Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 60
Kerensa looked exquisite; a large, soft, beaming earth mother, the drawn look gone from her eyes. It helped that the baby was a perfect eater and sleeper – according to his father – and that they had absolutely oodles of help around the place, but regardless, she was a changed person; back to the fun, confident, wonderful best friend Polly had always known, and she was entirely thrilled for her.
Polly phoned her mum every day – which she didn’t normally do – and somehow, because they’d had to throw everything up in the air, because they’d had to talk about things that nobody had ever wanted to talk about, she finally felt she understood a huge great tranche of her life that had formerly been a mystery to her. And because she understood this, it was as if things had become lighter, easier between them; as if her mother was no longer holding up massive barriers, desperately trying to control what Polly knew and how she felt.
She thought of her dad from time to time, with a slight air of melancholy. But it was what it was. Nobody had a life untouched by sadness, not in the real world. And for now, looking at Huckle playing ping-pong football with Neil in front of the fire, his long body stretched out, his shaggy hair glinting golden in the firelight, she felt that in so many areas of her life, she was so blessed that she couldn’t complain. Lots of people didn’t have what she had. And she had so very much.
She knew that at some point next year they would get married, but that would be next year. She could think about the organising and the costs and everything then. It would be lovely. Fine. Small. Just what they wanted. She didn’t need to get superstitious about it any more, terrified about it, or just worried in general because she’d never known how it was meant to go. It would just be her and Huckle. She wasn’t desperately looking forward to it, but it would be fine. It really would. Marriage, babies; whatever came next. She was ready for it all.
She came and lay next to Huckle and helped him blow the ping-pong ball about, which drove Neil bananas. He’d eep and hop and get so cross they’d stop playing, whereupon he’d flutter down and push the ball straight towards them until they agreed to play with him again.
She cuddled up against Huckle’s warm body on the rug, relishing the incredibly unusual feeling of having nothing – absolutely nothing, apart from the morning run – planned for the rest of the week. It was too snowy to go out; there was no need to take any exercise, or organise or arrange anything. It was just hours of clear nothingness ahead, with little more to do than make love, watch films, eat Quality Street and drink fizz. That would do.
Chapter Forty-One
Early on New Year’s Eve, after Polly had done her rounds and was crawling back into bed, the phone rang deep in the bowels of the lighthouse.
‘Kill them,’ said Huckle. ‘Whoever it is. Seriously. I’m not answering the phone.’
They let it ring out. It went on for ages and ages. Huckle groaned.
‘No,’ he said. ‘No. Everything is exactly how I wanted it.’
Polly checked her phone, but as usual she couldn’t get a signal.
‘It will be a sales call,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve spoken to Mum today. Let’s just ignore them and they’ll go away.’
The ringing stopped as she smiled sleepily and cuddled up to Huckle even more closely. ‘See,’ she said.
‘You have magic powers,’ said Huckle, leaning in to kiss her. The phone started again. It sounded oddly more insistent than before.
‘Go away!’ said Huckle.
Polly made a groaning noise. ‘Oh God, I’d better answer it.’
‘If it’s Reuben or Kerensa, can you tell them we’re out of their ridiculous lives now? Please?’
‘Why am I going downstairs anyway?’ said Polly, wincing as the freezing air on the stairwell hit her.
‘Because you’ll enjoy it so much more when you come back into the warm,’ said Huckle. ‘I’ll build us a nest.’
Polly smiled and inched her way downstairs to pick up the heavy black Bakelite phone.
‘Polly!’
‘No,’ said Polly.
‘What do you mean, no?’ said Reuben, offended.
‘Whatever it is,’ said Polly, ‘I’m not doing it. I’m kind of on holiday, which also includes feeding everyone in town. So. No.’
‘Maybe I’m not calling you to get you to do anything for me.’
‘Okay, so what is it?’ said Polly.
‘Ah,’ said Reuben.
‘NO!’ said Polly. ‘Absolutely not. No. I’m not doing it.’
There was a pause.
‘Polls…’
‘No!’
‘Because the thing is,’ said Reuben, ‘you know I agreed to pay for you to cater Christmas? Well actually, technically speaking, Christmas morning and that box day thing you have after Christmas…’
‘Christmas morning when you were at the hospital because your wife was giving birth and I was driving your mother-in-law?’
‘Yeah,’ said Reuben. ‘You see, you weren’t technically there.’
‘That wasn’t my fault!’ said Polly. ‘That was your baby decided to come early!’
‘Yeah, nevertheless…’ said Reuben.
‘NO!’
‘Because, you know, that puffin sanctuary is looking mighty hard up…’
It was absolutely freezing downstairs in the little office. Ice patterns had formed on the windows. Huckle had cleared the path down the stone steps to the harbour every morning, but the snow was still piling up. It was unusual for quite so much to lie on the island; normally the wind and the salt in the air cleared it quickly. But this year they were totally inundated.
Polly thought with some sadness about the Back to the Future triple bill they’d had scheduled for that afternoon. And then she thought of all the puffins that would be absolutely decimated if left to their own devices in Cornish waters. She sighed.
‘What do you need?’
‘I’ve got all the ingredients here,’ said Reuben. ‘Just come over. Say hi to everyone. Herschel is dying to see you.’
