Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery (18 page)

‘I think we’d know,’ said Huckle. ‘Anyway, I called Mom. He sent them an email… asking for money.’

‘Oh,’ said Polly. ‘Your brother is the WORST chancer.’

‘I know,’ said Huckle. ‘But anyway. I’ve been thinking.’

Polly felt an anxious feeling deep in her stomach.

‘I can go back,’ said Huckle.

‘No,’ said Polly instantaneously.

‘Shush,’ said Huckle. ‘I can go back. I can make money on the farm. Gaw, making money is all I used to be good at, till I got into the honey trade. I haven’t worked on a farm for a while, but I can do it. And it pays reasonably well. Clemmie will put me up.’

‘You can’t go!’

‘Are you going to listen to me or are you just going to talk yourself into a gigantic panic?’ said Huckle, kindly but firmly. ‘Listen to me. I’d been thinking about this anyway, even before what happened, otherwise I can’t see how on earth we’ll ever make the lighthouse into anything other than a death trap.’

‘It’s not a death trap!’

‘What about that stair moss?’

‘I can’t believe you’re bringing the stair moss up again.’

‘I just think most people live in houses that don’t have moss.’

‘Well hooray for them.’

Polly’s face looked cross. Huckle rubbed her back and arms.

‘Look,’ he said, his voice low and soothing, ‘I go back to the States, work for a few months, make some money. Clemmie needs help. And I’ll save Dubose his job for when he gets home. Not that he deserves it. I’ll send you the money. I will trust you not to spunk it all on shoes and getting your nails done.’

Polly managed a tiny grin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her nails done.

‘When you’ve got your van up and running, I’ll come back again. Get back into my highly demanding career of being occasional honey-collector and bee-keeper and hanging-out-with-Polly-and-Neil-er.’

Polly looked at him.

‘But you can’t go. I’ll miss you!’

Huckle nodded. ‘Well, good. I would find it very difficult if you didn’t notice or remotely care.’

‘Can’t we get through this together?’

‘This
is
getting through this together,’ said Huckle. ‘All of us together. Sorry, Poll. I apologise for my family baggage.’

Polly’s eyes were wide. She thought of Selina sending Tarnie off for weeks on end, his dangerous work miles away from home. She thought of sailors’ wives everywhere who waited months for their men to come home; of men who raised families whilst their wives did night shifts and collapsed, exhausted, to try and grab a few hours’ sleep in the noisy day; of the men who worked on oil rigs; of divers, and soldiers, and women who left their children behind in other countries to earn a crust. And poor abandoned Clemmie, in love with the handsome, carefree Dubose.

Huckle grabbed her and held her tight.

‘Don’t think I won’t miss you,’ he said. ‘Every second of the day.’

‘All those American girls will want to eat you up,’ grumbled Polly, trying to stop a tear coming to her eye.

‘Yeah, fortunately I can only get turned on by an English accent these days,’ said Huckle. ‘Seriously, anything else just puts me right off.’

Polly laughed.

‘You are surrre, monsieurrr?’

‘What’s that?’ said Huckle. ‘Lebanese?’

‘Shut up! It’s French!’

‘Oh,’ said Huckle. ‘Well, actually, you know, that one appears to be working too.’

‘Disproves your theory,’ said Polly. Huckle shook his head and pulled her closer to him.

‘Proves it,’ he said. ‘The only person in the entire world for me is you. We need this for us.’

‘You promise it won’t be for long?’

 

 

They blew out the candles one by one, except for one each, which they took downstairs to their bedroom and placed either side of the bed. Outside there was nothing except, every so often, the waves, and then Mount Polbearne, lit by the light from above their heads.

‘This is kind of romantic,’ Polly said.

‘Whoop! Sorry, it’s hard to pee in the dark,’ yelled Huckle from the bathroom. ‘Sorry!’

‘Okay, so there
was
a romantic mood going on,’ said Polly, smiling. She went and looked out of the window. Could she manage? Could she cope with Huckle gone? He was her rock, her everything. But also, she felt inside herself, also there was something else.

