Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 28
‘No,’ she said suddenly, bile rising in her throat. ‘No. I can’t do this. I can’t.’
And she turned around in the middle of the gleaming corridor and ran out against the flow of humanity pouring in; flew outside to the beautiful freezing winter’s day.
Huckle had just got his cup of coffee, and was sitting feeding bits of a very poor croissant to Neil and enjoying the sunlight when he saw Polly, half blinded with tears, her red hair glinting, tearing down the hospital steps like a rushing wind, and stood up to catch her.
‘Did you see him?’ he said, and she shook her head mutely, dampening the shoulder of his jacket. He didn’t mind.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, over and over again. ‘It’s okay.’
He didn’t say anything else at all, just calmly helped her into the sidecar, tucked her in and stuck Neil under the cover with her, where he curled up and went to sleep on her lap, which helped as much as anything anyone could ever say. Then he drove them back carefully all the way to Cornwall, and Polly stared out at the glorious frosty winter day, watching the leaves drift across the road and wishing with all her heart that this had never happened, that she could undo it all, that she didn’t have to remember the look of awkward, terrified kindness on Carmel’s face.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Ooh, those are beautiful,’ said old Mrs Larson a few days later. Polly was looking critically at her Christmas twists: little branches shaped like holly and made of raisin and cinnamon pastry, with a mincemeat filling. They were delicious; incredibly rich but very easy to make. She was going to make plenty for Reuben’s family to keep them going, and a bunch more for the wretched Christmas fair that was coming up on Saturday, but for now she had gathered a little boxful together and was heading off to visit her mum. It had to be done.
She was going to take Kerensa with her; she’d be a good distraction. Well, normally she was a good distraction, talking nineteen to the dozen and cheering everybody up, though at the moment, of course, she was very turned in on herself and secretly googling things like ‘intra DNA tests’ and crying about Jeremy Kyle. Reuben, in his usual busy, distracted state, either didn’t notice or insisted everything was going to be tremendous and fine, which didn’t help matters in the slightest. Plus Kerensa was genuinely huge now, huffing around the place constantly uncomfortable.
They pulled up in front of Doreen’s neat little council terrace, where Polly had grown up. The houses were a mixture of local authority and bought. You could always tell the bought, of course; they painted their front doors. Despite everything, it had been a happy place to grow up. Doreen hadn’t minded Polly running in and out of the house; playing endless games of skipping at the neighbours’ and watching Top of the Pops at her friends’ on summer evenings; buying ice creams from the van and making toast. It was a happy place for Polly; it had taken a long time for her to realise it was a sad place for her mother, that she had had different hopes.
Doreen had been so proud of Polly for going to university – and so disappointed when she had downgraded her office job to work in a bakery, of all things. It didn’t matter how much Polly explained that she was miles happier now, that she felt incredibly lucky to work in the lovely environment that she did, with the lovely people she knew. As far as Doreen was concerned, it was inexplicable; living in a lighthouse was a ridiculous idea, and all in all, given how much she had sacrificed to raise Polly all by herself, the fact that she would throw it all away on some cakes, an American without a proper job and a bird was a source of some sadness.
Polly sighed. Where she’d grown up didn’t bring her down, but Doreen could.
‘Let’s get her drunk,’ said Kerensa, who had admired Polly’s ring, then got slightly upset. Reuben bought her lots of jewellery, and currently she couldn’t bear to wear any of it. ‘Seriously. Get her drunk. Then she’ll talk.’
‘You just want to infect people with the stuff you can’t do,’ said Polly.
Doreen very rarely drank. She didn’t approve, and thought that Polly and Kerensa’s cheerful Pinot Grigio habit (when Kerensa wasn’t pregnant) was a sign of weak character.
‘Pretend it’s fruit juice or spritzer or something. It’s the only way.’ Kerensa looked sadly at the two bottles she’d insisted they buy. ‘I wish I could get drunk. Get drunk and think about something bloody else.’
Polly patted her shoulder sympathetically.
‘Listen,’ she said. ‘You don’t know. Nobody knows. Don’t worry about it. This baby will come out and everyone will love it and find things in it that look exactly like Reuben and you’ll be overcome with love and everything will be totally fine and you’ll be a family. Honestly. You have to think that.’
‘What if it comes out with one of those big dark eyebrows that meet in the middle?’ said Kerensa. ‘Oh God. Oh God. What was I thinking? Seriously, if I ever have a stupid night of stupid pointless passion ever again – which I won’t if I’m lucky enough to get away with this, which I don’t deserve to, don’t point it out, nobody is beating me up more than I’m beating myself up, believe me…’
‘Yes?’ said Polly.
‘Well, just make sure it’s with a short ginger guy with freckles,’ said Kerensa in despair.
‘I’ll keep a tight grip on you if we ever go to Scotland,’ said Polly as they stood in front of the immaculate door. ‘Okay, come on.’
‘What’s the game plan?’ said Kerensa.
‘Now you ask me,’ said Polly. ‘I don’t know. You just pour the wine and we’ll take it from there.’
‘Nothing can go wrong,’ said Kerensa.
Doreen opened the door in her usual cautious way, as if worried about who would be there, even though they were expected.
‘Did you bring that bird?’ she said nervously. Polly had introduced Doreen to Neil once. It hadn’t gone well. Doreen had asked Polly where he pooed and Polly had said oh he wears a nappy and Doreen had believed her and then looked anxious when she realised he didn’t.
‘No, Mum,’ said Polly, giving her a kiss on her dry cheek and handing over the box.
‘What’s this?’
‘They’re Christmas twists. I’m trying them out.’
‘Also, we have wine!’ said Kerensa, waving the bottle. ‘Quick, Doreen, where are the glasses?’
