Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 40
‘Thanks,’ she said when Huckle dropped her off. ‘Your friend is interesting.’
Huckle lifted his goggles.
‘He liked you,’ he said. ‘That doesn’t happen often.’
‘He wasn’t very nice to his girlfriend.’
Huckle smiled. ‘Oh, she’s not his girlfriend. He’s surrounded by women all the time. They have their eyes on the prize for sure.’
‘Oh!’ said Polly. ‘That’s kind of… Wow. I never thought. Really? The money? But she’s so stunning, she could have anyone…’
‘Don’t knock it,’ said Huckle. ‘It’s a tough old world out there. People have to do whatever they can to get by.’
‘Well, yes, I know that,’ said Polly.
‘Not everyone has a gift like yours.’
It took her a moment to catch on to the compliment.
‘Really?’ she said, flushing.
Huckle shrugged. ‘Duh,’ he said. Then he looked a bit embarrassed for a second and reached into the back of the bike.
‘Um,’ he said. ‘I bought this for you when you were drying your tears at the park.’ He handed her a little plush toy puffin.
‘Oh,’ said Polly. She felt very wobbly and emotional as she took it. Huckle hadn’t drunk any wine at lunch, but she had. ‘Oh. Thanks.’
‘Really? I wasn’t sure if it would make things better or worse.’
‘As long as I don’t call him Neil 2 and keep him in a box,’ said Polly. ‘No. Thank you. Thank you.’
Huckle looked relieved and embarrassed at the same time.
‘I had a lovely time today,’ Polly said. ‘I’m sure Reuben didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Huckle. ‘It’s one of his hobbies. But I’m used to it.’
He kissed her, fleetingly, on the cheek. The motorbike fired up with its usual throaty roar, and she watched, clutching the cuddly puffin, all the way up the cobbled street until he disappeared from sight.
Chapter Twelve
Polly wouldn’t have admitted to anyone how much she missed Neil that night. It was so stupid; he was only a bird, he wasn’t a guard dog or anything. But every creak woke her; every clank of the masts outside; every seagull’s cry. She did not sleep well and wearily decided at five o’clock that enough was enough, and she might as well call it a night. She took to kneading some sesame bread, thinking as she did so that she might send some over to Reuben as a thank you. In fact, she’d make breadsticks too, they’d keep longer.
At seven she heard the fleet coming back in and happy shouts that indicated that the catch had gone well. She took a coffee down for Tarnie, and the fresh breadsticks, which didn’t need to rise like the bread.
‘Hey there,’ said Tarnie, smiling. He looked tired but happy. ‘We had a good run.’
‘Brilliant!’ said Polly, hoping he would take a few days off and get some rest.
‘Where’s Neil?’
‘Ah,’ said Polly, and explained.
‘Well I am sorry to hear that,’ said Tarnie. ‘I didn’t ever notice him being a particularly miserable or unhappy puffin.’
‘I know,’ said Polly sadly. ‘But everyone else said it’s for the best. Anyway.’
‘Anyway yourself,’ said Tarnie. ‘I’ve got news for you. They’ve agreed to discharge Gillian if she gets some help in the shop and lets a community nurse pop round. I’ve found you a job!’
‘You’re not serious?’ said Polly. ‘She’s agreed to have me?’
‘Of course,’ said Tarnie, unwilling to divulge how much coercion had actually been required.
Polly thought of Reuben telling her to follow her bliss. Then she thought of how much money she had left in the world, the number of jobs she’d applied for (38) and the number of interviews she’d had (0).
‘Brilliant!’ she said, deciding to ignore her doubts and go with her gut. It was a job! She could do it! She’d worry later about working for someone who didn’t like her. If Gillian Manse fired her, at least she’d have broken her duck. ‘When do I start?’
‘Er, tomorrow,’ said Tarnie. ‘She gets discharged today and she can show you the ropes tomorrow.’
Polly didn’t really want Gillian showing her the ropes, so she popped over to the bakery in the afternoon to see if she could figure out for herself how to fire up the ovens. They were still clean and sparkling and she looked around the room, nervous and excited at the same time. All of these ovens! She was going to be in charge of all of them! She ran her hands over the wooden surfaces of the units; peered into the vast mixers that kneaded the dough. Maybe there would be no more central buying-in, she hoped. That was what was making the bakery fail. She’d already spent more time than she would have liked with one failed business. She wasn’t going to let it happen again.
While she was inspecting the ovens, there was a knock on the back door. A strong-looking man in his fifties with the ruddy cheeks of someone who spent their life outdoors was standing there.
‘Is it true?’ he asked in such a strong local accent Polly could barely understand him. ‘Is it true, me lover?’
‘Um,’ said Polly. ‘That depends.’
‘That they’re going to start baking again? That they’re bringing the baking back?’
Polly smiled. ‘I think we’re going to have a shot.’
The man put out his hand for her to shake.
‘I’m Ted Kernesse,’ he said. ‘I used to deliver flour here, back in the day. She was a sensational baker, Gillian Manse.’
‘Really?’ said Polly. ‘It wasn’t very good when I got here.’
‘Nah, she switched to the bought-in, didn’t she? Lost interest after… that business,’ he said, taking off his hat. ‘Anyway. Will you be wanting the flour back?’
‘I suppose we will, yes. How soon can you get started?’
‘It’ll be outside your door in the morning,’ said Ted. ‘Where’s your yeast going to grow?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Polly, suddenly nervous. She’d only ever used dried yeast.
