Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 40
‘Because a friend of yours did it and you covered it up.’
‘She made a mistake! She doesn’t think it’s remotely okay. Nobody thinks it’s okay, Huckle. It was a terrible, horrible mistake.’
‘Putting on odd socks is a mistake,’ said Huckle bitterly. ‘Voting for the wrong candidate. But this: they’ve only been married a year!’
Polly nodded. ‘Don’t… don’t think she hasn’t been beating herself up about it ever since. She loves Reuben. She really does. It was a slip. A silly slip that she’ll never, ever forgive herself for.’
‘How can she live with herself?’ said Huckle. ‘How?’
He looked at Polly as if she knew. Or as if he was asking how Polly could live with herself, keeping something so awful a secret.
‘Are there… are there a lot of things you don’t tell me?’ said Huckle, painfully.
‘No!’ said Polly. ‘No! The only reason I didn’t tell you about this is because it isn’t about me. It wasn’t mine to tell. I wanted to, but she begged me, Huckle. She begged. For precisely this reason. Because it’s nobody else’s business.’
She suddenly found she was terrified. Everything was falling apart.
‘Are you going to tell him?’ she asked in a small voice.
Huckle pounded his fist on the kitchen table in frustration.
‘Goddammit,’ he said. ‘GODDAMMIT, Polly.’
‘I know,’ said Polly. ‘I know.’
‘What if he finds out later? What if the kid is clearly not his? And then he comes asking us?’
‘I don’t know.’
Huckle shook his head.
‘I trusted you,’ he said. ‘I thought we had something beautiful and real and kind of… kind of wonderful going on down here. In this beautiful place. With us. And them, and everything we had… everything lovely: friends, and family, and, well, everything I’d never been able to find in my life before…’
He bit his lip.
‘And now that’s broken. It’s ruined. It’s shattered.’
‘No!’ said Polly, running to the door. ‘No it isn’t. You’re being completely unreasonable. This has nothing to do with us.’
‘But all four of us were an “us”. All four of us were together. Were friends. Who trusted each other. Who did things together. And now… three of us, what, have to watch this weird baby grow up? And not tell the other one? It’s a conspiracy!’
Polly sighed.
‘You can never put things back together how they were,’ said Huckle glumly. ‘You can’t pretend this never happened. You can never unknow it.’
‘Where are you going?’ said Polly, her heart beating rapidly in terror. ‘Where are you going? Are you going to Reuben’s? Are you going to tell him?’
‘No. Maybe. I don’t know,’ said Huckle. ‘Just leave me alone.’
She heard the motorbike start up and roar off. She glanced at the tidal chart, which she knew mostly off by heart but it was still useful. The causeway would be flooded this time of the evening. He had nowhere to go; he certainly couldn’t get to Reuben’s. He’d probably go to the Red Lion and have a pint, cool off. Well, he’d have to; it was a freezing evening and there was literally nowhere else to go. Unless he had a change of heart and walked back through the door…
She spent a long time staring at the door, waiting for him. Her tea went cold. Dinner was unmade. She picked up her phone, but as usual the signal was non-existent, so there was nothing to do except stare at it as if it really might get a message. She didn’t want to text in case she said the wrong thing. She felt absolutely awful.
She went upstairs, but the rest of the house was freezing and it made her sad to see all the Christmas decorations, so she just turned round and came back down to the kitchen again, huddling beside the log burner.
Neil hopped over and perched on her shoulder, and she rubbed the back of his neck mournfully as she ran the argument through in her head again. Even in the depths of her despair she could see the patterns of her life that had always made her smooth things over for her mother, try and make everything all right. She’d tried to do the same for Kerensa and it hadn’t worked at all. You couldn’t brush things under the carpet like that. Of course if she thought about it, it hadn’t really worked for her mother either.
That habit she had of not facing up to things, of hoping for the best… Life wasn’t butter icing. You couldn’t just spread it over the cracks of the cake and make it look pretty and hope nobody would be any the wiser. It didn’t work like that. Instead, the cracks got worse underneath, and then one day the wound was too deep to heal.
Polly burst into tears, horrible racking sobs, not pretty; the kind of snotty crying that hurts your throat and makes your nose bright red and that you just can’t seem to stop. It didn’t feel cathartic at all; it just went on and on and on. And every time she caught sight of the lighthouse lamp reflected in a window, she thought perhaps it was the headlamp on Huckle’s motorbike, and that he was coming home, but it wasn’t, and he didn’t. And all the time she was wrestling with the worst question of all: should she tell Kerensa she had betrayed her confidence? Should she put the fear of God into her that Huckle was going to ruin her entire life, had the power to do so at any moment and that it was entirely possible he would? Which wouldn’t just ruin her life; it would ruin Reuben’s too, and quite possibly the life of the tiny child whose life hadn’t even started yet, and Polly felt she knew a bit about that.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Polly dozed off, still crying, about two a.m., then woke again with a start. The fire was nearly out and the kitchen was terribly cold. She looked around, horrified. She was still completely alone. Where was he? What had happened? Was something wrong?
She glanced down at her phone, which, as usual with the odd fluctuations of the signal, had popped on at some point, gathered her messages and now was gone again. She sighed and scrolled through. There it was, just a simple text from him.
Staying at friend’s.
Oh well, at least nothing had happened to him. For one horrible instant earlier, she had thought he might have decided to drive through the water-covered causeway regardless of the consequences – she wouldn’t put it past him. But he hadn’t gone to Reuben’s, because there were no missed calls or texts from Reuben or Kerensa. Unless they’d all been caught in a massive bloody shootout, of course.
