Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery (31 page)

‘That doesn’t look very nice.’

‘I know,’ said Kerensa glumly.

‘Want to stay over? You’ve missed the tide.’

‘No, I’ll wait for the next one. I wish Reuben still had that damn boat and could just come and pick me up. That is the one thing I miss. And the helicopter.’

‘It’ll take him a while on the micro-scooter.’

‘Don’t diss the micro-scooter,’ said Kerensa. ‘He’s lost about nine pounds on that thing.’

‘What, through shame?’

Kerensa smiled. ‘You should know by now that Reuben doesn’t do shame.’

She linked arms with Polly.

‘Come on, let’s go halves on a small glass of cider.’

 

 

Later on, Polly waved Kerensa off across the causeway. The tide was going out, but the waves were still splashing over the top of the cobbles. Kerensa was a good and unfazed driver though, and pushed the little Datsun she’d been reduced to through without incident.

Polly frowned at the sky and kept her fingers crossed that the power would stay on if there was a big storm. It was the time of year for it: they’d had a couple of very hot days now, but there was still a lot of cold air circling round in the system. The lighthouse itself never went out, of course – it had a back-up generator – but the rooms were on the mains, and sitting in the dark above the sea frankly wasn’t a lot of fun, unless Huckle was there, in which case it was a ton of fun.

The clouds kept gathering, and there was a strong feeling of electricity and static in the air without anything actually happening. It was getting warmer, and the clouds had a purply mustard streak that Polly didn’t like at all. She decided to ring Huckle quickly.

‘Hey,’ she said before he could get a word in. ‘Sorry about yesterday.’

‘Nobody said this was going to be easy,’ said Huckle straight away. ‘That’s okay. You’re allowed to feel like you’re alone. But you know, you’re not.’

‘I know,’ said Polly. ‘Kerensa told me that. And Jayden, too. Then Selina rang, and —’

‘See!’ said Huckle. ‘You are totally surrounded by all your mates at all times. I don’t have a friend in the world out here! Except for…’ His voice trailed off.

‘Except for who?’

‘Well, I see Candice a bit, you know. Only friendly kind of thing.’

Polly felt a sudden clutch of nerves. She’d never met Candice, but she knew that a) she was incredibly fit and blonde and beautiful, from a photograph she’d come across, and b) she had broken Huckle’s heart completely and utterly before Polly had met him, so much so that he’d had to move to another continent to get away from her. He said he was totally over it, but men say a lot of things.

‘Well obviously,’ said Polly, her heart thumping in her chest. There was a pause. ‘Do you see her a lot?’

‘I see her AND HER FIANCÉ RON from time to time, yes.’

‘And what does she think you should do?’

It was then that Huckle made his fatal mistake.

‘Well, you know, she’s a businesswoman…’

Polly went completely silent. There was a very long pause.

‘And what am I?’ she said finally. ‘A hobbyist?’

Huckle felt exasperated and guilty.

‘Polly,’ he said. ‘You have to stop this.’

‘Stop what? Running a shop?’

‘No! Trying to catch me out! Ever since I left, you’ve been trying to find hidden meanings in what I’m saying. Blaming me for stuff we both agreed to do.’

‘I’m not doing that!’

‘That’s exactly what you’re doing.’

‘Well, I’m very tired.’

The exhaustion showed in Huckle’s voice.

‘We’re all tired, Poll. You have to try a little harder.’

‘You’re not the one sat here all alone in —’

‘In a lighthouse, I know. The lighthouse you insisted on buying despite that estate agent and surveyor begging you not to. The lighthouse that needs thousands and thousands spent on it to make it even vaguely habitable. The lighthouse in which we camp. The lighthouse you wouldn’t dream of leaving for five minutes to come and spend time with me. The lighthouse that by the way has more than one room, which is more than I’ve got, because my life is on the farm now, and I live in a single bed in a spare room the size of a box. For you. But please, go on about it some more.’

Polly had never heard Huckle so angry. It took so much to wind him up; she’d kind of taken it for granted that he would always be mellow, and absorb her moods. This was new and a bit shocking.

She swallowed hard.

‘Can you come home?’

‘Not yet,’ said Huckle. ‘Can you come here?’

‘It’s the middle of the summer season.’

‘Well then,’ said Huckle, ‘we’ll just have to carry on.’

And there was a tiny little pause, in which both of them worried, just for a split second, whether or not they could.

Huckle couldn’t help being annoyed with Polly. She was at home with all her mates, her business was going well, everything was totally fine. Why did she have to be so cross with him all the time, really? Then he’d come upon Clemmie in the kitchen, bent over, sobbing her heart out over the stove. He’d run to her, petrified, thinking something was wrong with the baby. But she was scared, that was all. He had cursed and said he was absolutely emailing Dubose, and she had begged him not to, and he had wanted to kick the wall in frustration. Instead, he’d gone back to the accounts: hay, corn, feed stocks. This was a good farm. There was no reason why Dubose couldn’t make a good happy living here, a good happy life. None at all.

Polly tossed and turned half the night, then finally gave up around three and got up and started kneading and twisting fresh dough, as usual the only thing that could calm her down. She wanted to call Huckle, but what would happen? Another fight?

