Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery (39 page)

‘Unbelievable,’ said Kerensa. ‘Of course, Polly was fighting them off all over town.’

‘Of course I WASN’T,’ said Polly. ‘Duh.’

‘Sssh,’ said Kerensa. ‘I’m reminding him how incredibly attractive you are, in case he thinks about heading off again.’

‘Which I only did in the first place for that bloody van, I should point out.’

‘Yes, that van you earned the money for two days after you got there,’ said Kerensa. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter now,’ she went on. ‘Reuben! Buy my friend a bakery! And I’ll put you in sex prison again.’

‘I would like that,’ said Reuben. ‘Okay.’

‘No!’ said Polly. ‘We’ve been through this. I don’t want you to buy me anything. I want to make it on my own. And I can, Nan the Van and I are doing brilliantly. Well, we’re doing okay. We’re doing fine.’

They all turned to look at the Little Beach Street Bakery. Its facing had taken a real battering in the night, and the paint was peeling off one corner. It looked so sad. Inside, however, two people were moving about. Polly screwed her eyes up.

‘Well bloody hell,’ she said. ‘Looks like Jayden’s mum is in tonight.’

‘What do you mean?’

She indicated the two shadowy figures.

‘If Jayden’s mum is in, Jayden is out…’

If you screwed your eyes up, you could just make out, inside the dusty windows of the bakery, Jayden and Flora embracing passionately.

‘She’s going to miss that tide again,’ predicted Polly.

‘Jayden did an interview for the local news,’ said Huckle. ‘I saw them do it. They wanted you and I said I’d ask you. Then I forgot. Sorry.’

‘Oh God,’ said Polly. ‘I couldn’t think of anything worse. Thank goodness.’

Just then, a forlorn figure walked past them from out of the back door of the bakery. He was carrying a small case, and a petty cash tin. He stopped to look at Jayden and Flora, who didn’t even notice him, then carried on past the front door.

It was Malcolm. His face was downcast.

‘Hey, numbnuts!’ shouted Reuben.

‘Stop that, Reuben,’ said Polly. She couldn’t even hate Malcolm now, not after everything that had happened. Now that she had everyone back around her. It didn’t seem to matter now, how he had made her feel.

Malcolm had stopped, as if it was totally inevitable that everybody in Polbearne would call him a numbnuts.

‘What?’

‘How much for your bakery? That you’ve totally ruined.’

Malcolm snuffled. ‘It’s not my bakery,’ he said. ‘It’s my mum’s. She… she doesn’t want me working there any more.’

‘Why not?’ said Polly, getting up, concerned. She moved forward. ‘It wasn’t me, Malcolm, I didn’t take any of your business. The people that came to me weren’t even from here. And I’m sorry I thought you did that to my van. I really am.’

‘No,’ said Malcolm. ‘It wasn’t anything to do with you. Although how could you think I would do that to your van? Don’t answer that.’

‘Hmm,’ said Polly. ‘So what was it then?’

‘I took a little bit of money,’ said Malcolm. He looked sullen and very much like the child he must once have been. ‘Just a tiny bit, to get by. Nothing really. Just a bit of petty cash.’

He held up the box and his face took on a sly look.

‘I’m taking what’s left.’

‘You stole from your own mother?’ said Huckle, aghast.

‘Just…’ Malcolm sighed. ‘I saw this really, really nice trumpet.’

Reuben blinked.

‘Did you get it?’

‘No,’ said Malcolm. ‘I was saving up for it. Then Flora wanted me to buy her a stupid mixer, Christ knows what for, and… well, it got slightly out of control.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Polly. ‘Oh dear, Malcolm, that was stupid.’ She shook her head. ‘Such a waste. It was a lovely little business here. Lovely.’

‘You can probably have it back if you like,’ mumbled Malcolm. ‘All she’s done is bend my ear about how much better it did under you and what an idiot I am. That’s all I’ve had off my mum my whole life.’

Reuben went up to him.

‘How much is this trumpet you want?’

Malcolm sighed. ‘Six hundred and ninety-nine pounds. I’ll never get it now.’

