Christmas at Rachel’s Pudding Pantry

Jill couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Well, we’d better not make anything like that here, Frank!’ Rachel pitched in.

‘Aye, lass, we’d have to have lashings of custard with it, to manage to get it down. My, it was hard work that pudding.’

‘Well, I’m lucky I had the best teacher in my mum, Isabel,’ Jill said. ‘And, well, I’d be lost without the fabulous Baking Bible.’

The ‘Baking Bible’ was the family recipe book that had been handed down over generations. It took pride of place on the shelf in their farmhouse kitchen and provided inspiration, recipes and tips, even now.

‘That’s where the Gingerbread pudding came from, it was one of my old Aunt Elsie’s recipes.’

‘Well, you’re onto a winner there, lass. My taste buds are waltzing.’

‘Thank you, Frank.’

Jill then focussed on getting organised for the day ahead, and began making a batch of fresh cherry and sultana scones in the little oven they had there in the Pantry. Rachel stood wrapping up sets of knives and forks in red gingham checked napkins. They were both humming away to Radio Two, and when one of Jill’s favourite oldies, Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’, came on, they ended up doing a bit of bum-wiggling in time behind the counter, with a dusting of flour spinning around them from Jill’s wooden spoon which had suddenly morphed into a microphone, much to Frank’s delight.

Rachel then headed out to the customer area to make sure the tables were all set out prettily. She’d bought a spray of red carnations from the flower shop in the village, which she split into posies and placed in the mini milk bottles they had on each table. The red was a blast of colour against the cream stone walls and rustic white furniture. She stood tapping her feet in time to the music – her cheerful wiggle belying the worry curdling in her stomach as she looked out on a near-empty Pantry.

And so began another day at Primrose Farm.

At eleven o’clock sharp, the sound of Tom’s quad pulling up came from outside. Rachel couldn’t help but grin as he strolled in, his dark eyes smiling warmly beneath chestnut-brown hair that was cut fairly short but still managed to be unruly. He was dressed in his farmyard-stained jeans, green wellies and a weathered Barbour coat.

‘Hah, we’ll be able to set the clock by you soon. I’ve already started the bacon off on the griddle for you,’ said Rachel.

‘You know me too well. And yes, a bacon roll and coffee it is. Though, I may surprise you one day and order something else. I might live dangerously and have a cheese scone or something.’ He grinned mischievously.

Rachel had to admit that eleven o’clock was fast becoming one of her favourite times of the day, seeing Tom stroll in, hungry and handsome in a windswept kind of way after having worked several hours on his neighbouring farm. And, the amazing thing was, that after years of them growing up as children close by – albeit with a bit of an age gap – they were now actually an item. A rather wonderful, sexy and caring kind of item. Rachel could still hardly believe it.

She passed him a mug of steaming coffee – strong with a touch of milk and no sugar, just how he liked it – across the counter.

‘Cheers, Rachel. Morning, Frank,’ Tom greeted the old chap who was still sitting there, browsing his newspaper, with a top-up of coffee to hand.

‘Hello, Tom. Busy morning?’

‘Yep, I’ve just put the tups out in the fields with the ewes. And, with this wet weather we’ve had lately, the fields are getting damned muddy. I’ve had to pull out a couple of stuck sheep.’

‘All fun and games, I’m sure,’ replied Frank.

‘Tell me about it,’ added Rachel. ‘There were two stuck in the mud here yesterday morning. They’d got themselves in a right state.’ She dished out the crispy bacon onto soft white bread.

Tom took the sandwich and was soon tucking in. ‘Delicious, Rach. As always. I’ll settle up. Can’t stay long, unfortunately. Gotta get back as there’s a delivery of bulk feed due in at any time.’ He handed his plate and mug back across the counter. ‘That was great, thanks.’

‘Ah, okay.’ Well, that was short and sweet. Rachel couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed.

‘Can I see you, later on?’ Tom’s smile was hopeful and his dark eyes had a rather sexy look about them. Or maybe that was just Rachel’s interpretation.

‘Yes, I’ll try. When Mum’s back over in a while, I’ll check if she has any plans for this evening herself. She’s just nipped over to the farmhouse.’ It was unlikely that Jill would be out, but she didn’t want to take her mum’s babysitting duties for granted. This new relationship with Tom was still very much finding its feet and Rachel felt she was juggling her responsibilities as a mother with it. Tom seemed pretty laid back about the situation, knowing the set up at Primrose Farm, but sometimes what they both really wanted was a couple of hours just for the two of them.

Tom leaned across to give Rachel a kiss on the cheek. Rachel caught a whiff of eau-de-sheep and aftershave, which surprisingly wasn’t too off-putting.

‘Try hard,’ he whispered sensually at her ear.

She smiled broadly, feeling a flip in her belly. ‘I will … but I do need to check.’

She watched him leave, amazed at how this new relationship had even happened, how they’d bridged that gap from neighbours and friends to becoming lovers. Seeing Tom always made her heart soar, and they were getting on so well. But they were at that crucial early stage – where it felt exciting, but also a little bit scary …

The Second Bake of Christmas

Jill’s Toffee Apple Crumble – 1997 and Present Day

In autumn, Rachel used to pick the apples with Dad from the big old gnarled tree in their garden. He’d lift her up in his strong arms so she could reach the fruit, and they’d fill a wicker basket with the large Bramley cooking apples. Mum would keep some to use straight away for her crumbles and apple sauce, the rest they’d lay out on the big kitchen table, the very same table they had now, and wrap them in old newspaper ready to store in boxes under the bottom shelf in the walk-in larder.

Toffee Apple Crumble:

450g/1lb cooking apples

75g/3oz soft brown sugar

60g butter

½tsp cinnamon

For the crumble:

175g/6oz flour

75g/3oz butter, cubed

25g/1oz caster sugar and 75g/1oz demerara sugar

Dice the apples into large chunks and place in a pan with the butter, sugar and cinnamon. Cook gently until the apples just start to soften but are still mostly whole. Remove apples from the pan with slotted spoon and place into baking dish. Pop the pan back on the heat and reduce liquid by half, stirring with a wooden spoon, and pour over the apples.

To make the crumble, sift flour into a bowl, rub the butter into flour until it resembles breadcrumbs. Stir in sugar keeping a heaped tablespoon of demerara to sprinkle over the top. Sprinkle crumble thickly and evenly over the fruit and press down lightly with the palm of your hand to smooth.

Bake at 180°C Mark 4 for 30–40 minutes until the fruit is bubbling and the crumble golden.

Serve with cream, custard or ice cream!

3 (#ulink_6254edaa-6516-5d69-bf8f-22ceb65e10e8)

‘So, do you think you can make it over?’ Tom’s toffee-warm voice came through on Rachel’s mobile, as she parked the Land Rover outside the farmhouse, making her stomach flutter.

‘Hey, Tom, hi. Well, we’re still to have supper here. But yes, once Maisy’s all tucked up in bed … then I’ll scoot across.’ In fact, Rachel had yet to check with Jill, but her mum hadn’t mentioned that she was going out.

‘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.