He’d made his position very clear. She prodded, as she kneaded, at her deepest, darkest fear: that he was happier in America than he was at home with her. She couldn’t help feeling this way. She knew he was working hard, but even so. Life had, she fondly imagined, to be easier there.

They didn’t have any of the comforts of the modern world in Polbearne, not really. One motorbike, one tatty old falling-down lighthouse in desperate need of care and attention; no Wi-Fi or theatre or culture or even half-decent television reception; one half of a career that earned pennies and finished at eleven o’clock every morning…

She tried not to let her tears plop into the dough. Even Rob Harrison, the very early-morning DJ, couldn’t perk her up. She loved Huckle, loved him to bits, but she also loved her job, she loved Mount Polbearne, her life was here: everything she’d made herself, everything she’d built up from nothing. And she was accepted here, finally – well, more or less: this was her home.

Her heart churned as she kneaded the dough, her brain going round and round on a track. It was a great relief when Jayden, bless his heart, did indeed arrive at 5 a.m., which meant she had to dry her tears as quickly as she was able. He did a thorough scrub-down of the kitchen, which helped a lot, whilst also mentioning excitedly that he’d popped into the post office on the mainland and said he was available, and had spoken to the postman there who’d had the Mount Polbearne route for twenty years, even though it drove him crazy with the lack of street names and the fact that half the surnames were the same, and the many, many hours he’d spent waiting for the tide to turn so he could get his delivery in, and the heaviness of lugging his bag across on his bicycle, which was not at all designed to be ridden on slippery wet cobbles, and he hated that damn island and if it was up to him, the villagers would all have to make their way across to the mainland like normal bloody people if they wanted their mail, it was an absolute bloody scandal and had given him sciatica. Anyway, that was everything he had to say on the subject. So, the postie was coming up for retirement, and Jayden had come away with an application form, which was making him quite excited. He reckoned he could start at Polly’s at five, do his rounds and be finished with his two jobs for the day by nine.

‘So I’ll be getting double bubble AND have my whole day to myself,’ he said, with some satisfaction. ‘That’ll be the life for me. And I’ll save up. For the best damn car Mount Polbearne’s ever seen.’

‘Mount Polbearne’s only got four cars,’ Polly pointed out. It really wasn’t worth bringing them over from the mainland: there was nowhere to drive to, plus the salt water and sea air ate through the metal in about six months. Plus insurance was utterly insane. So insane, in fact, that Polly was highly suspicious that anybody who had a car was actually insured at all.

‘Well mine will easily be the best car, then, won’t it?’ said Jayden, with unavoidable logic, as they carried the half-baked fresh loaves downstairs to fill Nan the Van to the rafters. By now it was pink and golden outside, the heavy clouds of yesterday dispersed; it was going to be the most beautiful day.

‘So can Huckle come back now?’ Jayden said.

‘Oh for God’s sake, can everyone stop asking me that?’

Jayden’s friendly, boyish face crinkled.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘That must make you sad.’

‘Yes, it does,’ Polly said weakly.

‘Can’t you just tell him to come back now you’ve got your super van? And me working for you, and that stunning model girl.’

‘Selina?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Hang on, I thought Flora was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen in your life and she’d completely broken your heart.’

‘Yeah,’ said Jayden. ‘But I appreciate… well, most ladies really.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ said Jayden shyly. ‘I didn’t meet many growing up. Only got brothers, then with the fishing… I think you’re all lovely. You all smell so nice.’

‘Uh, all right,’ said Polly hurriedly.

‘Oh, I didn’t mean you. You’re my boss.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘Anyway, I hope Huckle comes back soon,’ said Jayden. ‘I really miss him.’

‘Thank you, Jayden,’ said Polly, pushing open the lighthouse door. She only locked it in the summer during the daytime, and that was only after she’d come home once to find a family of wide-eyed holidaymakers in her sitting room, with the father extemporising, ‘…
and then one day the lighthouse keepers simply vanished without a trace
’, at which she’d had to shoo them out, which had scared the children of the party, who thought she was the lighthouse ghost. Since then she’d had a ‘Private Property’ sign put up at the bottom of the steps, even though a) she thought it looked a bit mean and petty, given that the view really did belong to everyone, and b) it didn’t stop people coming up the steps anyway, walking right round the lighthouse and patting her van.

As they reached the van, she got such a shock, she nearly dropped her tray. They both stood and stared at it together. On the closed side – the side facing the sea, away from the lighthouse – scrawled in huge, angry letters was the word ‘SLAG’.

‘Oh God,’ said Polly. ‘Oh my. Oh dear.’

Carefully, before she dropped them, she put the loaves on the ground, and her hands flew to her mouth.

Jayden shook his head.

‘Who on earth would do that?’

He turned to her.

‘There was no one here when I came up. But I didn’t see it, it’s facing the other way, and it was dark.’

‘I know,’ said Polly. ‘Why would you? Oh God. Oh God, who would…’

There was a pause.

‘Malcolm,’ said Polly and Jayden at the same time.

‘He must have found out how well the van is doing,’ said Polly. She’d gone completely white.

