Rachel’s Pudding Pantry. Caroline Roberts

baking trays around her.

      Rachel smiled to herself. Her mum looked so content there in her baking haven; it was a scene that warmed Rachel’s heart like nothing else, she could stand there and watch her forever. The family Baking Bible was open beside her, and Jill was concentrating on the page, her reading glasses propped on the end of her nose. She then weighed out some glacé cherries before taking a can of pineapple rings to hand.

      ‘Hi, Mum.’

      ‘Oh Rachel, hello love.’

      ‘You look busy.’

      ‘Oh, I was making some cherry scones just before, and then I thought about my mother’s old recipe for pineapple upside-down pudding. I thought we might have a can of pineapple rings in the cupboard to go with the spare cherries and, hey presto, here we go. I found the recipe written out here, in her lovely loopy handwriting. Yes,’ Jill smiled to herself, remembering, ‘Granny Isabel always used to make this as a bit of a treat. Pineapple was rather decadent back in the day. So, I thought it might be an idea to treat ourselves today, too. It’s high time there was a bit more light in our lives.’

      ‘Absolutely.’ It was wonderful to see Mum happier, with glimpses of her old self shining through, and she was evidently enjoying her baking. Could Rachel chance mentioning the pudding business idea again? It seemed the ideal time to broach it, and time was beginning to run short on their nose-diving finances – as yet, there had been no interest in the two fields they’d put up for sale.

      ‘Mum, look, I don’t want to pile the pressure on or anything, but did you get a chance to think about the pudding idea? Of trying to sell some? You’re so talented, and I know everyone’s been raving about your chocolate puddings since Maisy’s party.’ There had indeed been some thank-you texts from parents gushing about how delicious they were.

      Rachel spotted the tell-tale frown straight away. Damn, she’d broken the lovely spell that her mum’s baking had cast over the kitchen.

      ‘Well, selling them to paying customers is a bit different than offering some puds around at a party.’ Jill sounded unsure of herself, nervous in fact.

      ‘I’m sure people would buy them! I’ve heard so many “yum”, “scrumptious”, and “divine” compliments being thrown around whilst collecting Maisy after school, and if that’s anything to go by, well, they’ll be queuing up.’ Rachel grinned at her mum.

      ‘Oh, I really don’t know, love,’ Jill answered honestly. ‘I do like my baking, but it’s more for pleasure, for us as a family. It was … well, it was always about Dad coming home to a hearty meal and a lovely pudding to look forward to, about you and Maisy tucking in. About Grandma Isabel and Granny Ruth, and all those recipes handed down from the generations before. I don’t know if making it into a business would spoil all that. Like it might lose its heart somehow …’ She gave a small sigh.

      ‘But, maybe, you could share all that with lots more people. Give them a taste of a hearty farmhouse pudding, one made with love, instead of some packet mix or one off the supermarket shelf loaded with preservatives and such like.’ She paused, her tone then becoming serious. ‘We need to try something new to help the farm, Mum.’ Rachel stopped talking, feeling that she had pushed far enough.

      Jill was nodding, but her look was of concern, of wariness. ‘Oh, Rachel, love, I’m just not sure.’

      Jill was notably quieter than usual for the rest of that afternoon and evening, and Rachel felt saddened that she had spoilt her mum’s magical baking moment. So, late the next morning, after coming in from her farm chores and with it all still mulling over in her mind, Rachel felt an apology was called for. She caught up with Jill collecting eggs at the hen house.

      ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I shouldn’t have pushed you yesterday about the baking business. I’d just got excited about the idea. But if it’s not for you …’

      Jill looked up, wicker basket in hand, with several chickens clucking happily around her feet. ‘No, you were right, I need a little shaking up. I’ve had my head stuck in the sand about the farm’s finances for too long now, hoping it would all somehow magically improve. I don’t think I felt I could cope with any more bad news … So, I have been thinking, in fact, more than that … I’ve called in and spoken with Brenda when I went into town this morning … at the Deli in Kirkton. She really liked the idea of selling some of our puddings, especially as they’d be locally made. With the busier summer season coming up, she said she’d be happy to try a few there should we decide to go ahead.’

      ‘Oh wow! That’s great news, Mum.’ And so wonderful that Jill had come on board with the idea.

      ‘So,’ added Jill animatedly, having evidently been thinking more on the project herself, ‘which flavours do you think we should try first?’

      ‘Oooh, now then, your sticky toffee is the bee’s knees and my all-time favourite, so that’s a must, and the sticky chocolate from the party was really popular. What about just keeping it simple while we start out and do those two to begin with?’

      ‘Hmm, we can always add more pudding varieties later, I suppose.’ Jill stood, framed by the stone outbuildings of the farmyard with the rolling hills behind, the warm April sunlight giving her a golden glow.

      ‘Exactly, this is great, Mum. I love the new enthusiasm. You seem excited about the idea. What’s changed?’

      ‘I’ve just been thinking about it, that’s all. And, I did bump into Jan on the high street this morning too and we got chatting.’ Jan was also a farmer’s wife, and understood their lifestyle and situation all too well. She had been Jill’s close friend over many years. ‘We ended up going for coffee and she was telling me all about how the Glen-Robertsons have set up their jam and chutney business at their farm. It seems to be going really well. So, I thought, you know, why not