Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery (17 page)

She looked up at the house, squinting in the sun. There were vans and lorries parked up there, and men were carrying stuff out of the house. Even from down here she could make out a full-sized sculpture of a naked Reuben and Kerensa who were… Oh God. Giggling, Polly realised she was slightly more drunk than she’d thought, and quickly checked she could touch the seabed with her foot. She could. Good.

It felt nosy watching the removal men, and sad, too, to see them bundling up all the fun that Reuben and Kerensa had had. And confusing: how on earth where they going to sell all those hideous naked portraits of Kerensa?

Suddenly Huckle was right behind her; he’d swum up quickly, under the water, his powerful arms grabbing her so she squealed. He didn’t pull her under, though; he drew her close to him and gave her a cuddle.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Whatcha doin’?’

‘Being nosy,’ said Polly, indicating up the hill. ‘Look at all that stuff they have.’

‘Ah, it’s only stuff,’ said Huckle. ‘They’re practically having sex with each other over there.’

‘They really are disgusting,’ grumbled Polly. ‘Well, I’ll have to keep watching the removals men. Only place I can put my eyes.’

‘You know what I see?’ said Huckle, floating gently behind her.

‘What?’ said Polly, looking at him. ‘Wow. You look like an aftershave advert. And a classy one too, not one of those tacky Mark Wright ones.’

Huckle pointed.

‘What am I looking at?’

‘You’re looking at a nine-foot standard lamp with a picture of a dog on it,’ said Polly. ‘It’s gross. All of their stuff is gross. I just didn’t notice before because the view was so nice.’

Huckle shook his head.

‘No.’

‘You’re looking at a ninety-six-inch cinema-size curved 3D television screen, the one in the upstairs lounge that Reuben can never find the remote for and Kerensa only watches
Homes Under the Hammer
on.’

‘Not that either.’

Polly squinted.

‘Okay. I give up.’

‘What are they putting all that hideous tat into?’

‘Hideous
expensive
tat, I think you meant to say.’

Huckle smiled. ‘I know. Amazing, all that money and they… What’s the British term?’

‘I believe it’s spunked,’ said Polly gravely.

‘They spunked it all on that.’

‘Well, and lots of charity. And extraordinary hospitality for their friends,’ pointed out Polly.

‘Yeah,’ said Huckle.

They watched as two men brought out what appeared to be a solid gold grandfather clock in the shape of a dragon, with two flashing rubies for eyes.

‘Anyway, never mind about that now. One last time.’

He took her head between his great hands, and pointed it in the direction of the clifftop.

‘What are you looking at? Lots and lots of?’

Polly blinked.

‘I don’t know. Removal vans?’

‘Yes!’ said Huckle, who was also slightly drunk. ‘Don’t you see?’

‘We set up a removals business? Because I have to tell you, these guys seem pretty good.’

‘NO!’ roared Huckle, laughing. ‘Polly, I love you so much, stop being thick.’

‘I’m not being thick, you’re being NEEDLESSLY MYSTERIOUS.’

Both of them were laughing now, as Huckle shook his head.

‘Van!’

‘I don’t get it. Like the shoes?’

‘Like a BREAD VAN!’

Polly laughed. Then she stopped. Then she laughed again.

‘What do you mean, a bread van?’

‘Well, you know, like a pizza van. A van with an oven in it and they make pizza.’

‘Yes,’ said Polly.

‘Well, you could get one for bread. And drive it round Polbearne.’

Polly turned to face him. The water splashed in her face.

‘Not just like that.’

‘No, not just like that,’ said Huckle. ‘You’d need permits and stuff. But the council know you.’

‘The council hate me,’ said Polly. ‘We helped stop them getting that expensive bridge they wanted.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Huckle. ‘Okay, so we put a false moustache on you.’

‘But they won’t let me take a bread van into Polbearne.’

