Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 39
‘Hey, Huck,’ he yelled. ‘You got a firecracker here.’
Polly mixed the dough expertly, adding more chickpeas and water and throwing it until it was as thin as she could make it. Then she carefully oiled the oven hot plate and poured on the mixture, expertly flipping the dough after a couple of minutes. The underside had satisfying black popped blisters on it. After a minute on the other side, she pulled it out with the long stick left by the oven for this purpose, popped it on a plate with plenty of salt and pepper, quartered it and gave it to Reuben to try. He was so greedy he barely blew on it and burnt his mouth.
‘Ow. Goddammit,’ he said. ‘Stupid goddam super-hot oven.’
‘It’s a great oven,’ said Polly. ‘I’m jealous.’
After a second he tried a second bite. Then he polished off the lot.
‘Oh man,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘That’s amazing.’
‘I know,’ said Polly. ‘They’re good, aren’t they?’
She made another one for Huckle, which Reuben insisted on eating, then finally got one to him. Then the surfers came in and were so appreciative she got through three batches before Reuben even remembered to put the fish on.
The surfers were big, friendly guys, mostly Brits. The last person to emerge from the water, though – unpeeling her wetsuit to reveal a gorgeous red spotted bikini, and pushing back long blonde curly hair – turned out to be one of the most beautiful girls Polly had ever seen. She looked like a bikini model from an American sportswear magazine. Her golden skin was lightly tanned and completely free of make-up; she had feline green eyes and a wide, full mouth. Even Huckle opened his eyes in appreciation as she walked up the beach, a beautifully embroidered kaftan thrown over her long, lithe body. Polly wondered what it would be like to be able to do that – did she even notice that eyes followed her wherever she went? Was she just completely used to it? Would she wake up at fifty and wonder when the world had changed?
The girl casually grabbed a bottled beer from the fridge, took a long draught as though she was in a commercial and then pressed herself up against Reuben like a cat. She was nearly a head taller than him.
‘Hey, babes,’ she said. Reuben grunted at her. ‘That smells amazing,’ she said. ‘You should have come out this morning, it’s nuts out there. Fabulous.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Reuben sulkily. He didn’t offer her a piece of the socca.
The goddess turned her attention briefly to Polly, who had the uncomfortable sensation of being scanned by a machine and instantly categorised as non-threatening. She felt like offering her hand to be stamped.
‘Hi,’ said the girl, with a wide smile that showed her perfect white teeth. ‘I’m Jaz.’
‘Er, hi, Jaz,’ said Polly. ‘Polly.’
Jaz looked at Polly, who was making more socca, and frowned.
‘He’s letting you use his kitchen?’
‘Jaz, wanna sit down?’ said Reuben. ‘We’re kind of busy here.’
Jaz gave a ravishing pout but retreated back to the other surfers, who surrounded her like a queen.
‘Cor, your girlfriend is GORGEOUS,’ blurted out Polly without thinking. Unusually for Reuben, he didn’t reply.
Lunch was fried langoustines in garlic and lemon on a bed of fresh peppery rocket salad. They all tucked in heartily, the Chablis a perfect accompaniment to the meal along with the hot sun and the daft banter between the surfers as they talked about hanging tens and sex wax and other surfing terms Polly didn’t understand.
She was, she realised, enjoying herself.
After the meal, and coffee, and a large box of American candy that Reuben passed around, the boys headed out into the water again.
‘Can you surf?’ said Huckle.
‘Yes,’ said Polly. ‘I have the perfect surfer’s physique, hadn’t you noticed?’
Huckle shrugged. ‘Seems strange to grow up in Cornwall and not surf.’
‘Well I grew up in Devon.’
The maid was back, Polly noticed, unobtrusively cleaning up around them. Imagine someone doing that for you and not even noticing.
‘Thank you,’ she said. The girl glanced up quickly, then returned to her work.
