Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 44
There was a cotton candy stand, with snow-white candyfloss being twirled. The models seemed to quite like that; it weighed even less than they did. And there was a big queue to sit on Santa’s lap in his grotto, which was manned by rather foxy-looking elves. The DJ had stopped so that an incredibly cool retro swing band could play; they were doing ironic Christmas hits, with three girls in big circle skirts and bright red lipstick singing backing vocals, and people had started dancing. Huckle was a terrible dancer. It was strange; in bed, or on a surfboard, or in a beehive, he was completely graceful and natural and totally at ease, but ask him to move to a beat and he couldn’t do it at all. By contrast, Reuben had taken classes and she always found it a true pleasure to dance with him, as he pushed and pulled her around on the dance floor whilst Kerensa watched and laughed at her technique. But that wouldn’t be happening either.
Polly sighed, handing round more exquisite canapés filled with hot spiced-wine-flavoured pâté. She had somehow managed, she noticed, to overcome the food aversion of Reuben’s guests; they were scarfing them down. Well at least one thing was going right. She refilled her tray in the kitchen as staff bustled about trying to keep up with the demand for champagne and mince-pie martinis. The hubbub of the room, the high-pitched squeals and laughter, was growing louder; the party was in absolutely full swing and going with a bang.
Suddenly the mike cut out and the band clattered to a halt. Polly thought Reuben was getting up to make a speech, which was just like him, but she didn’t hear people applauding. She glanced around. Where the hell was Kerensa? This entire party was going on without her. Reuben must be fuming.
She moved forward to get a closer look and saw, to her horror, that it was Jayden who had climbed on to the stage. He looked fatter than ever in a shirt that was clearly too small for him, and his face was red and sweaty with nerves. He’d even shaved off his cute moustache, which made him look slightly featureless and awkward. The crowd of incredibly trendy London fashion and art types looked at him coolly. The room had gone very quiet, and Polly was suddenly intensely nervous for him.
He took the mike from the rather displeased-looking singer, and it immediately howled with feedback.
‘Um, hello?’ he boomed into it, far too loudly, holding it close to his mouth. The audience recoiled a little, and it was clear that his hand was trembling.
With a shock, Polly realised what he was about to do. Oh no. This was not the time or the place for a big proposal. This wasn’t the crowd. She could see that Jayden would think that this incredibly posh do, awash with champagne, was quite the spectacular opportunity, but she couldn’t imagine how quiet, shy Flora would react. She hadn’t even known Flora was coming. If she had, she’d have got her to help.
‘Um, Flora? I just want to… Flora, are you there?’ Jayden obviously couldn’t see a thing, and was blinking carefully.
‘Who are you?’ said one wag cheekily, and the crowd laughed.
Polly glanced about. She spotted Flora, pale and rigid, cringing against the wall of the huge room. She wanted to go to her, but there was a thicket of people between them, all of them staring at Jayden, who looked incredibly uncomfortable and awkward now, up there in front of everyone, like a dream gone horribly wrong.
‘Flora! Could you come up here, please?’
Flora was frantically shaking her head, but when it became apparent who she was, the crowd, hungry for what was going on, parted to make way for her. She slunk through, head down, her long carpet of hair covering her face.
Polly could not think of a worse place to get a proposal. She thought back, her heart aching, to Huckle asking, so quietly and gently that she hadn’t quite understood to begin with what he meant, and then the gradual dawning realisation that he meant everything, and she wanted to cry. She fingered the seaweed ring; twisted it round and round on her hand, vowing to do whatever it took to get them back together.
Flora also looked like she was about to cry. She was helped awkwardly on to the stage, where she stood with her head bowed. Jayden, who was perspiring freely now, turned to face her and, with great clumsiness, got down on one knee.
‘Rip!’ shouted someone in the crowd, and Polly suddenly wanted to machine-gun them all. She was cross with Jayden, too; she’d told him not to do this, that it was too soon and Flora wouldn’t like it, and here he was now, making an idiot out of himself. Some horribly scrawny model girl let out a high-pitched fake laugh of disbelief, and Polly only stopped herself sticking her with a fork by thinking about how many times the model girl would probably get divorced in the future. She sighed bad-temperedly.
‘Flora, would you make me the happiest man in the world…?’
There was silence in the room – an unpleasant silence, Polly could sense, as the huge gang of cool kids waited to laugh at the awkward chubby fellow with the shaking hands. She wondered if she’d lose Jayden, if the humiliation might make him give up or leave town altogether. And losing Flora for the holiday season would be a huge blow. The girl was a little divvy and distracted, but she had a natural gift for baking Polly could only dream of. Ugh. This was going so wrong.
But to Polly’s amazement, Flora simply shrugged her shoulders.
‘Yeah, whatevs,’ she said, in a voice so low it was practically a whisper.
Polly blinked. What? The crowd stared too.
‘YES!’ shouted Jayden, raising both hands in the air, revealing very damp patches under his arms. ‘Yes!’
He turned round to kiss Flora, but she’d already bolted from the stage. Jayden air-punched one more time, then jumped down after her.
‘Hang on!’ he shouted. ‘I’ve got a ring!’
The band tittered politely.
‘How charming,’ said the singer into the mike, and Polly wanted to slap him. Then they struck up with ‘I’m in the Mood for Love’.
As Polly went to find the happy couple to congratulate them – nobody else seemed to be – she walked slap-bang into Reuben.
‘Your friends are all horrible,’ she blurted.
