Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 63
‘But he always knew I loved him,’ said Polly.
‘He’s a bloke!’ said Kerensa. ‘Blokes don’t know ANYTHING unless you spell it out in foot-high letters and stick it in front of their noses. All he’d have been thinking is “Polly no marry Huckle. Huckle so sad. So so sad. Huckle go marry twenty-year-old.”’
‘No he wasn’t,’ said Polly.
‘“Huckle so sad and lonely!”’
‘She’s right, you know,’ said Doreen, and it was to Polly’s great credit that she didn’t immediately turn around and say what on earth would you know about it?
Kerensa beamed.
‘My mum’s here too, saying I should have done it like this instead of dressing up like Princess Leia, and it’s actually even more annoying because she has a point.’
‘How did you get here, Mum?’ said Polly.
‘That nice young American boy sent a car for me,’ said Doreen. ‘He’s looked after me so well! Such a lovely chap.’
‘Reuben?’
‘He’s a darling,’ said Doreen.
‘He is,’ said Kerensa, looking fondly at the crib in the corner where she’d laid Herschel-Lowin.
Polly looked around.
‘And you promise me Huckle knew nothing about this?’
‘Nope,’ said Kerensa. ‘Reuben thought he’d pitch a fit and insist that you needed a chance to do it your way. Whereas we’ve decided that it’s just time for the two of you.’
‘Seriously?’
‘You’re so busy, you’d never have got round to it.’
Kerensa knelt down.
‘You’re not cross, are you?’
Polly looked around again. Planning her own wedding wasn’t at all the kind of thing she’d dreamed of as a child. Everything she’d dreamed of – running her own business, being independent, baking things people wanted to buy – those things she’d done. But in this big, mad, beautiful house…
‘Who else is coming?’ she asked weakly.
‘Everyone,’ said Kerensa, with a wicked glint in her eye, and sure enough, there were already fleets of cars crunching up the drive towards the house, and laughing, shouting people disgorging from them.
‘Oh Lord,’ said Polly.
There was a woman lingering by the door carrying a huge box of what was clearly make-up. Polly turned to her.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Whatever it is you do – do it all. Twice. Then add some more for luck.’
Kerensa poured them all glasses of champagne.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said. ‘I have a breast pump.’
‘I really don’t deserve this,’ said Polly. ‘I don’t deserve any of this. Not really.’
Kerensa blinked. ‘You’ve been the best friend in the world,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Anyway, choose a dress, the rest are going back. Reuben hired the entire shop. Plus you’ll need an hour for Anita to paint your nails and stick extra hair in.’
‘What do you mean, extra hair?’
‘All the brides these days have extra hair,’ said Kerensa. ‘Well, they have lots extra in some places and lots less in other places. We can do that too.’
Polly thought of how often Huckle had said he liked her strawberry-blonde hair natural and curly rather than how she normally did it, ironed flat and sprayed down.
‘Actually,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll just leave it like it is.’
‘But it’s all curly.’
‘Maybe curly is all right.’
‘My God, your children are going to have, like, the world’s curliest hair.’
Polly smiled to think of it.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Maybe I’ve made my peace with that.’
She started trying on the dresses, having a giggle at the really massive princess one – she couldn’t help it; it looked stiff and strange and not like her at all, and was profoundly uncomfortable to wear.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Definitely not.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Kerensa. ‘I’ve taken lots of nice pictures of you in it anyway, so if you want to you can substitute that frock in the wedding pictures later. Reuben can do all the computer stuff.’
‘Hmm,’ said Polly. And then she saw it. It was just behind the cupboard, and wasn’t at all like the rest of the showy diamanté numbers. In fact it was rather plain: a simple vintage dress with a boat-neck lace top and a deep V at the waist. If anything, it was slightly medieval. It didn’t have petticoats or hoops or sparkles or ruffles or bows. Neither did it cut her off as the strapless numbers did, making her look like the top half of her was cavorting about naked. This dress was subtle, sweet, understated…
She slipped the cool silk underskirt over her head. It flowed down her body and fitted immediately, perfectly, as if it had been made for her. It shimmered as she moved; it wasn’t too tight or too puffy; not too fussy and not too plain. The tiny glinting vintage sequins caught the light in a subtle way; the pale ivory colour set off her red hair perfectly. She looked in the mirror and barely recognised herself.
‘Oh,’ Doreen said quietly. ‘Oh. That’s exactly what I’d have chosen. For you,’ she added quickly, looking up and wiping her eyes. ‘I mean for you, of course. That’s what I would have chosen for you.’
Polly came over and hugged her mother for a long time and they had a small cry together. Then Anita, the hair and make-up girl, unpacked her box and started work.
Polly could see more cars arriving.
‘Oh my Lord,’ she said. ‘I’m quite nervous now.’
She turned to Kerensa. ‘What music are we having?’
‘Just the normal stuff,’ said Kerensa quickly. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
Polly blinked.
‘Oh my God, what about rings?’
‘We’ve borrowed a couple for you,’ said Kerensa. ‘They have to go back and then you can choose your own.’
Polly shook her head.
‘No, it’s all right,’ she said. ‘I think we have a better idea.’ And she sent a quick text to Huckle.
After half an hour of painting and polishing and primping – at one point there were three people working on her at once – Kerensa gave Polly some fresh underwear and declared her ready.
