Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 65
‘Are you ready?’ said Kerensa.
‘Yes! No! Oh my God,’ said Polly. She stepped back. ‘Actually,’ she said. ‘Mum. It is totally up to you to say no, honestly. Completely. But I was…’
She was so confused and emotional, she could barely get the words out.
‘I just wondered if maybe…’
‘Anything,’ said Doreen.
‘I thought I might… maybe we could call Carmel? Just… I mean, there’s… I mean, I have a whole bunch of half-brothers and sisters out there who I don’t know or anything, and well, I mean. If I was. If I wanted to get to know them. Maybe. One day. Well.’
‘You want to invite them?’
‘Maybe just Carmel,’ said Polly. ‘To start with. But if I was… if I was ever to get to know them, this might not be a bad way of beginning it.’
They looked at each other.
‘On it,’ said Kerensa, pulling out Polly’s phone from the handbag she’d spirited it into.
‘Hang on,’ said Polly, raising her hand.
Doreen stared at the floor for a moment, then looked up again with something resolute about her eyes.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes. If there is a family out there for you, Polly… more of a family, I mean. Yes. It’s so far in the past now… Yes. It’s fine.’
Polly nodded. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’m texting right now,’ said Kerensa.
They hung on with bated breath. Then Kerensa looked up.
‘They’ll be here in time for the afternoon tea,’ she said.
‘No way,’ said Polly.
There was a sound of scuffling and some impatient throat-clearing from behind them.
‘Right,’ said Kerensa.
‘Right,’ said Polly. And Doreen put out her arm to walk her down the aisle.
Chapter Forty-Three
Polly stood for just a second at the top of the stairs, looking dazedly at the whole of the life they had built together spread out before her. People were bunched around the staircase, smiling, beaming at her, dressed up in hats and wobbly on high heels, and oh my goodness, it was incredible to Polly that they’d all managed to keep it a secret.
And then a path was made, with a red carpet running down it, running through the throng of giggling delighted people, and she saw, just for a second, Huckle’s broad back, in a black jacket. Neil was perched on his shoulder, wearing a bow tie, obviously caught up in the solemnity of the moment. Reuben, a head shorter, was standing next to him. Polly just stood for a second, a thrill going through her as suddenly, gradually, the crowd became aware of her, and Reuben glanced round and nudged Huckle, who turned too, both of them with white Cornish heather in their buttonholes, and Polly’s heart leapt, and the same swing band as before – but now looking not at all so snotty – started playing a song it took Polly a moment to recognise.
Huckle spotted her, and his face lit up in a way she would never forget for as long as she lived.
And he gave her the biggest wink as she started down the stairs in the pretty low-heeled shoes she’d picked out, biting her lip, desperately hoping she wouldn’t stumble, a bevy of bridesmaids around her, one throwing rose petals that were spilling out all round the long skirt of her dress and the new shoes that she hadn’t had a chance to practise walking in, and it was quite useful, in fact, that she had to concentrate so hard on not falling down the stairs that she didn’t really have a moment to start crying or get terribly anxious about it.
But then suddenly the fact that everyone was there, the way the entire world appeared to have known about her big day before she did; the fact that she had had absolutely no idea about what was planned or how she was going to react… suddenly all of that melted away. Because Huckle was holding her gaze with his strong blue eyes. And Neil was hopping on his shoulder in his bow tie, and in his claws he held two entwined rings of fresh seaweed from the low tide on the shore.
The song continued. ‘It must be love! Love! Love!’
The rest was more or less a blur, although Polly had heard lots of people say that about their wedding day. She remembered amazing food; and Mattie the vicar doing the traditional vows with a huge beaming smile; and loads and loads of champagne; and constantly being surprised by people she hadn’t seen for too long, buried as she had been in work and her own problems. She remembered Reuben’s speech, which had somehow turned into a massive tribute to how brilliant he was, and she remembered Huckle’s because he simply stood up and said, ‘This is love and I am in it’ and sat down again, and she remembered his face when his mum and dad came up to embrace them; and she remembered Merv dancing with Doreen, and Jayden saying to Flora, ‘We could get married like this’ and her face being absolutely horrified, and Bernard throwing himself on her and thanking her for saving the sanctuary, which meant Reuben had clearly paid her invoice before she’d even sent it, and she’d made a mental note that turning the puffin café into something would have to be her summer project, but before she could start discussing it with him, Huckle had pulled her away, and Selina, looking absolutely foxy in red satin, had slipped in and grabbed Bernard’s elbow.
And she remembered, later, Carmel turning up, looking very nervous – alone, but with her camera – and she’d hugged her, and Carmel had toasted her, just once, smiling a smile with heartbreak behind it, before they were both whirled into the massive hora that had started.
And then, late at night, the cars started to arrive, including a huge limo for Polly and Huckle and Neil, and they cuddled up in the back seat, giggling occasionally, kissing often, shaking their heads at the madness and the joy of it all, and when they reached the causeway across to Mount Polbearne, the tide was out, and the way was lit, incredibly, astonishingly, all the way to the island with huge proud braziers.
God knows how Reuben had managed it, or how he’d got permission. But it looked like a magical winding path leading straight out to sea; a secret golden road, known only to them, that would close as soon as they had passed, sinking back beneath the waves.
The local cars all drove on over. But the wedding cars stopped, refusing to venture on to dangerous territory they didn’t know.
So Polly and Huckle, right at the back of the convoy, had to get out of their car, the tiny waves already lapping at their toes, and Polly took off her absurdly expensive shoes and hitched up her skirts, and both of them, floating on champagne and bubbles of pure happiness, giggling their heads off, charged along the causeway as the waves closed over behind them, the flaming torches snuffed out one by one, so that from the mainland it must have looked as if Mount Polbearne was nothing but a mirage in the distance; a lost dream.