‘No,’ said Huckle. ‘But they might let you take one into the car park on the other side, where the fish man goes. So Polbearne people… They might have to cross the causeway to get to you.’ He blinked. ‘But you know, I have an idea they would. And the day trippers – they’d hit you first.’

‘I don’t want to work in a van,’ said Polly. ‘I want my lovely ovens and my lovely shop.’

‘You should have thought of that before Barfgate. And I tell you what, if you don’t have a plan soon, you might be sleeping in a van too.’

Polly sighed. ‘Where would we even get one? How would we pay for it?’

Huckle’s eyes strayed to where the charm bracelet had been, before she had taken it off and zipped it into her bag for safe keeping so she could go swimming.

‘No way,’ said Polly. ‘No way, that thing is mine.’

‘Not my one, doof,’ he said. ‘Reuben must have bought you the platinum one before all this shit went down.’

‘They won’t take it back, though,’ said Polly ‘It’s personalised and everything.’

‘They might melt it down for you.’

Polly shook her head.

‘I couldn’t do that.’

‘Mine’s the sentimental value one, you know?’

‘I do know.’

‘I mean, mine’s totally the best one.’

‘Now you’re sounding like Reuben.’

‘Well that’s useful,’ said Huck. ‘Because I am attempting some entrepreneurial brilliance. Is it working?’

Polly put her arms around his neck.

‘I wonder,’ she said. ‘I wonder if we could.’

Huckle kissed her full on the mouth.

‘We can do anything.’

‘Hey, you guys, stop with all the sexy stuff,’ came Reuben’s whining voice across the waves. ‘Honestly, you’re disgusting. And come and eat this pavlova, before they take the oven away.’

Polly woke the next morning in one of Reuben’s sumptuous, ridiculous guest suites. It had a circular bed, and automatic curtains, which, drunk the night before – after they had finished eating on the beach, they had come in and watched
Star Wars
episode 3 one last time in the big cinema – she had insisted on opening and closing until Huckle begged for mercy. Neil was on the floor beside them, still sleeping soundly.

At first Polly wasn’t sure what had woken her, until she realised it was a removals man, carting off a sink from the capacious en suite. She blinked.

‘Actually,’ she said, ‘could you leave the loo for a bit?’

Huckle was still out for the count, gently snoring. Polly felt rather rough as she stumbled to the bathroom, but the view – the bathroom had a huge window over the bath, straight out to sea, nothing in your eyeline but sharp, sharp blue – woke her up.

‘I will MISS this place,’ she said, as Huckle started to stir. ‘I can’t believe some Russian guy is going to come here and ruin it.’

‘Ruin it how?’ said Huckle, groaning and running his fingers through his thick hair. ‘I don’t know how it could actually be more tacky.’

‘I am thinking, gold everywhere and more animal skins?’ said Polly.

‘Oh yes, that would do it,’ said Huckle. ‘You seem suspiciously perky for a morning after at Reuben’s.’

‘The swim helped,’ said Polly. ‘Oh, and also I slept through the film. He’s shown it about nine million times, and it’s been shit boring every single time. So actually I feel pretty good.’

Huckle smiled, and glanced at his watch.

‘I think he said something about his housekeeper going today.’

‘So sad,’ said Polly vehemently. She had always liked the idea of a housekeeper.

She took one last glance around at their stunning surroundings.

‘Shall we lock the door and bid it farewell?’ she grinned.

‘I believe under the circumstances that’s the respectful thing to do,’ said Huckle, rolling over in the bed.

 

 

Back in Mount Polbearne, having taken their leave of Reuben and Kerensa, bravely holding hands in what was left of their grand entrance hall, Polly and Huckle looked at the finances together, up in the sitting room.