‘He’s a bloke!’ said Kerensa. ‘Blokes don’t know ANYTHING unless you spell it out in foot-high letters and stick it in front of their noses. All he’d have been thinking is “Polly no marry Huckle. Huckle so sad. So so sad. Huckle go marry twenty-year-old.”’
‘No he wasn’t,’ said Polly.
‘“Huckle so sad and lonely!”’
‘She’s right, you know,’ said Doreen, and it was to Polly’s great credit that she didn’t immediately turn around and say what on earth would you know about it?
Kerensa beamed.
‘My mum’s here too, saying I should have done it like this instead of dressing up like Princess Leia, and it’s actually even more annoying because she has a point.’
‘How did you get here, Mum?’ said Polly.
‘That nice young American boy sent a car for me,’ said Doreen. ‘He’s looked after me so well! Such a lovely chap.’
‘Reuben?’
‘He’s a darling,’ said Doreen.
‘He is,’ said Kerensa, looking fondly at the crib in the corner where she’d laid Herschel-Lowin.
Polly looked around.
‘And you promise me Huckle knew nothing about this?’
‘Nope,’ said Kerensa. ‘Reuben thought he’d pitch a fit and insist that you needed a chance to do it your way. Whereas we’ve decided that it’s just time for the two of you.’
‘Seriously?’
‘You’re so busy, you’d never have got round to it.’
Kerensa knelt down.
‘You’re not cross, are you?’
Polly looked around again. Planning her own wedding wasn’t at all the kind of thing she’d dreamed of as a child. Everything she’d dreamed of – running her own business, being independent, baking things people wanted to buy – those things she’d done. But in this big, mad, beautiful house…
‘Who else is coming?’ she asked weakly.
‘Everyone,’ said Kerensa, with a wicked glint in her eye, and sure enough, there were already fleets of cars crunching up the drive towards the house, and laughing, shouting people disgorging from them.
‘Oh Lord,’ said Polly.
There was a woman lingering by the door carrying a huge box of what was clearly make-up. Polly turned to her.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Whatever it is you do – do it all. Twice. Then add some more for luck.’
Kerensa poured them all glasses of champagne.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said. ‘I have a breast pump.’
‘I really don’t deserve this,’ said Polly. ‘I don’t deserve any of this. Not really.’
Kerensa blinked. ‘You’ve been the best friend in the world,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Anyway, choose a dress, the rest are going back. Reuben hired the entire shop. Plus you’ll need an hour for Anita to paint your nails and stick extra hair in.’
‘What do you mean, extra hair?’
‘All the brides these days have extra hair,’ said Kerensa. ‘Well, they have lots extra in some places and lots less in other places. We can do that too.’
Polly thought of how often Huckle had said he liked her strawberry-blonde hair natural and curly rather than how she normally did it, ironed flat and sprayed down.
‘Actually,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll just leave it like it is.’
‘But it’s all curly.’
‘Maybe curly is all right.’
‘My God, your children are going to have, like, the world’s curliest hair.’
Polly smiled to think of it.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Maybe I’ve made my peace with that.’
She started trying on the dresses, having a giggle at the really massive princess one – she couldn’t help it; it looked stiff and strange and not like her at all, and was profoundly uncomfortable to wear.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Definitely not.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Kerensa. ‘I’ve taken lots of nice pictures of you in it anyway, so if you want to you can substitute that frock in the wedding pictures later. Reuben can do all the computer stuff.’
‘Hmm,’ said Polly. And then she saw it. It was just behind the cupboard, and wasn’t at all like the rest of the showy diamanté numbers. In fact it was rather plain: a simple vintage dress with a boat-neck lace top and a deep V at the waist. If anything, it was slightly medieval. It didn’t have petticoats or hoops or sparkles or ruffles or bows. Neither did it cut her off as the strapless numbers did, making her look like the top half of her was cavorting about naked. This dress was subtle, sweet, understated…
She slipped the cool silk underskirt over her head. It flowed down her body and fitted immediately, perfectly, as if it had been made for her. It shimmered as she moved; it wasn’t too tight or too puffy; not too fussy and not too plain. The tiny glinting vintage sequins caught the light in a subtle way; the pale ivory colour set off her red hair perfectly. She looked in the mirror and barely recognised herself.
‘Oh,’ Doreen said quietly. ‘Oh. That’s exactly what I’d have chosen. For you,’ she added quickly, looking up and wiping her eyes. ‘I mean for you, of course. That’s what I would have chosen for you.’
Polly came over and hugged her mother for a long time and they had a small cry together. Then Anita, the hair and make-up girl, unpacked her box and started work.
Polly could see more cars arriving.
‘Oh my Lord,’ she said. ‘I’m quite nervous now.’
She turned to Kerensa. ‘What music are we having?’
‘Just the normal stuff,’ said Kerensa quickly. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
Polly blinked.
‘Oh my God, what about rings?’
‘We’ve borrowed a couple for you,’ said Kerensa. ‘They have to go back and then you can choose your own.’
Polly shook her head.
‘No, it’s all right,’ she said. ‘I think we have a better idea.’ And she sent a quick text to Huckle.
After half an hour of painting and polishing and primping – at one point there were three people working on her at once – Kerensa gave Polly some fresh underwear and declared her ready.