‘The thing is,’ said Reuben. ‘You gotta… you gotta surf, man.’
‘It looks hard,’ said Polly.
‘No, I don’t mean SURF,’ he snorted. ‘Obviously it’s like totally a metaphor.’
‘I didn’t realise that,’ said Polly.
‘You gotta follow your bliss. You heard that term?’
‘Is it American by any chance?’ From the opposite side of the table she could feel Huckle smirking at her response.
‘Like all the best things, baby,’ said Reuben, winking. ‘Yeah! You gotta follow your bliss. Only way in life. You gotta do what you love. When you figure out what you love to do, do it as hard as you can and everything will be awesome and you can surf. And that will make you happy. What makes you happy?’
Polly shrugged. ‘I suppose… Well, baking bread. Baking things. But I don’t know if I could do it all the time, as a job. Wouldn’t that take the fun out of it?’
‘What, getting paid to do it?’ said Reuben, aghast. ‘God, no. That makes it even more fun, don’t you see?’
Polly looked around.
‘Maybe,’ she said.
‘It’s all right if your bliss is hacking into computer systems that saves the American government from Chinese copyright thefts and makes you billions,’ said Huckle. ‘That’s helpful. My bliss makes me about two bucks a jar.’
Reuben shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. You’re happier here than you were trapped in Savannah, right?’
It was as if someone had suddenly opened a fridge door. The entire atmosphere plummeted through the floor. Huckle froze and tilted his head towards the sea. Reuben seemed completely oblivious.
There was a very long pause. Finally Jaz shook her long hair and jumped into the conversation.
‘Yes, I followed my bliss and look where I ended up.’
Reuben gave her a sharp look.
Polly figured it was probably time to be on their way. Huckle jumped up immediately at the suggestion.
During the trip home, they couldn’t speak over the noise, but Polly had a lot to think about. Huckle was recovering from something; that much was obvious. And Reuben was a tricky character, completely oblivious to what people thought of him or what he was saying. On the other hand, what he had said about following what she wanted to do… Could she?
Polly mixed the dough expertly, adding more chickpeas and water and throwing it until it was as thin as she could make it. Then she carefully oiled the oven hot plate and poured on the mixture, expertly flipping the dough after a couple of minutes. The underside had satisfying black popped blisters on it. After a minute on the other side, she pulled it out with the long stick left by the oven for this purpose, popped it on a plate with plenty of salt and pepper, quartered it and gave it to Reuben to try. He was so greedy he barely blew on it and burnt his mouth.
‘Ow. Goddammit,’ he said. ‘Stupid goddam super-hot oven.’
‘It’s a great oven,’ said Polly. ‘I’m jealous.’
After a second he tried a second bite. Then he polished off the lot.
‘Oh man,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘That’s amazing.’
‘I know,’ said Polly. ‘They’re good, aren’t they?’
She made another one for Huckle, which Reuben insisted on eating, then finally got one to him. Then the surfers came in and were so appreciative she got through three batches before Reuben even remembered to put the fish on.
The surfers were big, friendly guys, mostly Brits. The last person to emerge from the water, though – unpeeling her wetsuit to reveal a gorgeous red spotted bikini, and pushing back long blonde curly hair – turned out to be one of the most beautiful girls Polly had ever seen. She looked like a bikini model from an American sportswear magazine. Her golden skin was lightly tanned and completely free of make-up; she had feline green eyes and a wide, full mouth. Even Huckle opened his eyes in appreciation as she walked up the beach, a beautifully embroidered kaftan thrown over her long, lithe body. Polly wondered what it would be like to be able to do that – did she even notice that eyes followed her wherever she went? Was she just completely used to it? Would she wake up at fifty and wonder when the world had changed?
The girl casually grabbed a bottled beer from the fridge, took a long draught as though she was in a commercial and then pressed herself up against Reuben like a cat. She was nearly a head taller than him.
