Hetty's Farmhouse Bakery

by Cathy Bramley

  She had really tested my flavour combinations to the max with her pie requests. After admitting that she’d invited members of a regional business network to which she belonged to her open day, to show off her shop and taste her wares, she further confessed that she’d promised to provide a pie lunch for all the suppliers who were taking part too. She’d asked me to deliver some piping hot and some at room temperature and I was going to do my best to comply. My heart went out to Naomi; she had invested so much time and money into making the open day a success, it was hardly surprising that she’d forgotten that her usual bakery was closed. But I was happy to help and although I didn’t mention this at the time, being set a giant task which would take up most of my day and keep my brain busy was the perfect way to cushion me from the loss of Rusty.

  I glanced at the clock and a twinge of adrenalin shot through me: it was time to get baking.

  I took the pastry out of the fridge and tied on my apron, mentally running through the order in which I should tackle the job. I decided to make four at a time; that was the most I could fit in the Aga in one go and I could make the next four while the first lot was baking. Yesterday I’d made five fillings: two sweet, three savoury, as per Naomi’s instructions, almost solely made with ingredients from her shop.

  My pies were special, if I said so myself. Poppy wasn’t exaggerating on Thursday when she said that I was good at making them. My pastry was light and soft; it melted in the mouth without being too fatty or too crumbly. I used a mix of butter and vegetable shortening – a bit old fashioned, but it worked – and I always added egg yolk to give richness and a lovely golden colour. My favourite shape was a free-form pie, roughly circular, baked straight on to a baking sheet with a domed centre promising a generous filling and – my speciality – a twisted crimp hinting at the skills I’d picked up working in the Cornish pasty shop.

  But all of these factors faded into the background compared to my fillings. This was where I let my imagination run wild. A pie made with sweet pears might be delicious, but with the addition of honey and a few crumbs of blue cheese it became sublime. To tender chunks of lamb, I added mint, fresh peas and asparagus tips for a pie that tasted like a Cumbrian spring morning, while slivers of strong local Cheddar inserted into slices of our home-grown Bramley apples sent everyone’s taste buds into overdrive. For me baking was alchemy, a blending of flavours and textures wrapped up in a crispy pastry crust – the more unusual, yet complementary, the better. And I was yet to bake one that didn’t get hoovered up; everybody loved them.

  Poppy emerged an hour later just as I pulled four golden-crusted apple, walnut and Cheddar pies from the Aga. She was dressed only in the vest and shorts that she wore as pyjamas because they were too small to be decent these days.

  ‘Is there any custard?’ She perched her chin on my shoulder as I eased a palette knife underneath the bottom of one of the pies to free it from the baking sheet. ‘I can have some of that for breakfast.’

  ‘Oh no you can’t. This is for the farm shop,’ I said, kissing my daughter’s cheek and inhaling her toasty just-woken-up smell.

  I directed her to the tray of bacon in the top oven instead and she made herself a bacon sandwich while I popped four pear and honey pies in to bake.

  ‘I’ll make pastry decorations for the next batch,’ she said, after she’d polished off her sandwich and a mug of milky tea.

  I fetched her an apron and sent her to wash her hands and then poured myself a coffee while I watched her cut letters out of my pastry remnants.

  ‘There,’ she said, standing back, head to one side as she examined her handiwork. ‘The next pie can have our name on it.’

  ‘Very apt,’ I agreed, taking a heavy earthenware dish out of the fridge. ‘Because this pie sums up the very best of Sunnybank Farm: spring lamb, pearl barley and thyme. Except I’m making four of them, so can I have more letters please?’

  ‘Ooh.’ Poppy looked impressed. ‘Very fancy.’

  She chatted away, telling me about a boy at school who was a brilliant footballer. He only had one hand but he never let it stop him doing anything and Poppy, judging by how many times she called him ‘awesome’, obviously had a bit of a soft spot for him. While she talked, I rolled out four more circles of pastry for the lamb pies, waiting for her to get bored of pastry cutting. It wouldn’t be long; she’d be cleaning out the chickens and then joining her dad for a bit of shepherding before I knew it. But for now, she was in my world, my cosy farmhouse kitchen, and I was content just to enjoy her company and drink her in.