Outside, it was a wild night. The grey clouds had come over and torn themselves up and now there was a storm brewing. Polly had, as she always did, gone down and forbidden the fishermen to go out in bad weather, and they had, as they always did, pretended to listen to her then turned around and gone anyway. Actually this was unfair: since the previous year, Archie had been much more conscientious and careful around weather forecasts and had occasionally held back the fleet. But he did not think this would be worse than a bit of wind and rain, and they were behind on their quotas, and so, with a weary look on his face, he cast off the lines and they chugged bravely into the hungry waves, Polly watching them go, anxious as ever.

The wind had blown out the power temporarily. The lighthouse itself had back-up generators, but the building wasn’t connected to those, so Huckle went searching for candles. Normally Polly didn’t mind a power cut: they snuggled up together and had an early night. But tonight they were looking at paperwork, which was tortuous but essential and unavoidable, so they lit as many candles as they could find and worked off the laptop’s battery, peering at the piles of bills on the table. They did live cheaply – Mount Polbearne didn’t offer that much in the way of shopping, unless you wanted a bucket and spade, chips, or a piece of driftwood with ‘LOVE’ spelled out on it in white paint, and Polly cooked most things they ate from scratch – but there was the mortgage, and taxes, and electricity and water and just the usual flotsam and jetsam of everyday life. Polly had poured all her meagre savings into the lighthouse, and now they had a vastly reduced income. Almost nothing, in fact. She shook her head in disbelief.

‘Oh goodness, it’s worse than I thought,’ she said. ‘Seriously, it is awful.’

Huckle nodded gravely.

‘Mind you, Reuben’s will look just like this, minus several million extra dollars.’

‘I know,’ said Polly. ‘But somehow I can’t help thinking that they’ll be absolutely okay.’

‘Well, sure,’ said Huckle. ‘They’re probably thinking exactly the same thing about us.’

The candles flickered, and their shadows glowed high up against the rough whitewashed wall, a pin of light in the thick darkness of the sea, with the great swooping lamp above them. Polly looked at their silhouettes, their heads close together against the dark, and leaned in even closer.

‘What are we going to do?’

They’d looked into buying a van, and it was possible – entirely possible – but expensive. Well, everything was expensive when you had no money, that was an absolute fact, but to buy a van, and get it clean and ready to work and certified, would take time. And they didn’t have time. Polly needed to work. She had to.

She’d met up with Jayden that morning, who’d texted her in a panic.

‘That weird man,’ said Jayden. ‘Flora doesn’t like him either.’

‘Flora doesn’t like anyone.’

‘That’s true,’ said Jayden, going slightly pink.

‘So,’ prompted Polly. She couldn’t deny it: it made her feel slightly better to hear someone saying she was really missed, and she hoped Jayden would.

‘He’s bought in all this kind of garage pre-packed stuff,’ said Jayden. ‘I don’t think it’s actually much cheaper than you doing it. I think it’s much more expensive actually.’

‘But he doesn’t need to pay me to do it,’ said Polly.

‘Oh yeah,’ said Jayden. ‘I never thought about that.’

‘You just pour it out in front of the display case.’

Jayden nodded.

‘It’s not as nice as yours,’ he said, sadly.

‘Well that’s good,’ said Polly. ‘Maybe you’ll eat less of it.’

‘He counts the stock,’ said Jayden gloomily. ‘It’s all plastic-wrapped. A plastic-wrapped eclair isn’t very nice.’

‘A
plastic-wrapped eclair
?’

Polly genuinely couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe that anyone would do that. What kind of a fiend would plastic-wrap an eclair?

‘But everyone is so conscious of their weight these days, and what they should and shouldn’t put in their bodies… and if they’re going to have a treat, something as lovely and gorgeous and delicious as an eclair, why wouldn’t they have the best, made with proper cream and icing, and fluffy flour that’s been raised that morning, and all chilled deliciously so it’s absolutely gorgeous and fresh in your mouth, and one, two, three bites and you’re happy for the rest of the day, because it’s lighter than air, and nothing so light and lovely can really be bad for you, not when it’s made with love from good stuff.’ Her mouth took on a defiant line.

‘I know,’ said Jayden.