Reuben took out his wallet and uncreased a bunch of notes.

‘Reuben!’ said Polly, shocked at the sight.

‘What?’ said Reuben. ‘This is all foreign money anyhow. It just looks like bumwad to me.’

He peeled off seven notes and handed them over to Malcolm.

‘Now, take this, buy a trumpet and FIND YOUR AWESOME,’ he commanded.

‘Find my what?’

‘FIND YOUR AWESOME.’

‘Awesome?’

‘Say it. Be the best trumpet player in the world.’

‘Say I’m awesome?’

‘Say you’re awesome. Come on, say it.’

‘I’m awesome?’

‘YOU’RE AWESOME.’

‘I’m awesome,’ mumbled Malcolm.

‘SHOUT!’

‘I’M AWESOME!’

‘And again!’

Malcolm moved towards the causeway, heading for the mainland.

‘I’M AWESOME!’

‘YOU’RE AWESOME!’

‘I’M AWESOME!’

‘YOU’RE AWESOME!’

‘I’m awesome,’ came fading across the sea.

‘Numbnuts,’ said Reuben.

 

 

A couple of months later, Jayden was merrily cleaning behind the oven with the fervour of a man in love when he found something: it was a CD, labelled ‘Flora’.

He went up to the old bakery, where Polly had commanded Flora to do nothing but bake all day, whatever she liked, the more experimental the better. Flora was working on cherry coconut biscuits, with Jayden writing the results down in a little book of recipes. They were an outstanding team. A lank strand of hair had fallen out of her hairnet and was swaying in front of her face. Jayden had learned better than to tell her how beautiful he found it.

Jayden asked her about the CD and she said she didn’t know what it was; Malcolm had given it to her and she’d never bothered to stick it on because she didn’t like him very much, and Jayden said did she like him that much and she blushed and said he was all right, which was very much the best compliment Jayden had ever had from a woman under seventy years old ever, and the fact that it was from the most beautiful girl anyone in Polbearne had ever seen made him happier than he’d have thought possible.

Then they did stick it on, and discovered what it was: it was Malcolm, playing the trumpet. Great big streams of silver notes cascaded out of the speakers: jolly tunes, marching tunes, and sad, melancholy laments that tugged at the soul. It was beautiful.

Polly was nowhere to be found in the sitting room when Huckle went looking for her just before bed. Tonight, several weeks on from the storm, the moon was clear, and the stars popped out above them. He had meant to tempt her up on to the gantry again, where the light was once again shining out clean and bright over the town and the rocks, keeping them safe. The workmen had repaired all the broken glass panes, put in a fresh generator that should never fail, and left a full instruction manual. And four storm lanterns.

Instead he found her, of course, in the kitchen. Her sleeves were rolled up and dusty with flour, and she was rolling out cheese croissants for the morning, equally spaced on the big wooden work surface. He watched her for a while, busy, hard at work, totally absorbed, oblivious to his presence.

‘Aren’t you meant to be wearing a hairnet?’ he finally teased, gently. She looked up and grinned at him.

‘I have VERY CLEAN HAIR. In a ponytail, you will notice. Please don’t call environmental health, I’ve had enough problems.’

‘Do you really think she’ll let you have Nan the Van next to the shop?’ asked Huckle, smiling.

‘I’ve been saying it for years: Mount Polbearne needs coffee. Good coffee. And I’m going to do it. Well, Selina’s going to do it.’

‘So you’re expanding?’

Polly smiled. ‘Well, don’t you think it will be good?’

‘More work for you.’

‘I like work,’ said Polly. ‘Also, we’re going to do a lot of honey teas. So you’d better get to work as well, mister.’

He was not in the slightest bit worried about this. He came over and kissed Polly lightly on the back of her neck.

‘Come to bed,’ he said.

‘Eleven minutes.’ She smiled at him. ‘Quicker if you stick all these trays in the dishwasher.’

‘It’s done,’ he said, helping her clean up, the two of them gently chatting, watching the setting sun through the window.