Because she’d been alone before. Because she’d started over before. Because, Kerensa’s help aside, she had had to deal with Tarnie’s death alone too. And that had changed her. She wasn’t as needy as she once had been. Even though she had failed, she knew somewhere deep inside that when you were tested with the worst that could happen, and you didn’t fall apart, then more things were possible than you imagined. Everyone was stronger than they thought they could be, when the worst came to the worst. It was one of the very few good things about confronting the worst.

Huckle came out of the loo looking slightly shamefaced, and cuddled up to her.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘I am thinking,’ said Polly, ‘that as long as you come back…’

‘I have a gorgeous naked woman who bakes, a friendly local pub, a motorbike and a lighthouse,’ said Huckle. ‘I am fascinated to know just exactly what you think this world holds that is better than what I have going on right now. Apart from, you know. A fireman’s pole.’

She smiled and cuddled up to him.

‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ she said.

‘Uh-oh,’ said Huckle. ‘Are you going to watch
Game of Thrones
without me?’

‘No!’ said Polly, horrified. ‘God, I would never do that to you! The betrayal! No, we can watch it together every night. I’ll stay up late and you can watch it on the farm.’

Huckle nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Employers almost never mind that.’

‘No, it’s not that,’ she said. ‘But you know I don’t mean this the way it’s going to sound…’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Huckle.

‘I can do without you,’ said Polly. ‘For a little bit, you know. Just a little bit. In fact, you offering to fund my van… it’s amazing. It’s wonderful. I’m completely thrilled and incredibly grateful.’

‘Excellent,’ said Huckle. ‘I have plans to exploit this for years.’

‘But it’s not just doing without you,’ said Polly. She sat up in bed and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘There’s someone else I’m going to have to do without too, and that’s really going to make it hard.’

Huckle looked at her.

‘Are you sure?’

She nodded, a massive lump in her throat.

‘It’s time. It is time, whilst everything else is changing. I have to do without you… and Neil has to learn to do without us.’

It was a windy, bright morning with a chill in the air. The tide was in and the spray was high as they took a long, meandering walk around the headland and up and down the town, occasionally chucking Neil off things to see how he could manage. He fluttered and bounced cheerfully and seemed, in every respect, totally recovered. Which meant only one thing.

Polly had one hand in Huckle’s pocket, to keep out the chill. He looked at her. She had a bit of a set to her jaw, but apart from that she seemed all right.

‘You seem calmer than I thought you were going to be,’ said Huckle, gently.

Polly nodded. ‘I know.’

Neil perched on her shoulder.

‘That’s because, I don’t care what Patrick says, Neil won’t want to go. He’ll come back. He’ll find his way home. He knows where we live. He knows where his home is. I’m going to do the right thing and take him to the sanctuary, but it won’t make any difference, you know.’

Huckle made a non-committal sound. He thought Polly was in denial. He would miss the little bird too, but Patrick was right: Neil had to go and find his place in the world, and his place was with puffins, not humans. Huckle would be heartbroken to see the little fellow go. But he understood Polly was clinging on to something else, some belief that Neil wouldn’t leave, and he didn’t think it was very helpful.

‘So,’ she said defiantly, ‘I’ve decided not to be that sad.’

‘O-kay,’ said Huckle, grasping her hand more tightly in his pocket. ‘Wow, it is fresh today.’

He looked at her.

‘Are you sure you don’t just want to come to Georgia with me? It’s wonderful this time of year. Big bougainvillea everywhere; all the houses dripping with ivy; warm, fragrant evenings…’

She looked at him.

‘That does sound nice,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you’ll want to come back?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Huckle. ‘But couldn’t I take you anyway?’

‘We’ve been through this,’ said Polly. ‘The more flights you have to pay for, the longer it will take to save up the money. Plus I have to be here to talk to the council and do all that stuff.’

As they were talking, Archie stepped out in front of them.

‘What?’ he shouted. ‘What the hell is this?’ He held up a plastic-wrapped white-bread ham sandwich. ‘Taste it,’ he said, proffering it to Polly. ‘Taste this!’

‘No thank you,’ said Polly.

‘It’s disgusting,’ he said, his face all red. ‘It’s bloody horrible. It’s a disgrace! Two pounds fifty! Two pounds fifty for this! That’s more than one of your pricey old loaves with seeds and stuff in it.’