  Chapter 5

  ‘Cooee!’

  A familiar voice cut through our conversation and Anna let herself into the kitchen. She skipped over to Poppy who was nearest to the door, and gave her a hug. Poppy was already taller than Anna; she’d be catching me up soon too, no doubt. ‘Hello, gorgeous girl. Any coffee going, Hetty?’

  Anna had her blonde hair scooped up into a ponytail and looked fresh and youthful in jeans, a blue-and-white striped T-shirt and lipstick which matched her pillar-box red Converse. Whereas I, I noticed, catching sight of my reflection in the small mirror next to the umbrella stand, had a red face, dried-on egg wash up my arms and probably floury handprints on the seat of my jeans.

  ‘This is a lovely surprise!’ I beamed, pleased to see her. ‘Coffee coming up.’

  ‘Ahh, look at you two baking together.’ Anna sighed. ‘Like something out of a nineteen fifties TV ad for lard.’

  ‘Lard?’ I snorted.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about baking, do I?’ She waved a hand at the floury table. Anna was one of Naomi’s best customers: buying readymade dishes which simply needed heating up. She’d got good at cooking lamb, though, because I supplied her with meat from Sunnybank Farm on a regular basis. ‘What are you wearing under that apron, Poppy?’

  ‘Not much,’ I said, answering for her, and regarding my daughter properly for the first time. I made a mental note to take her to be re-measured for a new bra. Soon. ‘Perhaps you should get dressed, Pops.’

  ‘Mum!’ Poppy sighed heavily. ‘I’m fine; no one’s going to see me.’

  Anna and I shared a grin; we’d been exasperated by our own families at just the same age.

  ‘I think she looks great,’ said a voice that managed to span two octaves in one short sentence. It was Bart, poking his head into the kitchen. He coughed to clear his throat.

  His voice was breaking, bless him, and there was the faint hint of a blond moustache above his mouth. I would have scooped him up and hugged him if it wouldn’t have horrified him.

  ‘You see, Hetty.’ Anna winked at me, poured herself a small cup of black coffee and added sugar. ‘My boy knows. You’re just out of touch with fashion.’

  ‘Bart!’ Poppy gave a yelp and scampered out of the room towards the stairs. ‘I’m just going to … I’ll be down in a minute.’

  Bart stared after Poppy for a long moment and then gave himself a shake. ‘I’m starting work at the farm today.’

  ‘Of course!’ I said. With all the events of the last day and a half, it had slipped my mind. ‘Would you like a drink or did you want to go and find Dan?’

  There was a rumble outside as the man himself came speeding into the yard on the quad bike.

  Bart looked over his shoulder and then smiled shyly. ‘I’d better pass on the drink; tell Poppy I’ll catch her later.’

  I pressed a hand to my chest and sighed.

  ‘Those two are so cute,’ I whispered to Anna. ‘Imagine if they ended up together.’

  My best friend looked appalled. ‘No, don’t say that!’

  ‘Why not? We’d be related; I think it would be fab!’ I said, surprised at her response. Wasn’t my daughter good enough for her precious son?

  ‘Ignore me,’ she said with a soft laugh. ‘I’m just not ready to relinquish my position as the top female in his life.’

  I pulled her into a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ll be his numero uno for a long time yet. And anyway, Poppy has
just been very sweetly telling me all about another boy, so I don’t think she sees Bart in that way.’

  Anna’s face relaxed. ‘Phew.’ She rolled her eyes at her own over-the-top reaction. ‘Listen to me; Poppy is adorable and you know I think the world of her, but think of the problems it would cause if it didn’t work out for them. I’d hate it if anything came between you and me.’

  My heart tweaked for her; she was so invested in Bart, so involved with every aspect of his life, determined that he wouldn’t miss out simply because his father wasn’t around. I sometimes worried about how she would cope when he finally flew the nest.

  I realized Anna was now talking about exactly that: how life would change when Bart left home and I gave myself a shake.

  ‘Listen, I know you like to keep your relationships light and casual,’ I said diplomatically, ‘but isn’t it time you looked for something a bit more long lasting? That way, when Bart does leave home, you won’t feel quite so lonely.’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘I think it would be difficult for Bart to accept a man in the house. He and I have a great time together; I don’t want to ruin that.’