‘Well, just stick it in a pot in the fridge, let it get on wi’ itself.’
Huckle lifted his goggles.
‘He liked you,’ he said. ‘That doesn’t happen often.’
‘He wasn’t very nice to his girlfriend.’
Huckle smiled. ‘Oh, she’s not his girlfriend. He’s surrounded by women all the time. They have their eyes on the prize for sure.’
‘Oh!’ said Polly. ‘That’s kind of… Wow. I never thought. Really? The money? But she’s so stunning, she could have anyone…’
‘Don’t knock it,’ said Huckle. ‘It’s a tough old world out there. People have to do whatever they can to get by.’
‘Well, yes, I know that,’ said Polly.
‘Not everyone has a gift like yours.’
It took her a moment to catch on to the compliment.
‘Really?’ she said, flushing.
Huckle shrugged. ‘Duh,’ he said. Then he looked a bit embarrassed for a second and reached into the back of the bike.
‘Um,’ he said. ‘I bought this for you when you were drying your tears at the park.’ He handed her a little plush toy puffin.
‘Oh,’ said Polly. She felt very wobbly and emotional as she took it. Huckle hadn’t drunk any wine at lunch, but she had. ‘Oh. Thanks.’
‘Really? I wasn’t sure if it would make things better or worse.’
‘As long as I don’t call him Neil 2 and keep him in a box,’ said Polly. ‘No. Thank you. Thank you.’
Huckle looked relieved and embarrassed at the same time.
‘I had a lovely time today,’ Polly said. ‘I’m sure Reuben didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Huckle. ‘It’s one of his hobbies. But I’m used to it.’
He kissed her, fleetingly, on the cheek. The motorbike fired up with its usual throaty roar, and she watched, clutching the cuddly puffin, all the way up the cobbled street until he disappeared from sight.
Chapter Twelve
Polly wouldn’t have admitted to anyone how much she missed Neil that night. It was so stupid; he was only a bird, he wasn’t a guard dog or anything. But every creak woke her; every clank of the masts outside; every seagull’s cry. She did not sleep well and wearily decided at five o’clock that enough was enough, and she might as well call it a night. She took to kneading some sesame bread, thinking as she did so that she might send some over to Reuben as a thank you. In fact, she’d make breadsticks too, they’d keep longer.
At seven she heard the fleet coming back in and happy shouts that indicated that the catch had gone well. She took a coffee down for Tarnie, and the fresh breadsticks, which didn’t need to rise like the bread.
‘Hey there,’ said Tarnie, smiling. He looked tired but happy. ‘We had a good run.’
‘Brilliant!’ said Polly, hoping he would take a few days off and get some rest.
‘Where’s Neil?’
‘Ah,’ said Polly, and explained.
‘Well I am sorry to hear that,’ said Tarnie. ‘I didn’t ever notice him being a particularly miserable or unhappy puffin.’
‘I know,’ said Polly sadly. ‘But everyone else said it’s for the best. Anyway.’
‘Anyway yourself,’ said Tarnie. ‘I’ve got news for you. They’ve agreed to discharge Gillian if she gets some help in the shop and lets a community nurse pop round. I’ve found you a job!’
‘You’re not serious?’ said Polly. ‘She’s agreed to have me?’
‘Of course,’ said Tarnie, unwilling to divulge how much coercion had actually been required.
Polly thought of Reuben telling her to follow her bliss. Then she thought of how much money she had left in the world, the number of jobs she’d applied for (38) and the number of interviews she’d had (0).
‘Brilliant!’ she said, deciding to ignore her doubts and go with her gut. It was a job! She could do it! She’d worry later about working for someone who didn’t like her. If Gillian Manse fired her, at least she’d have broken her duck. ‘When do I start?’
‘Er, tomorrow,’ said Tarnie. ‘She gets discharged today and she can show you the ropes tomorrow.’
Polly didn’t really want Gillian showing her the ropes, so she popped over to the bakery in the afternoon to see if she could figure out for herself how to fire up the ovens. They were still clean and sparkling and she looked around the room, nervous and excited at the same time. All of these ovens! She was going to be in charge of all of them! She ran her hands over the wooden surfaces of the units; peered into the vast mixers that kneaded the dough. Maybe there would be no more central buying-in, she hoped. That was what was making the bakery fail. She’d already spent more time than she would have liked with one failed business. She wasn’t going to let it happen again.
While she was inspecting the ovens, there was a knock on the back door. A strong-looking man in his fifties with the ruddy cheeks of someone who spent their life outdoors was standing there.
‘Is it true?’ he asked in such a strong local accent Polly could barely understand him. ‘Is it true, me lover?’
‘Um,’ said Polly. ‘That depends.’
‘That they’re going to start baking again? That they’re bringing the baking back?’
Polly smiled. ‘I think we’re going to have a shot.’
The man put out his hand for her to shake.
‘I’m Ted Kernesse,’ he said. ‘I used to deliver flour here, back in the day. She was a sensational baker, Gillian Manse.’
‘Really?’ said Polly. ‘It wasn’t very good when I got here.’
‘Nah, she switched to the bought-in, didn’t she? Lost interest after… that business,’ he said, taking off his hat. ‘Anyway. Will you be wanting the flour back?’
‘I suppose we will, yes. How soon can you get started?’
‘It’ll be outside your door in the morning,’ said Ted. ‘Where’s your yeast going to grow?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Polly, suddenly nervous. She’d only ever used dried yeast.
‘Well, just stick it in a pot in the fridge, let it get on wi’ itself.’