‘Hey, babes,’ she said. Reuben grunted at her. ‘That smells amazing,’ she said. ‘You should have come out this morning, it’s nuts out there. Fabulous.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Reuben sulkily. He didn’t offer her a piece of the socca.
The goddess turned her attention briefly to Polly, who had the uncomfortable sensation of being scanned by a machine and instantly categorised as non-threatening. She felt like offering her hand to be stamped.
‘Hi,’ said the girl, with a wide smile that showed her perfect white teeth. ‘I’m Jaz.’
‘Er, hi, Jaz,’ said Polly. ‘Polly.’
Jaz looked at Polly, who was making more socca, and frowned.
‘He’s letting you use his kitchen?’
‘Jaz, wanna sit down?’ said Reuben. ‘We’re kind of busy here.’
Jaz gave a ravishing pout but retreated back to the other surfers, who surrounded her like a queen.
‘Cor, your girlfriend is GORGEOUS,’ blurted out Polly without thinking. Unusually for Reuben, he didn’t reply.
Lunch was fried langoustines in garlic and lemon on a bed of fresh peppery rocket salad. They all tucked in heartily, the Chablis a perfect accompaniment to the meal along with the hot sun and the daft banter between the surfers as they talked about hanging tens and sex wax and other surfing terms Polly didn’t understand.
She was, she realised, enjoying herself.
After the meal, and coffee, and a large box of American candy that Reuben passed around, the boys headed out into the water again.
‘Can you surf?’ said Huckle.
‘Yes,’ said Polly. ‘I have the perfect surfer’s physique, hadn’t you noticed?’
Huckle shrugged. ‘Seems strange to grow up in Cornwall and not surf.’
‘Well I grew up in Devon.’
The maid was back, Polly noticed, unobtrusively cleaning up around them. Imagine someone doing that for you and not even noticing.
‘Thank you,’ she said. The girl glanced up quickly, then returned to her work.
‘The thing is,’ said Reuben. ‘You gotta… you gotta surf, man.’
‘It looks hard,’ said Polly.
‘No, I don’t mean SURF,’ he snorted. ‘Obviously it’s like totally a metaphor.’
‘I didn’t realise that,’ said Polly.
‘You gotta follow your bliss. You heard that term?’
‘Is it American by any chance?’ From the opposite side of the table she could feel Huckle smirking at her response.
‘Like all the best things, baby,’ said Reuben, winking. ‘Yeah! You gotta follow your bliss. Only way in life. You gotta do what you love. When you figure out what you love to do, do it as hard as you can and everything will be awesome and you can surf. And that will make you happy. What makes you happy?’
Polly shrugged. ‘I suppose… Well, baking bread. Baking things. But I don’t know if I could do it all the time, as a job. Wouldn’t that take the fun out of it?’
‘What, getting paid to do it?’ said Reuben, aghast. ‘God, no. That makes it even more fun, don’t you see?’
Polly looked around.
‘Maybe,’ she said.
‘It’s all right if your bliss is hacking into computer systems that saves the American government from Chinese copyright thefts and makes you billions,’ said Huckle. ‘That’s helpful. My bliss makes me about two bucks a jar.’
Reuben shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. You’re happier here than you were trapped in Savannah, right?’
It was as if someone had suddenly opened a fridge door. The entire atmosphere plummeted through the floor. Huckle froze and tilted his head towards the sea. Reuben seemed completely oblivious.
There was a very long pause. Finally Jaz shook her long hair and jumped into the conversation.
‘Yes, I followed my bliss and look where I ended up.’
Reuben gave her a sharp look.
Polly figured it was probably time to be on their way. Huckle jumped up immediately at the suggestion.
During the trip home, they couldn’t speak over the noise, but Polly had a lot to think about. Huckle was recovering from something; that much was obvious. And Reuben was a tricky character, completely oblivious to what people thought of him or what he was saying. On the other hand, what he had said about following what she wanted to do… Could she?