‘That you didn’t like.’

‘I didn’t always like them,’ said Archie. ‘But I liked them a hell of a lot better than what we’ve got now.’

He looked haggard and tired.

‘Archie, are you getting enough sleep?’ said Polly.

‘No,’ said Archie. ‘But at least I was eating properly before. This. This is a
travesty
.’

‘I know,’ said Polly. ‘I don’t like it either.’

‘You have to do something about it,’ said Archie. ‘You have to. Everyone will just stop going.’

‘But where are you going to eat?’ said Huckle.

‘I know,’ said Archie. ‘Hunger strike is quite a difficult sell, to be honest.’

He looked sad.

‘Their sausage rolls taste of poo,’ he said. ‘You know, I am trying and trying and trying in this town. We’re all trying to adapt, to move on, to adjust. And now this happens. I can’t run a good fishing boat on poo rolls! I can’t inspire and lead my men on this!’

‘I’ll try my best,’ said Polly. Huckle shot her a warning look. The plan was not to tell anyone what they wanted to do. They didn’t put it past Malcolm to block it in some way.

‘Well try harder,’ said Archie.

Polly watched him go.

‘I worry about him,’ she said.

‘You worry about everyone,’ pointed out Huckle, accurately.

They wandered up the little main street.

‘I’ll just…’

‘You shouldn’t,’ said Huckle. ‘It’ll make you upset.’

‘I just want to see.’

She popped her head round the door of the old Polbearne bakery. Flora was standing there looking as sullen as ever. She was back in slouchy, greasy mode, her shoulders bent, her hair in her eyes, her bottom lip sticking out ferociously. Polly had to squint to see the stark, angular beauty that was there underneath; it was a good disguise.

Flora was dressed up in a ridiculous maid’s outfit – black dress, white apron, frilly mob cap – which made her look like a cross between an under-housemaid and a strip-o-gram. She was standing in front of packets of pallid pastries, looking thoroughly bored.

‘Hi, Flora.’

‘Oh, hello, madam,’ mumbled Flora.

‘It’s just me,’ said Polly. ‘Polly.’

‘I have to call everyone madam now,’ said Flora.

‘Oh well, that will definitely make up for the terrible food,’ murmured Huckle.

‘How are things?’ said Polly.

Flora shrugged. ‘Everyone keeps coming in going blah blah blah, where’s Polly, this is horrible, I think I’ve been poisoned,’ she said. ‘Then they don’t come in any more. Malcolm is very cross.’

Polly tried not to be pleased about this. She glanced back at Huckle.

‘Do you think he might give me my job back?’

‘I think he might have done,’ said Huckle, ‘if you hadn’t told him he was a pig.’

‘Everyone wants to call their boss a pig,’ said Polly. ‘Come on, if you can’t make a big fuss when you’re being sacked and storm out going “You’re a pig!” you’re not really a human being.’

‘What are
you
? A pig?’ said Huckle.

‘No! It’s emotional distress! It’s good to let it out! He’ll understand.’

‘He thinks this is all your fault,’ said Flora. ‘He thinks you’ve turned the town against him.’

‘I think he did that the first time he said “This town is total shit’’,’ said Polly. ‘And started selling people plasticine masquerading as food.’

Flora offered Neil a little piece of plastic bun. He sniffed at it, pecked at it briefly, then backed away.

The bell tinged behind them and Polly and Huckle turned guiltily. Malcolm was standing there. At the sight of them his face went purplish around the jowls. It wasn’t a good look on him.

‘WHAT HAVE I SAID ABOUT BIRDS IN THE SHOP?’ he hollered. He turned to face Polly. ‘And you’ve got a cheek, turning up here again.’

Polly flushed bright red. She hated confrontation of any sort.

‘I was checking up on Flora,’ she said.

‘Don’t you worry about Flora,’ said Malcolm. ‘And stop bloody poisoning the town against me.’

‘Actually I think you’re the one who —’

Huckle put his hand on her arm.

‘We haven’t said a thing, sir,’ he said, politely. ‘Polly feels awful that she brought mucky stuff into a food preparation area, don’t you, Poll?’

Polly swallowed hard.

