Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 41
‘I’ll do that,’ said Polly. ‘Gosh.’ She looked around anxiously. ‘It’s a lot to learn.’
‘I think it’s grand you’re doing this,’ said Ted. ‘It’ll be really good for Mount Polbearne. And Gillian.’
Polly’s heart plummeted. She really was very nervous about working with the woman. Maybe she had bitten off more than she could chew.
‘Ah, you’ll be fine,’ said Ted as if reading her mind. ‘Her bark’s worse than her bite. Although her bite is pretty bad to begin with.’
Polly smiled at him hopefully.
‘That’s the spirit.’
Just as Ted had promised, there was a huge sack of flour outside the back door at 5.30 the next morning, along with six pints of milk and a plastic Tupperware container with a note on top: ‘A little present’. Ooh, thought Polly, popping it open. But instead was a plastic container reeking heavily of sourdough mould.
‘Oh God,’ she said, pushing the pungent mix away from her.
‘Well I don’t know how you’re going to get on if you can’t even manage THAT,’ said a crotchety voice.
The enormous figure of Gillian Manse pulled the back door wide open and watched as Polly lugged the enormous sack indoors. It weighed a ton. Polly had slightly expected a thank you or a hello or at least a bit of embarrassment – she’d saved the woman’s life, after all – but apparently it was not to be.
‘It’s a present from Ted,’ said Polly. ‘Er… hello.’
‘Hello,’ said Gillian. They faced each other.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Polly.
‘I’m feeling fine,’ said Gillian. ‘As I’ve been telling those dratted doctors. It’s ridiculous. Don’t you ever dare do that again.’
‘I will not,’ said Polly fervently.
‘Well, come in if you’re coming,’ Gillian said ungraciously, stepping aside.
‘Have you got any coffee?’ said Polly. ‘I could really do with one.’
‘Why don’t you actually start work before you have a break?’
Polly bit her lip. Remember you don’t have a job, she told herself. This is what it takes.
Polly did her best to keep her head down that first day, but it wasn’t easy. Everyone who came in was delighted to see her, particularly those who’d been in on the secret bread run. Gillian, however, watched her like a hawk the entire time, breathing down her neck, barking orders, never failing to point out a mistake, however tiny, which unsettled Polly so much she started to make more of them.
Everyone respectfully asked after Gillian’s health, but she shut them down rudely, and Polly found herself trying to smile ingratiatingly to make up for her rudeness. The fact that they all then went on at great length about how wonderful the day’s bread was didn’t help matters either. This was going to be just as tricky as Polly had feared.
At about 3.30, when everything was gone and they were beginning to think about closing up, there was a loud banging on the back door. Polly looked at Gillian nervously.
‘Do you know who that is?’
‘No,’ said Gillian. ‘Answer it.’
Polly opened the door tentatively, to find a big burly deliveryman with a huge truck open at the back. The truck was completely blocking the narrow street.
‘All right,’ he said crossly. ‘I’ve been waiting for the damn sea to clear half the day. Where’s your chimney, then?’
‘What?’ said Polly. ‘Um… ’ She was a little discombobulated.
‘You’re the bakery, right?’
‘Er huh.’
‘Got a delivery here. A brick oven. Needs a chimney.’ He scratched his chin.
‘No,’ said Gillian. ‘No, that’s not for us. Take it away, please.’
The man shrugged. ‘Can’t do that. It says on the form.’
Gillian folded her arms. ‘Well it can unsay it.’
‘Hang on,’ said Polly. ‘Er, can I see the form?’
‘Don’t know what good that’ll do,’ said Gillian. ‘He’s not having my chimney.’
Polly ran her finger down the sheet. It did seem in order – the Mount Polbearne Bakery. Then she saw it. A little note at the bottom. Follow your bliss, it said. And the signature – big, flashy – Reuben Finkle.
‘NO WAY,’ she breathed, completely overwhelmed. ‘He bought me an oven!’
‘Who bought you an oven?’ said Gillian crossly.
‘Er, this bloke… friend of a friend,’ said Polly.
‘We don’t need an oven. There’s nothing wrong with our ovens.’
‘Yes, but with this,’ said Polly, her eyes shining, ‘we could make ciabatta. Flatbreads. Bruschetta. Just all the most amazing things…’
‘Can we get a refund on it?’ asked Gillian angrily. ‘Can I have the cash? I don’t want all that foreign muck.’
‘No!’ said Polly. ‘No, can’t we —’
‘No refunds, love,’ said the driver, starting to look pissed off.
In one sense, Polly thought, Gillian was right: the fireplace wasn’t really big enough, although if they moved a few things about… No. She could tell by the look on Gillian’s face that this wasn’t going to happen. But, it suddenly occurred to her, there was another space…
‘We could put it in the Beach Street bakery,’ she said. ‘Below me. There’s room there, isn’t there?’
Gillian’s brow furrowed. She didn’t want the oven, but on the other hand she wasn’t going to turn down anything that was free. Polly looked at the floor. She didn’t want to catch Gillian’s eye and annoy her so much she’d say no on purpose.
After a long pause, during which the driver glanced at his watch, Gillian said, ‘Aye, all right then. Just keep it out of my way. And it better not cost me a penny.’
‘It won’t.’
Polly sat in the cab of the truck with the driver and his mate as they drove the short distance to her building. Gillian had handed over a key to downstairs, not realising that she could already get in.
The dust was as thick as ever. Polly hadn’t had enough cash even to fix the glass Neil had broken the night he’d flown in. The men looked around in consternation.