‘Yes! No! Oh my God,’ said Polly. She stepped back. ‘Actually,’ she said. ‘Mum. It is totally up to you to say no, honestly. Completely. But I was…’
She was so confused and emotional, she could barely get the words out.
‘I just wondered if maybe…’
‘Anything,’ said Doreen.
‘I thought I might… maybe we could call Carmel? Just… I mean, there’s… I mean, I have a whole bunch of half-brothers and sisters out there who I don’t know or anything, and well, I mean. If I was. If I wanted to get to know them. Maybe. One day. Well.’
‘You want to invite them?’
‘Maybe just Carmel,’ said Polly. ‘To start with. But if I was… if I was ever to get to know them, this might not be a bad way of beginning it.’
They looked at each other.
‘On it,’ said Kerensa, pulling out Polly’s phone from the handbag she’d spirited it into.
‘Hang on,’ said Polly, raising her hand.
Doreen stared at the floor for a moment, then looked up again with something resolute about her eyes.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes. If there is a family out there for you, Polly… more of a family, I mean. Yes. It’s so far in the past now… Yes. It’s fine.’
Polly nodded. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’m texting right now,’ said Kerensa.
They hung on with bated breath. Then Kerensa looked up.
‘They’ll be here in time for the afternoon tea,’ she said.
‘No way,’ said Polly.
There was a sound of scuffling and some impatient throat-clearing from behind them.
‘Right,’ said Kerensa.
‘Right,’ said Polly. And Doreen put out her arm to walk her down the aisle.
Chapter Forty-Three
Polly stood for just a second at the top of the stairs, looking dazedly at the whole of the life they had built together spread out before her. People were bunched around the staircase, smiling, beaming at her, dressed up in hats and wobbly on high heels, and oh my goodness, it was incredible to Polly that they’d all managed to keep it a secret.
And then a path was made, with a red carpet running down it, running through the throng of giggling delighted people, and she saw, just for a second, Huckle’s broad back, in a black jacket. Neil was perched on his shoulder, wearing a bow tie, obviously caught up in the solemnity of the moment. Reuben, a head shorter, was standing next to him. Polly just stood for a second, a thrill going through her as suddenly, gradually, the crowd became aware of her, and Reuben glanced round and nudged Huckle, who turned too, both of them with white Cornish heather in their buttonholes, and Polly’s heart leapt, and the same swing band as before – but now looking not at all so snotty – started playing a song it took Polly a moment to recognise.
Huckle spotted her, and his face lit up in a way she would never forget for as long as she lived.
And he gave her the biggest wink as she started down the stairs in the pretty low-heeled shoes she’d picked out, biting her lip, desperately hoping she wouldn’t stumble, a bevy of bridesmaids around her, one throwing rose petals that were spilling out all round the long skirt of her dress and the new shoes that she hadn’t had a chance to practise walking in, and it was quite useful, in fact, that she had to concentrate so hard on not falling down the stairs that she didn’t really have a moment to start crying or get terribly anxious about it.
But then suddenly the fact that everyone was there, the way the entire world appeared to have known about her big day before she did; the fact that she had had absolutely no idea about what was planned or how she was going to react… suddenly all of that melted away. Because Huckle was holding her gaze with his strong blue eyes. And Neil was hopping on his shoulder in his bow tie, and in his claws he held two entwined rings of fresh seaweed from the low tide on the shore.
The song continued. ‘It must be love! Love! Love!’
The rest was more or less a blur, although Polly had heard lots of people say that about their wedding day. She remembered amazing food; and Mattie the vicar doing the traditional vows with a huge beaming smile; and loads and loads of champagne; and constantly being surprised by people she hadn’t seen for too long, buried as she had been in work and her own problems. She remembered Reuben’s speech, which had somehow turned into a massive tribute to how brilliant he was, and she remembered Huckle’s because he simply stood up and said, ‘This is love and I am in it’ and sat down again, and she remembered his face when his mum and dad came up to embrace them; and she remembered Merv dancing with Doreen, and Jayden saying to Flora, ‘We could get married like this’ and her face being absolutely horrified, and Bernard throwing himself on her and thanking her for saving the sanctuary, which meant Reuben had clearly paid her invoice before she’d even sent it, and she’d made a mental note that turning the puffin café into something would have to be her summer project, but before she could start discussing it with him, Huckle had pulled her away, and Selina, looking absolutely foxy in red satin, had slipped in and grabbed Bernard’s elbow.
And she remembered, later, Carmel turning up, looking very nervous – alone, but with her camera – and she’d hugged her, and Carmel had toasted her, just once, smiling a smile with heartbreak behind it, before they were both whirled into the massive hora that had started.
And then, late at night, the cars started to arrive, including a huge limo for Polly and Huckle and Neil, and they cuddled up in the back seat, giggling occasionally, kissing often, shaking their heads at the madness and the joy of it all, and when they reached the causeway across to Mount Polbearne, the tide was out, and the way was lit, incredibly, astonishingly, all the way to the island with huge proud braziers.
God knows how Reuben had managed it, or how he’d got permission. But it looked like a magical winding path leading straight out to sea; a secret golden road, known only to them, that would close as soon as they had passed, sinking back beneath the waves.
The local cars all drove on over. But the wedding cars stopped, refusing to venture on to dangerous territory they didn’t know.
So Polly and Huckle, right at the back of the convoy, had to get out of their car, the tiny waves already lapping at their toes, and Polly took off her absurdly expensive shoes and hitched up her skirts, and both of them, floating on champagne and bubbles of pure happiness, giggling their heads off, charged along the causeway as the waves closed over behind them, the flaming torches snuffed out one by one, so that from the mainland it must have looked as if Mount Polbearne was nothing but a mirage in the distance; a lost dream.