‘And that you’ve given me a job,’ said Jayden.

Polly shook her head. The word was so abrasive, so shocking and nasty.

Jayden ran back into the lighthouse and re-emerged with some cleaning products and a brush, but it was no use, they couldn’t get it off. It was properly done with spray paint. The entire van would need to be resprayed.

‘I’m going to kill him,’ said Jayden.

‘What’s happening to our town?’ said Polly. ‘It was always so happy here. And now it’s shouting and spray paint and graffiti and just awful things.’

‘Are you going to tell Huckle?’

Polly thought of everything she hadn’t told Huckle – the harassment, the shouting – for fear of him getting cross and being unable to do anything from so far away and wanting her just to leave. She shook her head.

‘He’ll be too annoyed,’ she said. She sniffed, heavily.

‘Thank God you’re here,’ she said to Jayden, who frowned.

‘I think I might have made things worse,’ he said. ‘I think it might be because of me and the bakery thing. Tipped him over the edge.’

‘I’m not a slag, though,’ said Polly. ‘Not that that makes any difference.’

Jayden went back towards the lighthouse again.

‘Do you have any old sheets?’

‘Um,’ said Polly. ‘Only one.’ It was the one she used to line Neil’s box when it was cold in the wintertime.

‘Can we use it?’ said Jayden. ‘You need to cover this up, otherwise people will point and laugh and say things.’

‘Thanks, Jayden,’ said Polly. ‘Uh, yeah. It’s in the cupboard to the right of the fourth stairway.’

‘Fourth, huh?’ said Jayden. ‘Seriously, I don’t know how you can live here.’

Those words echoed in Polly’s brain. Out at sea, the fishing boats were steaming in and the waves glowed pink and gold in the early-morning sun. It was as beautiful a place as could be imagined, the chill of the dawn being burnt off by the rising sun, as gently as the bread rising in its pans, waiting to be turned golden in the heat of the oven; waiting with the promise of the new day to be grabbed and relished. And yet everything inside Polly felt like it was crumbling to dust.

One of the fishing boats puttered over, fearfully close to the rocks.

‘Wassat, Polly?’ shouted Archie, looking concerned. He pointed at the van. ‘Who done that?’

Polly shrugged. ‘The new baker guy, I think.’

Archie’s face grew dark.

‘Right, that’s it,’ he said. ‘I’ve had absolutely enough of this. We’re boycotting.’

‘We tried to boycott before,’ said Kendall, ‘but we got a bit hungry. Their stuff is horrible, but you know.’

‘Sssh,’ said Archie. ‘You weren’t meant to say.’

‘That’s okay,’ said Polly. ‘I don’t mind, really. You can’t come out across the causeway every time you need a sandwich.’

‘We will now,’ said Archie. ‘And we’ll tell everyone else as well.’

‘And we’ll set the bakery on fire,’ said Kendall.

‘No, don’t do that,’ said Polly and Archie at once.

‘Still, that is a terrible thing,’ said Archie, shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry to see it in our town, I really am.’

Polly nodded. ‘Me too.’

‘It feels like… it just feels like so much has gone wrong since last year.’

Polly looked at Archie with concern. Every time she had thought he might be getting a little better, grieving a little less, carrying a little less of the weight of the world around with him on the boat, it seemed not to be so. Selina was horribly up and down, but at least she tried. And Polly herself… she just felt so stuck.

Jayden came down with the old sheet.

‘Ahoy!’ he shouted. ‘Did you see what that prick did to Polly?’

‘We’re going to burn down the bakery!’ said Kendall.

‘No we’re not!’ said Archie again.

‘Oh yeah, burn it down,’ said Jayden. ‘He totally deserves it.’

‘Yeah!’ said Kendall.

‘Maybe just the sheet for now,’ said Polly. ‘Thank you. No burning down, I mean it.’

Archie nodded.

‘We’ll come and fix the van,’ he said. ‘Just let us get the haul in, and we’ll see you in a bit.’

 

 

Polly and Jayden drove carefully across to the car park and set up their stall with Neil’s old sheet hiding the ugly word. They began to serve the usual crowd of customers – more today, in fact, it was so beautiful outside – and handed out buns and baguettes with alacrity.

Someone cornered Polly saying they made a local cheese and might she be interested in it for sandwiches. She tasted it – it was a gentle creamy blue, completely delicious, and she took their details and promised to consider it.

Jayden disappeared at eight and Polly waited for Selina to come and help serve, but she didn’t appear. Their arrangement was very casual, and it was entirely possible that Selina had taken the opportunity on this beautiful day to sunbathe, so Polly threw herself into serving and cleaning and getting things out of the oven before they burned and giving change and smiling at her regulars, and in general, although she was still shocked and upset by what had happened, she was busy enough to kind of take her mind off it.

Things got slightly better when, sure enough, the little taxi boat turned up with Archie and Sten and Kendall on it, plus a large tin of green paint.

‘Sorry, me lover,’ said Archie. ‘Green is all we got because of the boat, see.’
Trochilus II
, the fishing boat, was a fine sharp green colour. ‘But I tell you, it’s the best paint there is. Won’t never shift once we put it on.’