Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 18
How on earth would she break it to Huckle? On the other hand, there was absolutely no doubt about it: they were completely skint. His honey just didn’t cut it. They didn’t need much, but the lighthouse mortgage was big and…
She heaved a frustrated sigh. She knew that in the scheme of problems – Kerensa’s, for example – this wasn’t much. But she so longed for a quiet time this Christmas. Last year with her mother had been slightly awkward – not her mum’s fault, she knew. And the year before that had been heartbreaking, with Huckle away in the States and her entire future hanging in the balance. All she wanted was a bit of a respite. Just the two of them, celebrating the huge next step they were about to take.
She knew she should be happy and grateful. That it was really selfish to wish for more than she had, when she had so much already. But she had imagined everything proceeding nice and relaxed, just as it was, for a little while. Then at some point in the future, when things weren’t so hectic and mad, she’d enjoy the stage, and babies and things, but in a while.
This was, she knew, utterly ridiculous. They were engaged. He was committed. He was the love of her life beyond measure.
It was stupid to care about it. And she’d never really seen herself as a bride; it wasn’t the kind of thing she dreamed about. Everything she dreamed about was here in the Little Beach Street Bakery: the tinkling of the bell as customers came in; the never-ending pleasure of the scent of fresh bread; the satisfaction of baking and feeding people. That was her dream.
Anyway, that was hardly the most pressing issue. First she had to break it to Huckle that she’d basically ruined his dream Christmas. Or else turn down Reuben’s money. And she knew it would be a lot of money. Enough to pay to get the windows sealed up against the January storms, or… No. She still didn’t want to do it.
On the other hand, imagine having to spend Christmas at Reuben’s with the entire conversation circling round how selfish she’d been for not making the bread and the cakes – basically for not having done all the catering.
To which Huckle would say, great, let’s not go at all, and Kerensa would give that tragic washed-out sigh and make those puppy-dog eyes again to show how horribly sad she was, and the wind would continue to blast through the bedroom windows.
The old ladies had left, and Selina snuck in tentatively through the back door.
‘Have the biddies moved out? Man, they give me such a hard time about whether I’ve found a nice young man yet.’
Selina had had a brief torrid affair with Huckle’s brother DuBose, but they tended not to mention it.
‘They just want everyone to be happy,’ said Polly weakly, given that she’d just fended them off herself.
‘They don’t,’ said Selina darkly. ‘They want stuff to happen so they can gossip about it and say it’s awful.’
‘That too,’ admitted Polly. ‘Oh Lord, what should I do?’ She explained her dilemma about Christmas, skipping the Kerensa part.
‘Don’t go,’ said Selina promptly. ‘Are you nuts? Why would you do that? You’re not starving. Okay, you bought a stupid house; that’s your fault. Rent it out or something. But it’s Christmas; for heaven’s sake, just enjoy yourself. Somebody has to.’
The bell tinged, and a man burst through the door. He was broad and sandy-haired, with bright blue eyes. Selina immediately perked up.
‘Ooh, did I just make a wish I didn’t know about?’
She turned round and smiled.
‘Hello, can I help you?’
‘Selina!’ said Polly. ‘You don’t actually work here at the moment.’
‘This is more or less my house,’ said Selina.
‘Less,’ said Polly firmly.
The man looked agitated.
‘I’m looking for… I’m looking for the lady with the puffin.’
‘Ha,’ said Polly. ‘Um, sorry.’ She wiped her floury hands on her apron. ‘Hello. I’m Polly Waterford.’
The man shook her hand. He was about thirty-five; weather-beaten, but in an attractive way. His eyes crinkled a lot when he smiled. He had an Australian accent.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Look. We need money.’
Polly looked at him for a long time.
‘Well then,’ she said, ‘you’ve totally come to the wrong place.’
Chapter Ten
They made coffee and eventually calmed the man down a bit. He told them that his name was Bernard, and that he was the head of the puffin sanctuary up on the north coast, near Reuben’s house. Polly had tried twice to release Neil into the wild up there; both times it had been an epic failure, much to her deep and profound relief. Neil, it turned out, was not at all a fan of the wild, although the last time he had at least returned with Celeste.
‘We just heard,’ he said, shaking his head despairingly. ‘Kara told me.’
Kara was the capable New Zealand girl, Polly remembered, who’d taken Neil both times to release him.
‘Heard what?’
‘They’re cutting our budget,’ he said. ‘Government cuts. Apparently puffins aren’t a priority in our austerity culture.’
‘What?’ said Polly, shocked to the core.
‘I know,’ said Bernard. ‘They’re endangered, you know.’
‘How are they endangered?’ said Selina. ‘I thought you had like two million or something.’
‘Yeah,’ said Bernard. ‘But fewer and fewer all the time. The sea’s getting too warm.’
‘Didn’t feel like that this morning,’ said Selina, looking outside to where the wind was still blowing.
‘Yeah, well, local weather isn’t anything to do with it, is it?’ he said, with a sudden flash of anger.
‘Ooh,’ said Selina. ‘You’re feisty. I like that.’
‘But what about the school parties?’ said Polly. ‘I see them all the time.’
‘Neh,’ said Bernard. ‘The schools have all had their budgets cut too, haven’t they? No more of that kind of thing. And the kids aren’t really interested any more. Either they’re all off playing Laser Quest or…’
He looked as if he was going to sob.