Polly wrapped her arms around her knees and stared out to sea.

‘I hate him so much.’

‘Me too,’ said Jayden, quickly glancing behind him to make sure Malcolm wasn’t stalking about.

‘Um…’ Jayden was bright red and staring at the ground. ‘Um, would you like me to quit for you? Because you know I would.’

Polly’s hand flew to her mouth.

‘Oh no, Jayden, NO! Definitely not. No. Not at all. Honestly, I would not want you to do that for me. In fact, as your ex-boss, I order you NOT to do it. Seriously.’

Jayden had hated being a fisherman, and he loved working in a bakery. Jobs in the region tended to be seasonal and hard to come by, and Polly couldn’t bear the idea of him giving up the first job he’d ever had that he’d actually liked. She put her hand on his arm.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for that, it means a lot. I’m very touched. But no, you don’t have to give up your job for me. You just need to do it properly, hang on in there, then when Malcolm gets bored of it and goes to do something else…’

She tried to think of precisely how this would happen, but couldn’t, quite. She made sure her voice didn’t choke up too much.

‘Just don’t… don’t clean it as well as you did for me. No, hang on, what am I saying, you’ll make everyone sick. That’s a terrible thing to say, ignore me. Just do what you always do, Jayden. You’re great at it.’

Jayden beamed. ‘Thanks,’ he said. Then added, ‘Nobody ever said I was good at anything before.’

‘Well you are very, very good in a bakery,’ said Polly. ‘Far better than that ratfink deserves.’

Jayden looked up at her.

‘You’ll be all right, Polly,’ he said. ‘I know you will. Whatever you do.’

 

 

But now that the numbers were in front of their eyes, Polly had lost the optimism that seeing Jayden had given her.

They simply didn’t, couldn’t add up, even if they could borrow money to buy a van, which they couldn’t, because Polly was a discharged bankrupt and Huckle was an American. Even then it would still take time to get it up to scratch, sort out the paperwork. Time they didn’t have. The repayments on the lighthouse were very high, and that was before you even got near all the work it needed.

Huckle looked at the soft candlelight playing on Polly’s features as she bit her lip anxiously. She looked absolutely lovely, but he hated seeing her so worried and sad. In fact, he felt his only job was to keep her from being worried and sad, and make her laugh and keep her happy, like she’d been yesterday splashing in the water of Reuben’s cove, even now Reuben no longer had a cove; even when their splashing days were over.

‘Well,’ he said, in that slow way of his. He wasn’t looking forward to this, but it had to be said. ‘Well, Polly, there is something.’

Polly blinked. ‘I know, I know. We move. We move, we go and get office jobs again, we drive through traffic every day for the rest of our lives, we work nine to five, we never see the sun go down over the sea or have a picnic in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. I know that’s life, Huckle. I know that’s how it is for most people, and I know I’m not special, or different, that I don’t deserve to be doing something else. It just took me longer to figure it out than everybody else. It’s time to grow up. Get rid of this millstone lighthouse and go do something else.’

There was a long silence. Then Huckle drew her to him and gently kissed her neck.

‘Actually I was going to say exactly the opposite,’ he said, drawing her up to sit on his lap. ‘You belong here. You belong here doing what you love. You should stay here. Build it up again. Heck, fail again if you like. It doesn’t matter. It will work out in the end, what you do. Keep doing the right thing, and do it right and it will come right. That’s my promise to you.’

Polly looked at him, not comprehending.

‘And meanwhile, for a little while…’

There was a pause.

‘Clemmie rang. Dubose’s girlfriend. She rang me, looking for him.’

They hadn’t seen or heard from Dubose; Polly assumed that if he was at Selina’s she’d have seen him, even though she was steering clear of the bakery, but she hadn’t. It was like he’d vanished into thin air.

‘He hasn’t even got in touch?’ she said, shocked.

‘That’s not unusual.’

‘Oh my God, what if he left us that night and drowned on the causeway!’