take up residence in there, roosting in the rafters and bursting out with a piercing squawk that frightened Rachel half to death. After taking a breather and waiting for her heart to stop hammering – every day brought a new surprise on the farm – Rachel set about splitting open and spreading huge circular bales of straw, ready to bed down the cattle. The time would soon come for them to come in from the fields.

Something unique – something special for the Pudding Pantry. This manifesto kept rolling along in Rachel’s mind like the ruddy bales. There didn’t seem to be any magic answer, but hey, was there ever?

When Rachel looked at the farm’s accounts later that evening, it was obvious that they were still sliding down that slippery slope of debt. Her mood felt black and a headache hung over her right eye. What was it all for? All that hard work, the never-ending routine of getting up at dawn, working with the sheep, the cattle, feeding, tending, mucking out, filling in mountains of paperwork – and that was before all the things she needed to do at the Pantry, as well as looking after Maisy. Life was more than a juggle right now; it was a big struggle.

She sighed and took a sip of her coffee. The Pudding Pantry was meant to be the thing that turned it all around and saved them. What if it ended up being the thing that pulled them under?

‘Is everything all right, love, you seem a bit quiet tonight?’ Jill asked kindly once they’d finished having dinner later that evening.

‘Ah, I’m just tired, that’s all.’

‘Of course.’ Jill paused, giving Rachel the chance to talk more if she wanted.

‘Oh, Mum, sometimes I just feel like I’m on a hamster wheel, working so damned hard and juggling it all, on the farm, the Pantry, and getting nowhere.’

‘It’s been a hard couple of years, love. And you’ve got so much to carry on your shoulders just with the farm. It’s no wonder you feel the pressure of it sometimes. We’ve all been thrown in at the deep end.’

Yes, farm life could be hard, but like most farmers, a bit of hard work had never bothered the Swinton family. It was losing Dad in such a devastatingly tragic way that had left a gaping hole in all their hearts. Much as she’d wanted to, Rachel couldn’t just curl up in a ball of grief after it happened, she’d had to keep going for Mum and Maisy, for the farm. And the aftershocks kept rolling with them, like waves.

They had all got up one early spring morning, had breakfast together around the kitchen table, expecting life on the farm to drift along in much the same way as it always had. But that day life was smashed like a raw egg, and their world had been shattered. They were still struggling to find their way.

Rachel gazed absently into the flickering flames of the cosy fire in the living room, her mind elsewhere for a while, taking her back to her childhood days here on the farm, memories of working with her dad, learning the ways of the farm and of the animals. Her voice when she finally spoke was soft, yet filled with emotion. ‘It’s not just a job though, is it? When I go and stand on the hill above the farm – our hill, our farm – and I look around at the valley and see our animals … Well, this is it, this is everything. It’s where my heart is.’

‘I know. Mine too.’ Jill’s voice was tinged with sorrow as well as love.

‘Well, then, we battle on, until we’ve given it every last shot,’ Rachel resolved. ‘I know I’ve just got to do my best with the farm work. But we’ll try not to be blinkered about it; and if it all gets too much and we’re about to go under financially, then …’ She sighed deeply and looked down at her hands in her lap. ‘We’ll have to be realistic and look to sell up. But until then, we give it everything we’ve got, yeah?’

‘Yes, absolutely. And it’s understandable that you’re tired, pet, it’s been hectic and you haven’t stopped for months. Heaven knows, the farm work’s enough on its own. And, even now with the Pantry being slower, you’re still on the go, looking for ways to boost business. You need to look after yourself too.’

‘I suppose.’

‘I know.’ Jill gave her a stern look.

‘Hah, “Your mother is always right”,’ Rachel quipped.

‘Too true.’ Jill quirked an eyebrow. ‘And Rachel,’ her mum’s tone became serious, ‘don’t keep it all in, will you? If it feels like things are getting too much, talk to me, love, tell me. We’ll face things together.’ They both knew what Jill was referring to; the dreadful circumstances surrounding her father’s death. ‘It’s good that we’re talking tonight, but don’t feel you’ve got to carry the load on your own. Don’t ever be afraid to ask for help.’

‘Of course, Mum, and I promise.’

‘So, we won’t be giving up cowpats, boiler suits and baking aprons any time soon then,’ Jill said, resolutely.

‘Of course not – and oh, the glamour, hey?’

They both raised a smile, as they gazed into the flickering fire.