 

 

Later, in bed, just before she came up, he took the crumpled piece of paper out of his wallet one last time and stared at it. It was the advertisement for the engagement ring he had seen, flicking through Candice’s expensive magazine in her front room that day; the ring that he had been saving for, had wanted to present to her triumphantly: a rock on a rock, he had planned to say, which sounded better in his head than when he’d tried it out in front of the mirror.

It could wait. They could wait. The diamonds that glinted in the ad: they looked so cold.

But here, with the heat and warmth of the rising bread, the golden evening, the perfect sky going down on a perfect summer’s day, when the winding streets of Mount Polbearne had been full of happy children with sandwiches and buckets and spades and ice creams, and cheerful, relaxed parents, and Jayden, taking time after the lunchtime shift to go and fondly polish the new and improved taxi boat Reuben had bought the town, only spoiling it slightly by suggesting the town might show its gratitude by electing him mayor or making him king or something… here, all Huckle felt was warmth, in the room, in his heart, in the smile of the strawberry-blonde girl with the dab of flour on the tip of her freckly nose, who even now was walking into the room, lighting up the room just by being there.

Polly stared at it. Jayden was crating up the van and didn’t see it.

‘Huckle!’

Huckle was awake, had got up when he smelled one of the many different coffee roasts Polly had been trying out in the kitchen for Nan the Coffee Van. Everyone was caffeinated all the time. He ran down the steps in twos.

‘What?’

Polly held it up. It had been lying on the front doorstep.

‘What is that?’

‘What do you think it is?’

Huckle rubbed his eyes.

‘A feather?’

‘A feather. Yes.’

Polly looked around.

‘An oily black feather. Who do we know who has oily black feathers?’

Huckle frowned. He’d thought this was kind of over.

Polly walked down another couple of steps. There was another one.

‘Oh Pol, come on, you don’t think…’

‘Who leaves a trail of black feathers?’

‘A sinister Yakuza gang,’ said Huckle. ‘Come on, I have three stops today, all beauticians, and you know what they’re like.’

Polly wasn’t listening. She’d gone round the far side of the lighthouse, past the little rockery made of shells some bored keeper had cultivated many decades ago. She vanished from view. There was a long silence. Huckle looked at the sun coming up. It had been the most glorious summer.

‘HUCKLE!!!!!!’

Huckle went round to the back of the lighthouse. There was nothing there, just rocks leading down to the other side of the headland, more lapping water.

He gasped.

‘No way.’

Silhouetted against the pink sky, Polly was bending down and staring, at a distance, but very, very intently, at a small, chubby bird with a yellow band around its foot.

The bird was staring back. Huckle wondered why Polly didn’t move forward, then he saw it.

The bird was in a nest.

Not only that, there was another bird there.

Not only THAT…

‘Bloody hell,’ he heard Polly say. ‘Is that an EGG?’

She put her hand out, and tentatively – glancing at the other bird, as if to check it was okay – the little puffin hopped out of the nest, then, with a highly familiar wobbly-toddler gait, marched up to Polly. Again glancing back at the nest, it carefully hopped on to her outstretched hand, then, a little more boldly, up her arm. Until, in a final swooping motion, Neil was on Polly’s shoulder, leaning in under her ear, eeping with all his might.

‘NEIL!!!!!!’

Huckle shook his head.

‘He came back,’ he said in disbelief.

Polly looked up at him, eyes shining.

‘Everyone came back,’ she said. ‘Oh my good lord.’ She rubbed Neil behind his ears. ‘Are you going to be a daddy? Goodness!’

Huckle couldn’t help it: he let out a guffaw of laughter.

‘Cor,’ he said. ‘Well. You were right.’

Polly smiled. ‘I know,’ she said proudly. ‘Well, I had my doubts.’

‘No,’ said Huckle stoutly, coming and putting his arm around her shoulders and tickling Neil’s feathers too. The other bird in the nest eyed them both, eeping crossly.

‘Mrs Neil,’ said Huckle. ‘It will be an honour to make your acquaintance. Once you look slightly less likely to peck my eye out.’

‘She’s nesting,’ said Polly, her eyes wet. ‘Oh Huckle, Neil brought his family home.’

‘No,’ said Huckle. ‘You are his family too. He brought his family together.’