And she turned around in the middle of the gleaming corridor and ran out against the flow of humanity pouring in; flew outside to the beautiful freezing winter’s day.
Huckle had just got his cup of coffee, and was sitting feeding bits of a very poor croissant to Neil and enjoying the sunlight when he saw Polly, half blinded with tears, her red hair glinting, tearing down the hospital steps like a rushing wind, and stood up to catch her.
‘Did you see him?’ he said, and she shook her head mutely, dampening the shoulder of his jacket. He didn’t mind.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, over and over again. ‘It’s okay.’
He didn’t say anything else at all, just calmly helped her into the sidecar, tucked her in and stuck Neil under the cover with her, where he curled up and went to sleep on her lap, which helped as much as anything anyone could ever say. Then he drove them back carefully all the way to Cornwall, and Polly stared out at the glorious frosty winter day, watching the leaves drift across the road and wishing with all her heart that this had never happened, that she could undo it all, that she didn’t have to remember the look of awkward, terrified kindness on Carmel’s face.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Ooh, those are beautiful,’ said old Mrs Larson a few days later. Polly was looking critically at her Christmas twists: little branches shaped like holly and made of raisin and cinnamon pastry, with a mincemeat filling. They were delicious; incredibly rich but very easy to make. She was going to make plenty for Reuben’s family to keep them going, and a bunch more for the wretched Christmas fair that was coming up on Saturday, but for now she had gathered a little boxful together and was heading off to visit her mum. It had to be done.
She was going to take Kerensa with her; she’d be a good distraction. Well, normally she was a good distraction, talking nineteen to the dozen and cheering everybody up, though at the moment, of course, she was very turned in on herself and secretly googling things like ‘intra DNA tests’ and crying about Jeremy Kyle. Reuben, in his usual busy, distracted state, either didn’t notice or insisted everything was going to be tremendous and fine, which didn’t help matters in the slightest. Plus Kerensa was genuinely huge now, huffing around the place constantly uncomfortable.
They pulled up in front of Doreen’s neat little council terrace, where Polly had grown up. The houses were a mixture of local authority and bought. You could always tell the bought, of course; they painted their front doors. Despite everything, it had been a happy place to grow up. Doreen hadn’t minded Polly running in and out of the house; playing endless games of skipping at the neighbours’ and watching Top of the Pops at her friends’ on summer evenings; buying ice creams from the van and making toast. It was a happy place for Polly; it had taken a long time for her to realise it was a sad place for her mother, that she had had different hopes.
Doreen had been so proud of Polly for going to university – and so disappointed when she had downgraded her office job to work in a bakery, of all things. It didn’t matter how much Polly explained that she was miles happier now, that she felt incredibly lucky to work in the lovely environment that she did, with the lovely people she knew. As far as Doreen was concerned, it was inexplicable; living in a lighthouse was a ridiculous idea, and all in all, given how much she had sacrificed to raise Polly all by herself, the fact that she would throw it all away on some cakes, an American without a proper job and a bird was a source of some sadness.
Polly sighed. Where she’d grown up didn’t bring her down, but Doreen could.
‘Let’s get her drunk,’ said Kerensa, who had admired Polly’s ring, then got slightly upset. Reuben bought her lots of jewellery, and currently she couldn’t bear to wear any of it. ‘Seriously. Get her drunk. Then she’ll talk.’
‘You just want to infect people with the stuff you can’t do,’ said Polly.
Doreen very rarely drank. She didn’t approve, and thought that Polly and Kerensa’s cheerful Pinot Grigio habit (when Kerensa wasn’t pregnant) was a sign of weak character.
‘Pretend it’s fruit juice or spritzer or something. It’s the only way.’ Kerensa looked sadly at the two bottles she’d insisted they buy. ‘I wish I could get drunk. Get drunk and think about something bloody else.’
Polly patted her shoulder sympathetically.
‘Listen,’ she said. ‘You don’t know. Nobody knows. Don’t worry about it. This baby will come out and everyone will love it and find things in it that look exactly like Reuben and you’ll be overcome with love and everything will be totally fine and you’ll be a family. Honestly. You have to think that.’
‘What if it comes out with one of those big dark eyebrows that meet in the middle?’ said Kerensa. ‘Oh God. Oh God. What was I thinking? Seriously, if I ever have a stupid night of stupid pointless passion ever again – which I won’t if I’m lucky enough to get away with this, which I don’t deserve to, don’t point it out, nobody is beating me up more than I’m beating myself up, believe me…’
‘Yes?’ said Polly.
‘Well, just make sure it’s with a short ginger guy with freckles,’ said Kerensa in despair.
‘I’ll keep a tight grip on you if we ever go to Scotland,’ said Polly as they stood in front of the immaculate door. ‘Okay, come on.’
‘What’s the game plan?’ said Kerensa.
‘Now you ask me,’ said Polly. ‘I don’t know. You just pour the wine and we’ll take it from there.’
‘Nothing can go wrong,’ said Kerensa.
Doreen opened the door in her usual cautious way, as if worried about who would be there, even though they were expected.
‘Did you bring that bird?’ she said nervously. Polly had introduced Doreen to Neil once. It hadn’t gone well. Doreen had asked Polly where he pooed and Polly had said oh he wears a nappy and Doreen had believed her and then looked anxious when she realised he didn’t.
‘No, Mum,’ said Polly, giving her a kiss on her dry cheek and handing over the box.
‘What’s this?’
‘They’re Christmas twists. I’m trying them out.’
‘Also, we have wine!’ said Kerensa, waving the bottle. ‘Quick, Doreen, where are the glasses?’