‘They’ve got kestrels down the road,’ he said, deeply wounded. ‘A birds of prey exhibition. You can hold a hawk and launch a falcon.’
She heaved a frustrated sigh. She knew that in the scheme of problems – Kerensa’s, for example – this wasn’t much. But she so longed for a quiet time this Christmas. Last year with her mother had been slightly awkward – not her mum’s fault, she knew. And the year before that had been heartbreaking, with Huckle away in the States and her entire future hanging in the balance. All she wanted was a bit of a respite. Just the two of them, celebrating the huge next step they were about to take.
She knew she should be happy and grateful. That it was really selfish to wish for more than she had, when she had so much already. But she had imagined everything proceeding nice and relaxed, just as it was, for a little while. Then at some point in the future, when things weren’t so hectic and mad, she’d enjoy the stage, and babies and things, but in a while.
This was, she knew, utterly ridiculous. They were engaged. He was committed. He was the love of her life beyond measure.
It was stupid to care about it. And she’d never really seen herself as a bride; it wasn’t the kind of thing she dreamed about. Everything she dreamed about was here in the Little Beach Street Bakery: the tinkling of the bell as customers came in; the never-ending pleasure of the scent of fresh bread; the satisfaction of baking and feeding people. That was her dream.
Anyway, that was hardly the most pressing issue. First she had to break it to Huckle that she’d basically ruined his dream Christmas. Or else turn down Reuben’s money. And she knew it would be a lot of money. Enough to pay to get the windows sealed up against the January storms, or… No. She still didn’t want to do it.
On the other hand, imagine having to spend Christmas at Reuben’s with the entire conversation circling round how selfish she’d been for not making the bread and the cakes – basically for not having done all the catering.
To which Huckle would say, great, let’s not go at all, and Kerensa would give that tragic washed-out sigh and make those puppy-dog eyes again to show how horribly sad she was, and the wind would continue to blast through the bedroom windows.
The old ladies had left, and Selina snuck in tentatively through the back door.
‘Have the biddies moved out? Man, they give me such a hard time about whether I’ve found a nice young man yet.’
Selina had had a brief torrid affair with Huckle’s brother DuBose, but they tended not to mention it.
‘They just want everyone to be happy,’ said Polly weakly, given that she’d just fended them off herself.
‘They don’t,’ said Selina darkly. ‘They want stuff to happen so they can gossip about it and say it’s awful.’
‘That too,’ admitted Polly. ‘Oh Lord, what should I do?’ She explained her dilemma about Christmas, skipping the Kerensa part.
‘Don’t go,’ said Selina promptly. ‘Are you nuts? Why would you do that? You’re not starving. Okay, you bought a stupid house; that’s your fault. Rent it out or something. But it’s Christmas; for heaven’s sake, just enjoy yourself. Somebody has to.’
The bell tinged, and a man burst through the door. He was broad and sandy-haired, with bright blue eyes. Selina immediately perked up.
‘Ooh, did I just make a wish I didn’t know about?’
She turned round and smiled.
‘Hello, can I help you?’
‘Selina!’ said Polly. ‘You don’t actually work here at the moment.’
‘This is more or less my house,’ said Selina.
‘Less,’ said Polly firmly.
The man looked agitated.
‘I’m looking for… I’m looking for the lady with the puffin.’
‘Ha,’ said Polly. ‘Um, sorry.’ She wiped her floury hands on her apron. ‘Hello. I’m Polly Waterford.’
The man shook her hand. He was about thirty-five; weather-beaten, but in an attractive way. His eyes crinkled a lot when he smiled. He had an Australian accent.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Look. We need money.’
Polly looked at him for a long time.
‘Well then,’ she said, ‘you’ve totally come to the wrong place.’
Chapter Ten
They made coffee and eventually calmed the man down a bit. He told them that his name was Bernard, and that he was the head of the puffin sanctuary up on the north coast, near Reuben’s house. Polly had tried twice to release Neil into the wild up there; both times it had been an epic failure, much to her deep and profound relief. Neil, it turned out, was not at all a fan of the wild, although the last time he had at least returned with Celeste.
‘We just heard,’ he said, shaking his head despairingly. ‘Kara told me.’
Kara was the capable New Zealand girl, Polly remembered, who’d taken Neil both times to release him.
‘Heard what?’
‘They’re cutting our budget,’ he said. ‘Government cuts. Apparently puffins aren’t a priority in our austerity culture.’
‘What?’ said Polly, shocked to the core.
‘I know,’ said Bernard. ‘They’re endangered, you know.’
‘How are they endangered?’ said Selina. ‘I thought you had like two million or something.’
‘Yeah,’ said Bernard. ‘But fewer and fewer all the time. The sea’s getting too warm.’
‘Didn’t feel like that this morning,’ said Selina, looking outside to where the wind was still blowing.
‘Yeah, well, local weather isn’t anything to do with it, is it?’ he said, with a sudden flash of anger.
‘Ooh,’ said Selina. ‘You’re feisty. I like that.’
‘But what about the school parties?’ said Polly. ‘I see them all the time.’
‘Neh,’ said Bernard. ‘The schools have all had their budgets cut too, haven’t they? No more of that kind of thing. And the kids aren’t really interested any more. Either they’re all off playing Laser Quest or…’
He looked as if he was going to sob.
‘They’ve got kestrels down the road,’ he said, deeply wounded. ‘A birds of prey exhibition. You can hold a hawk and launch a falcon.’