‘She made a mistake! She doesn’t think it’s remotely okay. Nobody thinks it’s okay, Huckle. It was a terrible, horrible mistake.’
‘Putting on odd socks is a mistake,’ said Huckle bitterly. ‘Voting for the wrong candidate. But this: they’ve only been married a year!’
Polly nodded. ‘Don’t… don’t think she hasn’t been beating herself up about it ever since. She loves Reuben. She really does. It was a slip. A silly slip that she’ll never, ever forgive herself for.’
‘How can she live with herself?’ said Huckle. ‘How?’
He looked at Polly as if she knew. Or as if he was asking how Polly could live with herself, keeping something so awful a secret.
‘Are there… are there a lot of things you don’t tell me?’ said Huckle, painfully.
‘No!’ said Polly. ‘No! The only reason I didn’t tell you about this is because it isn’t about me. It wasn’t mine to tell. I wanted to, but she begged me, Huckle. She begged. For precisely this reason. Because it’s nobody else’s business.’
She suddenly found she was terrified. Everything was falling apart.
‘Are you going to tell him?’ she asked in a small voice.
Huckle pounded his fist on the kitchen table in frustration.
‘Goddammit,’ he said. ‘GODDAMMIT, Polly.’
‘I know,’ said Polly. ‘I know.’
‘What if he finds out later? What if the kid is clearly not his? And then he comes asking us?’
‘I don’t know.’
Huckle shook his head.
‘I trusted you,’ he said. ‘I thought we had something beautiful and real and kind of… kind of wonderful going on down here. In this beautiful place. With us. And them, and everything we had… everything lovely: friends, and family, and, well, everything I’d never been able to find in my life before…’
He bit his lip.
‘And now that’s broken. It’s ruined. It’s shattered.’
‘No!’ said Polly, running to the door. ‘No it isn’t. You’re being completely unreasonable. This has nothing to do with us.’
‘But all four of us were an “us”. All four of us were together. Were friends. Who trusted each other. Who did things together. And now… three of us, what, have to watch this weird baby grow up? And not tell the other one? It’s a conspiracy!’
Polly sighed.
‘You can never put things back together how they were,’ said Huckle glumly. ‘You can’t pretend this never happened. You can never unknow it.’
‘Where are you going?’ said Polly, her heart beating rapidly in terror. ‘Where are you going? Are you going to Reuben’s? Are you going to tell him?’
‘No. Maybe. I don’t know,’ said Huckle. ‘Just leave me alone.’
She heard the motorbike start up and roar off. She glanced at the tidal chart, which she knew mostly off by heart but it was still useful. The causeway would be flooded this time of the evening. He had nowhere to go; he certainly couldn’t get to Reuben’s. He’d probably go to the Red Lion and have a pint, cool off. Well, he’d have to; it was a freezing evening and there was literally nowhere else to go. Unless he had a change of heart and walked back through the door…
She spent a long time staring at the door, waiting for him. Her tea went cold. Dinner was unmade. She picked up her phone, but as usual the signal was non-existent, so there was nothing to do except stare at it as if it really might get a message. She didn’t want to text in case she said the wrong thing. She felt absolutely awful.
She went upstairs, but the rest of the house was freezing and it made her sad to see all the Christmas decorations, so she just turned round and came back down to the kitchen again, huddling beside the log burner.
Neil hopped over and perched on her shoulder, and she rubbed the back of his neck mournfully as she ran the argument through in her head again. Even in the depths of her despair she could see the patterns of her life that had always made her smooth things over for her mother, try and make everything all right. She’d tried to do the same for Kerensa and it hadn’t worked at all. You couldn’t brush things under the carpet like that. Of course if she thought about it, it hadn’t really worked for her mother either.
That habit she had of not facing up to things, of hoping for the best… Life wasn’t butter icing. You couldn’t just spread it over the cracks of the cake and make it look pretty and hope nobody would be any the wiser. It didn’t work like that. Instead, the cracks got worse underneath, and then one day the wound was too deep to heal.
Polly burst into tears, horrible racking sobs, not pretty; the kind of snotty crying that hurts your throat and makes your nose bright red and that you just can’t seem to stop. It didn’t feel cathartic at all; it just went on and on and on. And every time she caught sight of the lighthouse lamp reflected in a window, she thought perhaps it was the headlamp on Huckle’s motorbike, and that he was coming home, but it wasn’t, and he didn’t. And all the time she was wrestling with the worst question of all: should she tell Kerensa she had betrayed her confidence? Should she put the fear of God into her that Huckle was going to ruin her entire life, had the power to do so at any moment and that it was entirely possible he would? Which wouldn’t just ruin her life; it would ruin Reuben’s too, and quite possibly the life of the tiny child whose life hadn’t even started yet, and Polly felt she knew a bit about that.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Polly dozed off, still crying, about two a.m., then woke again with a start. The fire was nearly out and the kitchen was terribly cold. She looked around, horrified. She was still completely alone. Where was he? What had happened? Was something wrong?
She glanced down at her phone, which, as usual with the odd fluctuations of the signal, had popped on at some point, gathered her messages and now was gone again. She sighed and scrolled through. There it was, just a simple text from him.
Staying at friend’s.
Oh well, at least nothing had happened to him. For one horrible instant earlier, she had thought he might have decided to drive through the water-covered causeway regardless of the consequences – she wouldn’t put it past him. But he hadn’t gone to Reuben’s, because there were no missed calls or texts from Reuben or Kerensa. Unless they’d all been caught in a massive bloody shootout, of course.