‘I think it’s grand you’re doing this,’ said Ted. ‘It’ll be really good for Mount Polbearne. And Gillian.’
Polly’s heart plummeted. She really was very nervous about working with the woman. Maybe she had bitten off more than she could chew.
‘Ah, you’ll be fine,’ said Ted as if reading her mind. ‘Her bark’s worse than her bite. Although her bite is pretty bad to begin with.’
Polly smiled at him hopefully.
‘That’s the spirit.’
Just as Ted had promised, there was a huge sack of flour outside the back door at 5.30 the next morning, along with six pints of milk and a plastic Tupperware container with a note on top: ‘A little present’. Ooh, thought Polly, popping it open. But instead was a plastic container reeking heavily of sourdough mould.
‘Oh God,’ she said, pushing the pungent mix away from her.
‘Well I don’t know how you’re going to get on if you can’t even manage THAT,’ said a crotchety voice.
The enormous figure of Gillian Manse pulled the back door wide open and watched as Polly lugged the enormous sack indoors. It weighed a ton. Polly had slightly expected a thank you or a hello or at least a bit of embarrassment – she’d saved the woman’s life, after all – but apparently it was not to be.
‘It’s a present from Ted,’ said Polly. ‘Er… hello.’
‘Hello,’ said Gillian. They faced each other.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Polly.
‘I’m feeling fine,’ said Gillian. ‘As I’ve been telling those dratted doctors. It’s ridiculous. Don’t you ever dare do that again.’
‘I will not,’ said Polly fervently.
‘Well, come in if you’re coming,’ Gillian said ungraciously, stepping aside.
‘Have you got any coffee?’ said Polly. ‘I could really do with one.’
‘Why don’t you actually start work before you have a break?’
Polly bit her lip. Remember you don’t have a job, she told herself. This is what it takes.
Polly did her best to keep her head down that first day, but it wasn’t easy. Everyone who came in was delighted to see her, particularly those who’d been in on the secret bread run. Gillian, however, watched her like a hawk the entire time, breathing down her neck, barking orders, never failing to point out a mistake, however tiny, which unsettled Polly so much she started to make more of them.
Everyone respectfully asked after Gillian’s health, but she shut them down rudely, and Polly found herself trying to smile ingratiatingly to make up for her rudeness. The fact that they all then went on at great length about how wonderful the day’s bread was didn’t help matters either. This was going to be just as tricky as Polly had feared.
At about 3.30, when everything was gone and they were beginning to think about closing up, there was a loud banging on the back door. Polly looked at Gillian nervously.
‘Do you know who that is?’
‘No,’ said Gillian. ‘Answer it.’
Polly opened the door tentatively, to find a big burly deliveryman with a huge truck open at the back. The truck was completely blocking the narrow street.
‘All right,’ he said crossly. ‘I’ve been waiting for the damn sea to clear half the day. Where’s your chimney, then?’
‘What?’ said Polly. ‘Um… ’ She was a little discombobulated.
‘You’re the bakery, right?’
‘Er huh.’
‘Got a delivery here. A brick oven. Needs a chimney.’ He scratched his chin.
‘No,’ said Gillian. ‘No, that’s not for us. Take it away, please.’
The man shrugged. ‘Can’t do that. It says on the form.’
Gillian folded her arms. ‘Well it can unsay it.’
‘Hang on,’ said Polly. ‘Er, can I see the form?’
‘Don’t know what good that’ll do,’ said Gillian. ‘He’s not having my chimney.’
Polly ran her finger down the sheet. It did seem in order – the Mount Polbearne Bakery. Then she saw it. A little note at the bottom. Follow your bliss, it said. And the signature – big, flashy – Reuben Finkle.
‘NO WAY,’ she breathed, completely overwhelmed. ‘He bought me an oven!’
‘Who bought you an oven?’ said Gillian crossly.
‘Er, this bloke… friend of a friend,’ said Polly.
‘We don’t need an oven. There’s nothing wrong with our ovens.’
‘Yes, but with this,’ said Polly, her eyes shining, ‘we could make ciabatta. Flatbreads. Bruschetta. Just all the most amazing things…’
‘Can we get a refund on it?’ asked Gillian angrily. ‘Can I have the cash? I don’t want all that foreign muck.’
‘No!’ said Polly. ‘No, can’t we —’
‘No refunds, love,’ said the driver, starting to look pissed off.
In one sense, Polly thought, Gillian was right: the fireplace wasn’t really big enough, although if they moved a few things about… No. She could tell by the look on Gillian’s face that this wasn’t going to happen. But, it suddenly occurred to her, there was another space…
‘We could put it in the Beach Street bakery,’ she said. ‘Below me. There’s room there, isn’t there?’
Gillian’s brow furrowed. She didn’t want the oven, but on the other hand she wasn’t going to turn down anything that was free. Polly looked at the floor. She didn’t want to catch Gillian’s eye and annoy her so much she’d say no on purpose.
After a long pause, during which the driver glanced at his watch, Gillian said, ‘Aye, all right then. Just keep it out of my way. And it better not cost me a penny.’
‘It won’t.’
Polly sat in the cab of the truck with the driver and his mate as they drove the short distance to her building. Gillian had handed over a key to downstairs, not realising that she could already get in.
The dust was as thick as ever. Polly hadn’t had enough cash even to fix the glass Neil had broken the night he’d flown in. The men looked around in consternation.