  ‘You’re a good mum, you know,’ I said, smiling warmly at my friend, ‘but I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to make such sacrifices for his sake.’

  Anna pulled an unconvinced face and then we both turned to look out of the kitchen window as the dogs began to bark like crazy. Bart had climbed on to the quad bike and Dan was showing him the controls while Jake and Fern were doing their utmost to get run over by dancing round the bike’s tyres.

  Anna sucked in air. ‘He will be okay on that contraption, won’t he?’

  ‘Don’t worry, he’s in safe hands,’ I said with complete confidence, watching my husband give the teenager the thumbs-up to drive the vehicle forward.

  My heart fluttered then, wishing as I did from time to time that we’d had the big family I’d hoped to raise in this beautiful place. Dan would have loved a son of his own to carry on the Greengrass name. Never mind, I thought, stoically, he’d be in his element showing Bart the ropes today and he had a daughter whose heart would for ever be at Sunnybank Farm, whatever she ended up doing with her life …

  ‘Hetty?’ Anna shook my arm and sniffed the air. ‘You’re miles away. Can I smell burning?’

  ‘Yikes, my pear and honey pies!’ I leapt to my feet, brandishing my oven gloves.

  Right on schedule, all the pies were ready, the kitchen had been cleaned up and so had the cook. I gave my reflection a final once-over in the mirror by the door to check for stray crumbs-on-cheek and was pleasantly surprised: the recent spell of warm weather had brought colour to my cheeks and the rare swish of eyeliner coupled with the blue of my denim shirtdress did wonders for my green eyes. Dan always liked me in blue, which was lucky seeing as I spent most of my time in jeans.

  I collected the last crate of pies and let myself out of the kitchen, taking care not to bash any corners on the way out.

  Anna had already taken most of the pies up for me, so I only needed to make one trip now and after flattening the rear seats in my little car, I’d just about got enough room. I slid the crate in and did a quick count-up: five lamb pies, complete with Sunnybank Farm pastry letters; five chicken, chestnut and sherry, and four sheep’s cheese, chard and poppy seed. The first two were proven winners, but the last combo was a brand-new invention and I hoped Naomi would approve; she’d had all the ingredients in her shop yesterday and coming from a sheep farm, it was an apt choice, and brimming with the local provenance people seemed to go wild for.

  The aroma of the still-warm pies was wonderful and the windows had started to steam up by the time I’d fastened my seat belt. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that it was a long time since breakfast; I hoped there’d be plenty of food to try at the shop. Preferably not pie; I was all pied-out for today. I set off, driving with infinite care along the track to the farm shop, creeping at a snail’s pace over the cattle grids to avoid arriving with nothing but crates full of crumbs.

  When I got there, there were no free parking spots; even the last disabled space had just been filled, so I reversed up to the front door between two big old water troughs which were now home to bright displays of foxgloves, pansies and nasturtiums. There was a trestle table full of little plants for sale too, next to a display of organic vegetables in a lovely old wooden market barrow.

  Naomi and her assistant Tess appeared to help me unload before I was even out of the car.

  ‘Hooray for Hetty’s pies!’ Naomi pressed a hand to her chest in relief. ‘Thanks so much, you’re a lifesaver.’

  ‘Pleasure’s all mine,’ I said, feeling the by now customary lump form in my throat. ‘I’ve been too busy to cry over Rusty this morning.’

  Naomi pulled a sympathetic face and Tess wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

  ‘Lovely plant display, Tess,’ I said, nodding to the troughs.

  ‘Thank you. Next year I shall take orders for hanging baskets, but I wanted to start small to begin with.’ Tess smiled proudly and then made a show of looking me up and down. ‘A dress? Not used to seeing your legs. If I had such shapely pins, I’d be flashing them in miniskirts. As it is I’ve got two tree trunks and folks will be happier if I keep them under wraps.’

  I flapped a hand, secretly pleased. I wouldn’t normally get myself dolled up to go to the farm shop but Naomi had asked me if I’d stay at the open day a while and I’d felt obliged to get changed.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Naomi with a smile. ‘Some men appreciate a sturdy pair of thighs. You could be known as Tree-trunk Tess.’