He looked out at the rising sun and suddenly realised what he was about to do.

He glanced around desperately and saw a bunch of seaweed on the rocks. Aw, Jeez. It wasn’t the four-carat diamond, but for now, it was going to have to do. He knelt down and brought Polly with him, as if they were going to take a closer look at the nest without threatening the other bird. Neil hopped off Polly and over to the nest, to show it off.

‘Yes, it’s amazing,’ Polly was saying to Neil. Huckle grabbed the seaweed.

‘
You’re
amazing,’ he said. His voice didn’t come out right, it was all croaky. He cleared his throat and tried again.

‘You’re amazing,’ he said. ‘Polly. You.’

She looked at him.

‘Thanks, darling,’ she said. ‘But how incredible…’

Huckle’s voice wouldn’t stay steady.

‘You have to pay me more attention than Neil just this once,’ he said, wobbling. ‘Because whilst we’re down here…’

‘What?’ said Polly, still staring awestruck at her bird.

‘Um, well, I have asked Neil’s permission, and…’

Polly looked at him. He had coiled the seaweed into the shape of a ring.

‘What’s this?’

‘I wanted to get you… I wanted to buy you the biggest diamond ring there ever was, but…’

Polly shook her head. ‘But who cares about things like that?’

Huckle shrugged.

‘I just wanted the best for you… Anyway, it doesn’t matter… Oh, I’m not making a very good job of this, but… will you marry —’

Neil grabbed the end of the seaweed and tried to eat it. Huckle stared at Polly, his eyes damp suddenly. Polly grabbed the seaweed back.

‘No,’ she said quietly but firmly to Neil. ‘I love you and it is good to see you back and have you home. But no. You are not allowed to eat the most beautiful… the most wonderful…’

She broke down.

‘The most amazing engagement ring… Oh God, Huckle! HUCKLE!’

‘Could you quickly say a handy yes or no?’ said Huckle. ‘Before I fall into the sea?’

Polly stood up and flung her arms around him.

‘YES YES YES YES!’ she hollered at the top of her voice.

‘You sound like Selina and that new boyfriend of hers,’ observed Jayden, who was still carrying rolls out to Nan the Van.

Carefully Huckle tied the seaweed around Polly’s fourth finger. ‘We’ll choose another,’ he said.

‘I like this one,’ said Polly stubbornly, and kissed him, then kissed him again. ‘Oh my! Oh my goodness!’

‘I can’t believe you’re surprised,’ said Huckle. ‘Everyone else in this entire town is totally going to yawn when we tell them. They’ve been on at me for months. I can’t go into the bakery without Malcolm’s mother harrumphing at me and making remarks about honest women.’

‘Well I don’t care about anyone else in this town,’ said Polly. ‘Except when I’m feeding them and taking their money and relying on them for friendship and emotional support.’

Huckle beamed at her as she held up the ring and admired it.

‘I don’t want another ring,’ she said. ‘Maybe you could just make me a new one every week when it starts to smell.’

‘We’re going to have health and safety round again.’

Huckle took her in his arms.

‘Do you… I mean… Do you think you could love me as much as you love Neil?’

‘Shut up,’ said Polly. ‘Totally almost!’

Then he held her close again and swung her round in the bright pink dawn light as another perfect summer’s day came in over Mount Polbearne, and the little village started to stir, and Mrs Neil fluffed herself importantly on her egg, and Jayden kept on loading up the trays of bread, and Polly and Huckle kissed on and on as if nothing could ever part them again, and Neil fluttered and flittered and flew up, round and round the whole height of the lighthouse, higher and higher, his feathers catching the very first rays of the morning sun.

 

 

‘And are you still dreaming about him?’
 

Selina’s face was distant.
 

‘Yes,’ she said, with a noise like a small sigh escaping her lips. ‘Sometimes. But now, it’s just like he’s there. Do you understand? Just like he’s there and it’s nice to see him.’
 

‘And how does that make you feel?’
 

‘Happy. Sad. Happy and sad. Isn’t that good enough?’
 

The therapist closed her notebook.
 

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, it is.’