Caroline Roberts - Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

‘Great, can’t wait,’ Tom said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. ‘So, how’s the rest of your day been?’ he continued.

‘Yeah, not bad. The usual on the farm, and steady away at the Pantry … Look, we’re just heading in for supper and I’ve got Maisy with me, so we’ll catch up later, yeah?’ She was aware of Maisy listening in beside her and Jill was no doubt waiting inside with their meal prepared, having slaved away at the Aga again.

‘Ah, okay.’

She could hear the tinge of disappointment in his voice. She wished they could speak for longer too, but it wasn’t easy balancing Maisy and her mum’s needs with her own.

While remaining cool on the outside, Rachel’s heart was already giving little leaps at the thought of spending the evening with Tom – and whatever that might bring. Their budding relationship was still so new and still so exciting that it felt very fragile, like butterfly wings. And, even though they were getting on really, really well, Rachel was afraid they might yet break at any point. She pushed that thought aside – just because things had gone wrong with her relationships in the past, it didn’t automatically mean they would now. Not all men were unreliable and selfish like Jake, her crazy first love and Maisy’s absent and irresponsible dad, she told herself.

This, with Tom? This was built on friendship, on a steady base of caring and support. They’d known each other for years as neighbours, as farmers – since they were kids, in fact. But it had all changed very recently into something so much more than friends, and that, at times, was hard to comprehend.

‘Great, so I’ll see you later, then,’ Tom added, taking her out of her reverie.

‘Yes, that’ll be lovely. I’ll send a text when I’m about to leave, but it’ll probably be around seven thirty, once Maisy’s settled.’

‘No problem. See you then.’

‘Bye, Tom.’

‘Bye.’

Maisy was already out of the vehicle and pulling off her wellington boots at the farmhouse porch.

‘Was that Tom, Mummy?’ she asked, with a serious face.

‘Yes, petal, I’m going across to see him tonight.’ She may as well be honest.

‘Oh.’ Maisy paused for a second before adding, ‘Can I come?’ Maisy got on well with Tom and he seemed to have a soft spot for her too.

‘Sorry, not tonight, sweetheart. It’s a school night and you need your sleep. By the time we’ve had supper with Grandma, it’ll be bath and bedtime for you.’

‘Hah – not fair.’ She crossed her arms indignantly.

‘Look, we can pop across on the weekend and you can say “hello” to Tom then, if you like,’ Rachel appeased.

‘Yes!’

‘Okay.’

It was sweet that they got on so well, but yet another reason for Rachel to feel anxious. If this new relationship didn’t last between her and Tom, how would that be for Maisy? She couldn’t risk Maisy getting hurt, couldn’t risk another man her daughter had grown fond of suddenly exiting her life. It was bad enough with Jake living hundreds of miles away and flitting in and out when it pleased him – mostly out . A small sigh escaped Rachel’s lips. Why were relationships always complicated?

She opened the truck’s back door and Moss leapt out, following them into the house, hopeful of a warm place by the Aga before having to go out to his kennel in the yard for the night. Rachel leaned down and gave his back a rub, his black and white coat soft and reassuring under her palm, before taking off her boots.

Nothing says home like the smell of baking and a gorgeous aroma drifted under the kitchen door. It smelt sugary-sweet, of apples and mmm, caramel.

‘Oh Moss, you’re gonna have to stay out here just now, fella.’ The dog was banned from the kitchen during Pudding Pantry cooking hours. Everything had to be done by the book for health and hygiene reasons – they couldn’t possibly risk getting in trouble with the environmental health agency, and being shut down. She gave the dog one last pat, then hung up her old Barbour jacket on a coat hook in the porch. ‘Sorry, mate.’

Maisy was already charging about the kitchen, loudly announcing, ‘Mummy’s going out. To see Tom. What’s for tea?’

Jill looked up. She was busy at the work surface, rubbing butter into flour in a mixing bowl. Next to her was a bag of demerara sugar, no doubt ready to add to the mix and then top her second batch of crumbles.

‘If that’s okay?’ added Rachel politely. ‘Sorry, I meant to ask earlier. It’ll be later on, after I’ve settled Maisy to bed.’

‘That’s fine, love. Well, there’s a cottage pie in the oven, and we’ll try out one of these for dessert, shall we? There’s one batch already made – Toffee Apple Crumbles.’

‘I can’t wait, it sounds delicious, Mum,’ said Rachel with a smile.

‘Yum,’ grinned Maisy.

Yes, that sticky toffee apple smell filled the kitchen. It transported Rachel back to Bonfire Nights on the farm years ago, back when she was a little girl herself. Dad used to keep old firewood and debris stacked up through the year and then they’d have a huge bonfire out in the yard. There’d be hot dogs with golden fried onions and ketchup. And, earlier in the day, Mum would have dipped apples that were picked from their tree into hot toffee and then let them set on baking parchment. Rachel would have a friend or two over, and they’d watch Dad set off some low-noise fireworks with a ‘woosh’ of falling stars and colours, dramatic and sparkly as they lit the night sky but without the alarming bangs that would upset the farm animals. Then they’d eat the candied apples on sticks as they stood by the orange, crackling glow of the fire, with the sugary toffee sticking to their teeth and dripping messily onto fingers.

Memories were catching up with Rachel again. It happened all too often these days, the rawness of losing her dad still a haunting feeling within her. Even though it was over two years since it happened, there were still times when she thought of Dad and it suddenly became harder to breathe. There were just so many things here on the farm to remind her. She missed him so much.

They needed to look forwards as well as back, however. Maybe she and Jill could put on a small fireworks event this year, give Maisy a taste of that November magic? Perhaps they could invite Eve and her family along too, and Tom. They might not have much money to spare, but if the two families went halves on some pretty fireworks, then she and her mum could easily cook up some tasty food for everyone – that was their forte, after all.

‘You all right, love?’ Jill asked.

‘Yes, just remembering those fireworks nights we had with Dad,’ Rachel shared. ‘That toffee apple smell brings it all back.’

‘Ah yes …’ Jill smiled sadly, silently acknowledging their joint grief.

It felt as though the big man himself might just walk back in to the room and take up his old seat by the Aga, holding his ‘John Deere’ mug of tea.

Sometimes Dad seemed a world away, and sometimes he didn’t seem that far away at all.

With Maisy tucked up in bed, and a tummy full of delicious toffee apple crumble, Rachel headed to her room to swap her old jumper for a pretty pink-and-grey checked blouse, teaming it with her best dark-blue jeans. She flicked on some mascara and a swipe of lip gloss – she wasn’t the type to worry about wearing much makeup, and her cheeks were certainly rosy enough from working outdoors without needing blusher.

She skipped down the stairs, finding Jill in the kitchen. ‘Right, I’m off now, Mum. I’ll just be a couple of hours.’

‘There’s no hurry, love, I’m fine here. I’ve got an episode of Emmerdale to catch up on, and Jan brought me in some magazines the other day, so I can look over those. Might even glance through the old Baking Bible and get some ideas for some warming winter puds to put on in the Pantry as specials in the coming months.’