‘Yeah?’ said Reuben, who was brandishing a gigantic cigar without actually smoking it. ‘Well at least they’re here.’
He had, Polly thought, a point.
She found Flora – looking furiously embarrassed – and a beaming Jayden by the downstairs cloakroom. Flora was putting on her coat.
‘Um, congratulations, you two!’ said Polly. Jayden gave her a not entirely friendly look.
Polly sighed, handing round more exquisite canapés filled with hot spiced-wine-flavoured pâté. She had somehow managed, she noticed, to overcome the food aversion of Reuben’s guests; they were scarfing them down. Well at least one thing was going right. She refilled her tray in the kitchen as staff bustled about trying to keep up with the demand for champagne and mince-pie martinis. The hubbub of the room, the high-pitched squeals and laughter, was growing louder; the party was in absolutely full swing and going with a bang.
Suddenly the mike cut out and the band clattered to a halt. Polly thought Reuben was getting up to make a speech, which was just like him, but she didn’t hear people applauding. She glanced around. Where the hell was Kerensa? This entire party was going on without her. Reuben must be fuming.
She moved forward to get a closer look and saw, to her horror, that it was Jayden who had climbed on to the stage. He looked fatter than ever in a shirt that was clearly too small for him, and his face was red and sweaty with nerves. He’d even shaved off his cute moustache, which made him look slightly featureless and awkward. The crowd of incredibly trendy London fashion and art types looked at him coolly. The room had gone very quiet, and Polly was suddenly intensely nervous for him.
He took the mike from the rather displeased-looking singer, and it immediately howled with feedback.
‘Um, hello?’ he boomed into it, far too loudly, holding it close to his mouth. The audience recoiled a little, and it was clear that his hand was trembling.
With a shock, Polly realised what he was about to do. Oh no. This was not the time or the place for a big proposal. This wasn’t the crowd. She could see that Jayden would think that this incredibly posh do, awash with champagne, was quite the spectacular opportunity, but she couldn’t imagine how quiet, shy Flora would react. She hadn’t even known Flora was coming. If she had, she’d have got her to help.
‘Um, Flora? I just want to… Flora, are you there?’ Jayden obviously couldn’t see a thing, and was blinking carefully.
‘Who are you?’ said one wag cheekily, and the crowd laughed.
Polly glanced about. She spotted Flora, pale and rigid, cringing against the wall of the huge room. She wanted to go to her, but there was a thicket of people between them, all of them staring at Jayden, who looked incredibly uncomfortable and awkward now, up there in front of everyone, like a dream gone horribly wrong.
‘Flora! Could you come up here, please?’
Flora was frantically shaking her head, but when it became apparent who she was, the crowd, hungry for what was going on, parted to make way for her. She slunk through, head down, her long carpet of hair covering her face.
Polly could not think of a worse place to get a proposal. She thought back, her heart aching, to Huckle asking, so quietly and gently that she hadn’t quite understood to begin with what he meant, and then the gradual dawning realisation that he meant everything, and she wanted to cry. She fingered the seaweed ring; twisted it round and round on her hand, vowing to do whatever it took to get them back together.
Flora also looked like she was about to cry. She was helped awkwardly on to the stage, where she stood with her head bowed. Jayden, who was perspiring freely now, turned to face her and, with great clumsiness, got down on one knee.
‘Rip!’ shouted someone in the crowd, and Polly suddenly wanted to machine-gun them all. She was cross with Jayden, too; she’d told him not to do this, that it was too soon and Flora wouldn’t like it, and here he was now, making an idiot out of himself. Some horribly scrawny model girl let out a high-pitched fake laugh of disbelief, and Polly only stopped herself sticking her with a fork by thinking about how many times the model girl would probably get divorced in the future. She sighed bad-temperedly.
‘Flora, would you make me the happiest man in the world…?’
There was silence in the room – an unpleasant silence, Polly could sense, as the huge gang of cool kids waited to laugh at the awkward chubby fellow with the shaking hands. She wondered if she’d lose Jayden, if the humiliation might make him give up or leave town altogether. And losing Flora for the holiday season would be a huge blow. The girl was a little divvy and distracted, but she had a natural gift for baking Polly could only dream of. Ugh. This was going so wrong.
But to Polly’s amazement, Flora simply shrugged her shoulders.
‘Yeah, whatevs,’ she said, in a voice so low it was practically a whisper.
Polly blinked. What? The crowd stared too.
‘YES!’ shouted Jayden, raising both hands in the air, revealing very damp patches under his arms. ‘Yes!’
He turned round to kiss Flora, but she’d already bolted from the stage. Jayden air-punched one more time, then jumped down after her.
‘Hang on!’ he shouted. ‘I’ve got a ring!’
The band tittered politely.
‘How charming,’ said the singer into the mike, and Polly wanted to slap him. Then they struck up with ‘I’m in the Mood for Love’.
As Polly went to find the happy couple to congratulate them – nobody else seemed to be – she walked slap-bang into Reuben.
‘Your friends are all horrible,’ she blurted.
‘Yeah?’ said Reuben, who was brandishing a gigantic cigar without actually smoking it. ‘Well at least they’re here.’
He had, Polly thought, a point.
She found Flora – looking furiously embarrassed – and a beaming Jayden by the downstairs cloakroom. Flora was putting on her coat.
‘Um, congratulations, you two!’ said Polly. Jayden gave her a not entirely friendly look.