‘Is that how it’s going to go?’ said Polly. ‘You’re going to use the baby to guilt me every time you want a sandwich until the end of time?’
‘He is your only godson.’
Huckle crept down behind her with the duvet pulled around him.
Polly phoned her mum every day – which she didn’t normally do – and somehow, because they’d had to throw everything up in the air, because they’d had to talk about things that nobody had ever wanted to talk about, she finally felt she understood a huge great tranche of her life that had formerly been a mystery to her. And because she understood this, it was as if things had become lighter, easier between them; as if her mother was no longer holding up massive barriers, desperately trying to control what Polly knew and how she felt.
She thought of her dad from time to time, with a slight air of melancholy. But it was what it was. Nobody had a life untouched by sadness, not in the real world. And for now, looking at Huckle playing ping-pong football with Neil in front of the fire, his long body stretched out, his shaggy hair glinting golden in the firelight, she felt that in so many areas of her life, she was so blessed that she couldn’t complain. Lots of people didn’t have what she had. And she had so very much.
She knew that at some point next year they would get married, but that would be next year. She could think about the organising and the costs and everything then. It would be lovely. Fine. Small. Just what they wanted. She didn’t need to get superstitious about it any more, terrified about it, or just worried in general because she’d never known how it was meant to go. It would just be her and Huckle. She wasn’t desperately looking forward to it, but it would be fine. It really would. Marriage, babies; whatever came next. She was ready for it all.
She came and lay next to Huckle and helped him blow the ping-pong ball about, which drove Neil bananas. He’d eep and hop and get so cross they’d stop playing, whereupon he’d flutter down and push the ball straight towards them until they agreed to play with him again.
She cuddled up against Huckle’s warm body on the rug, relishing the incredibly unusual feeling of having nothing – absolutely nothing, apart from the morning run – planned for the rest of the week. It was too snowy to go out; there was no need to take any exercise, or organise or arrange anything. It was just hours of clear nothingness ahead, with little more to do than make love, watch films, eat Quality Street and drink fizz. That would do.
Chapter Forty-One
Early on New Year’s Eve, after Polly had done her rounds and was crawling back into bed, the phone rang deep in the bowels of the lighthouse.
‘Kill them,’ said Huckle. ‘Whoever it is. Seriously. I’m not answering the phone.’
They let it ring out. It went on for ages and ages. Huckle groaned.
‘No,’ he said. ‘No. Everything is exactly how I wanted it.’
Polly checked her phone, but as usual she couldn’t get a signal.
‘It will be a sales call,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve spoken to Mum today. Let’s just ignore them and they’ll go away.’
The ringing stopped as she smiled sleepily and cuddled up to Huckle even more closely. ‘See,’ she said.
‘You have magic powers,’ said Huckle, leaning in to kiss her. The phone started again. It sounded oddly more insistent than before.
‘Go away!’ said Huckle.
Polly made a groaning noise. ‘Oh God, I’d better answer it.’
‘If it’s Reuben or Kerensa, can you tell them we’re out of their ridiculous lives now? Please?’
‘Why am I going downstairs anyway?’ said Polly, wincing as the freezing air on the stairwell hit her.
‘Because you’ll enjoy it so much more when you come back into the warm,’ said Huckle. ‘I’ll build us a nest.’
Polly smiled and inched her way downstairs to pick up the heavy black Bakelite phone.
‘Polly!’
‘No,’ said Polly.
‘What do you mean, no?’ said Reuben, offended.
‘Whatever it is,’ said Polly, ‘I’m not doing it. I’m kind of on holiday, which also includes feeding everyone in town. So. No.’
‘Maybe I’m not calling you to get you to do anything for me.’
‘Okay, so what is it?’ said Polly.
‘Ah,’ said Reuben.
‘NO!’ said Polly. ‘Absolutely not. No. I’m not doing it.’
There was a pause.
‘Polls…’
‘No!’
‘Because the thing is,’ said Reuben, ‘you know I agreed to pay for you to cater Christmas? Well actually, technically speaking, Christmas morning and that box day thing you have after Christmas…’
‘Christmas morning when you were at the hospital because your wife was giving birth and I was driving your mother-in-law?’
‘Yeah,’ said Reuben. ‘You see, you weren’t technically there.’
‘That wasn’t my fault!’ said Polly. ‘That was your baby decided to come early!’
‘Yeah, nevertheless…’ said Reuben.
‘NO!’
‘Because, you know, that puffin sanctuary is looking mighty hard up…’
It was absolutely freezing downstairs in the little office. Ice patterns had formed on the windows. Huckle had cleared the path down the stone steps to the harbour every morning, but the snow was still piling up. It was unusual for quite so much to lie on the island; normally the wind and the salt in the air cleared it quickly. But this year they were totally inundated.
Polly thought with some sadness about the Back to the Future triple bill they’d had scheduled for that afternoon. And then she thought of all the puffins that would be absolutely decimated if left to their own devices in Cornish waters. She sighed.
‘What do you need?’
‘I’ve got all the ingredients here,’ said Reuben. ‘Just come over. Say hi to everyone. Herschel is dying to see you.’
‘Is that how it’s going to go?’ said Polly. ‘You’re going to use the baby to guilt me every time you want a sandwich until the end of time?’
‘He is your only godson.’
Huckle crept down behind her with the duvet pulled around him.
