Читать книгу Rachel’s Pudding Pantry - Caroline Roberts, Caroline Roberts - Страница 12

Later that evening, with Maisy in bed and Mum up in the bath, Rachel sat at the kitchen table with her laptop out and a mug of hot chocolate, chewing the end of her Biro. She had loads of the farm’s paperwork to catch up on. There seemed to be a never-ending stream of documents and reports to complete and return. She was tired but thank heavens she wasn’t needed in the lambing shed tonight.

It was quiet and cosy in the kitchen with the warmth of the Aga, and Moss there lying beside her too. They did have a small office, but Rachel preferred working here, in the hub of the farmhouse. She got some admin work done and then she found herself mulling over the conversation at dinner and – more crucially – Tom’s suggestion whilst they’d been spooning in their bread and butter pudding. Might there be something in this pudding-making idea?

It might just give Jill a new focus, a sense of purpose, Rachel mused. She’d been lost since her husband’s death two years ago; it was almost like a part of her had died with him and it was so sad to see. Baking was something she’d always loved doing, and Rachel could see that little spark reignited within her when she was back with her recipe books and ingredients in the kitchen these past few weeks. And, any income it might produce certainly wouldn’t go amiss in helping out the farm’s finances. They needed every penny they could get at the moment. The first lambs wouldn’t be ready to go to market for sixteen weeks yet, and the end-of-year subsidies were being stretched thin as it was. Oh crikey, she still needed to have that conversation with her mother – about just how big a financial hole they were in – but the lambing season had stalled that particular conversation. And Rachel realised she’d been ducking out of it too. She really didn’t want to give her mother anything else to be concerned about, not when she was finally showing the first signs of recovery.

Rachel did enjoy baking too, when she found the time. Her raspberry and white chocolate cheesecake, sugary-crisp yet soft-in-the-middle meringues and carrot cake had always been hits with her family and friends. Once lambing was over, and with Maisy now at school, she’d have a bit more time to experiment in the kitchen once the daily farm chores were done. She might even get The Baking Bible out herself and have a go at some of the old favourites too.

She googled ‘starting up a catering business’, jotting down some notes. She and her mum could easily sign up for the hygiene qualifications they’d need – that’s if her mum warmed to the idea. Then Rachel found herself googling ‘puddings’. A feast of delights hit the screen – taking her back to her childhood with Mum there in her pinafore, Dad sat at the farmhouse table and something sweet and comforting about to come out of the Aga – golden syrup sponge, sticky toffee pudding, treacle tart, and jam roly-poly …

Smiling to herself, Rachel remembered the time when Dad couldn’t decide which pudding he wanted. It was a toss-up between three, she seemed to remember, so Mum just went ahead and made a whole feast. He said that that was real love right there on a plate, as he helped himself to a generous portion of each two hours later, laughing that he was only having so much to please his lovely wife.

Rachel scrolled over the images with an ache of loss in her heart as she looked across at Dad’s empty chair. Why did he have to go and leave them? How the hell had that happened? So many whys and unanswered questions. She felt a tear crowd her eye.

But it was no good getting nostalgic. She had to hold it together to keep the farm going for the three of them now, look at ways of making it more profitable, to keep them afloat. She couldn’t be the one to let them all down, to see it sold off. Primrose Farm was their legacy – and their beloved home.

So, if the pudding idea could help the farm, and as it was something Jill really enjoyed, it was worth at least looking into. There were plenty of people who stayed locally in holiday cottages who might like a treat, there were busy mums and wives with little time to bake, people on their own like Tom, the elderly – a whole host of potential customers who might like to buy a lovely homemade pudding.

There was a pudding on the screen now, the packaging wrapped in muslin. Hmm, Rachel’s mind turned to Eve, her crafting friend. She’d know how to make something similar. Ooh, maybe they could have a selection of puddings, wrapped in something pretty with a bow around and a ‘Primrose Farm’ tag.

The ideas were rolling now. For the first time in a long while, Rachel felt a spark of excitement.

This was definitely food for thought!

A little while later, Jill came down from her bath.

‘Hey, Mum. Feeling more relaxed now?’

‘Yes, love. That was just what I needed – a hot soak in some bubbles.’

Rachel wondered whether to share her newly hatched pudding idea. She’d seen how her mum was starting to enjoy her baking again, but would suggesting that she turn her flair into something more business-like take away all the joy from it? Would Jill feel pressured to help out if she knew how tight their finances really were? And could letting her in on the farm’s dire financial state undo all the progress she was making?

No, Rachel decided to hold back and keep these thoughts to herself. She was afraid to broach this just yet, uncertain as to how it would be taken. She’d have to find some other way to stop the farm’s overdraft deepening for now. Her mum’s positive progress through that painful journey of grief was far more important than any business venture idea. She was just glad that the old Jill was slowly but surely finding her way back home.