‘Um, yeah,’ she mumbled. ‘Sorry about that.’

‘In fact,’ said Huckle, ‘I think she’d probably come back and work for you. Buck things up again, if you wanted that.’

Polly blushed bright red to the tips of her ears. She was furious with Huckle. On the other hand, if there was just the tiniest chance that he didn’t have to go away, they had to take it, no matter how humiliating it was for her.

Malcolm smiled, relishing the fact that they’d come back to beg. He’d hoped for this.

‘Ha! Not a chance,’ he said. ‘Run my business into the ground with her messing around the place? Not bloody likely. Ha! Oh no, when the summer season starts up, that cash will be all mine, and I’m not risking that. SO sorry, but you must understand. Health and safety is health and safety! Political correctness gone mad, I call it, but you must understand, my hands are totally tied.’

Polly felt her own hands clench into fists.

Malcolm, thoroughly overexcited, turned to Flora with a lascivious look on his face.

‘You’re looking quite lovely today, my dear. I do like that new uniform.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Flora sullenly.

‘Can you do the curtsey?’

Flora bobbed reluctantly, to Polly and Huckle’s amazement.

‘Piiiiggggg!’ whispered Polly under her breath, and Huckle uncharacteristically gave her a small pinch.

‘Hush,’ he said.

‘Okay, bye,’ he said loudly, as Polly clearly didn’t trust herself to speak. He shepherded her out the door.

‘That man is such a PIG!’ shouted Polly at the top of her voice. ‘All he does is RUIN things. Horrible, horrible man! He’s starving the fishermen to death and he’s enslaved Flora and he’s racist!’

‘How do you figure he’s racist?’ said Huckle.

‘Oh everyone knows that anyone who says “political correctness gone mad” is just itching to be allowed to say something racist.’

Huckle wisely ignored this.

‘To be fair, Flora doesn’t seem massively less happy than she did before,’ he pointed out.

‘I wish you hadn’t asked for my old job back,’ said Polly, kicking at a stone in the road. ‘It was humiliating.’

‘I know,’ said Huckle. ‘I’m sorry. I just wanted to be a hundred per cent absolutely sure and positive that it was going to play out that way.’

He turned her round to him. A little weak sunlight played off the waves uncovering the shiny ancient stones of the causeway.

‘Because otherwise, my darling, how on earth could I bear to go?’

 

 

Polly held Neil close to her in the sidecar. Patrick had signed him off, and approved very much of her decision to take him back to the sanctuary. Get a puppy, he had advised. Something bred by evolution for thousands of years to make a good pet. Polly had looked at him with narrowed eyes until he had looked away first. He had also begged her to make him some bread for his freezer in return for the outstanding operation bill, which Polly had explained she couldn’t pay for a little while.

‘It has genuinely done terrible things to my quality of life,’ said Patrick. ‘We took you for granted, Polly.’

Polly shrugged. ‘Life changes,’ she said. ‘These things happen.’

Patrick looked at her. The spark had gone right out of her.

‘It doesn’t always seem fair, though.’

‘That’s because it isn’t,’ said Polly, dully. ‘It’s not meant to be. No one promised anything.’

She glanced down at Neil, who was absent-mindedly trying to eat some gauze he’d found on Patrick’s desk. It had unrolled, and he was chasing it.

‘He’ll be okay,’ said Patrick, reading her thoughts. ‘He’ll be fine. It will be fine.’

‘How many times does he have to fly back before I can keep him?’ asked Polly suddenly.

Patrick sighed. ‘Polly…’

‘I mean it. How many times?’

‘It doesn’t work like that,’ said Patrick. ‘You have to let him go. The more time he spends with other puffins, the more his natural instincts will come to the fore. He’s not a cuddly toy. You’re not in a Disney film.’

‘I am, actually,’ said Polly. ‘I’m in that bit in
Fantasia
where it all goes horribly wrong for Mickey Mouse and he starts to drown and all those mops keep hitting him.’

‘Now don’t think like that,’ said Patrick. ‘Animals are only ever our guests. We are absolutely so lucky to have them, and they stay with us for a time and make our lives better, and then it’s over.’

Polly nodded. But she didn’t believe him.