  Tess shot her a look of mock indignation. ‘Thanks. I’ll put it on my Tinder profile.’

  She was a single mum in her early forties with grown-up children who’d both flown the nest over the past year. Since then she’d been dividing her time between eating her bodyweight in crisps and keeping tabs on how long it had been since she’d had sex, until Naomi had suggested she take up a hobby to fill up her new-found free time. So after giving it some thought she’d started up a small plants business on the side. She was now supplying plants to the farm shop and had lost a stone in weight. Unfortunately, she still hadn’t bagged herself a man, but now she claimed she was too busy anyway.

  ‘I was under strict instructions to make an effort,’ I said, nodding to Naomi, who also looked extra smart in black trousers, crisp white shirt and ballerina pumps. ‘I didn’t want to let the side down.’

  Tess hooted with laughter. ‘No, she’s got me to do that. She’s already had to wrestle the sloe gin samples out of my hand.’

  ‘Only when you and Tim started your Kiki Dee and Elton John duet,’ Naomi muttered.

  I grinned. That meant my long-suffering brother-in-law Tim had been roped in to help too.

  ‘Ah,’ Tess nudged her boss, ‘don’t go breaking my heart.’

  ‘I couldn’t if I tried.’

  The two of them burst out laughing, and I thought how lovely it would be to work with someone day in day out and still get on so well. Which Dan and I did in a way, I suppose, but female camaraderie, well, it was something different, wasn’t it?

  ‘Ooh, get a whiff of them!’ Tess inhaled deeply as I opened up the boot.

  ‘These look amazing, Hetty. We can start serving them straight away.’ Naomi dived into the back of the car so eagerly that she nearly ended up on top of the pies.

  ‘Steady on,’ Tess chuckled, grabbing the back of Naomi’s shirt. ‘She’s all at sixes and sevens since she found out the TV is coming to interview her for the news.’

  ‘They’re definitely coming, then?’ I winked at Tess. ‘Now I see why she’s ditched the fleece for a change.’

  ‘For your information, ladies, I will be wearing my fleece for the interview because it’s got our logo on. But all this running around has made me hot.’ Naomi bent over the pies and pulled out two crates, handing one to Tess and the other to me. ‘And I didn’t tell you to make an effort; all I said
was take your pinny off and check your face for flour smears.’

  A sudden thought occurred to me. ‘We aren’t all going to be on TV, are we?’

  Naomi shook her head, turning back to the car. ‘No, no, no. I just wanted you to meet the Sunrise Breakfast Club members.’

  I smiled. ‘Oh, how sweet! Are the children here now?’

  ‘Ha, it might sound like a kids’ group,’ Tess’s body shook with mirth before heading towards the shop, ‘but it’s grown men and women who meet up for a chat and a bowl of cornflakes of a morning before work.’

  I grinned at my sister-in-law. ‘Sounds fun.’

  ‘Hardly,’ said Naomi primly. ‘It’s a very serious business group. We discuss real issues and do valuable networking while most other people are still slobbing around in their pyjamas.’

  ‘I see.’ I nodded solemnly. It sounded like a dreadful way to start the day to me.

  ‘Gosh, those are adorable,’ she said, spotting the pastry letters on the lamb pies. ‘In our last meeting we were discussing making the most of Carsdale skills and products, and your pies are part of that, so thanks for coming.’

  I shrugged. ‘A pleasure. It was either that or going out into the meadow to check lambs’ bottoms to see if they needed worming … so hardly a choice at all.’

  Naomi tucked a crate under each arm, determined to carry more than everyone else. ‘That’s the problem with the warm weather; brings the flies out in hordes.’

  An elderly couple making slow progress arm-in-arm up the ramp leading to the shop entrance shot us a worried look.

  ‘Flies?’ said the woman in a loud whisper. ‘I hope they’re going to cover those pies.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Naomi called, bestowing a calming smile on her customers as she strode by. ‘There are no flies on us, plus we’ll be giving away free samples while they’re still warm. And make sure you come and try our local cheeses too.’