Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 46
‘Dump,’ said Polly.
‘No, flat,’ said Kerensa. ‘You’ve made it your home. With a job of your own and a whole group of new friends – plus one jerk – and a whole new life. I mean, seriously’ – they chinked Fanta cans – ‘that really is amazing, Polly.’
‘When you put it like that, it sounds better than it is.’
‘It is what it is,’ said Kerensa. ‘Chris is at his mum’s getting pissed and making passes at waitresses.’
Polly looked around. Although there wasn’t another person in sight and the chippy had closed, the sea was never quiet; she could hear the gentle splash at the harbourside and the clattering of the masts.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Well. I suppose. It’s all right…’
‘Where’s my smiley friend?’
Polly bit her lip.
‘Come on! Where’s that smile? I used to see it all the time.’
Polly grinned at her. ‘Shut up!’
‘HA!’ Kerensa laughed. ‘I knew you were coming back to us.’ She put a finger to Polly’s forehead. ‘Now all you need is a LEETLE bit of Botox to get rid of these worry lines…’
Chapter Fourteen
Polly slept in the next morning, which was something of a novelty. When she woke, Kerensa was gone, heading back to town and shopping and all the busyness. Polly had assumed she would feel jealous, hadn’t been a hundred per cent sure before Kerensa’s visit that she wouldn’t just grab her friend’s arm and beg her to take her back to Plymouth with her.
But instead, as she padded over to the stove to put the coffee machine on, she realised how glad she was not to be heading back to the world of noisy radios and commutes and traffic jams and drive-throughs and packed shopping centres. It was as if Kerensa had given her the gift of seeing Mount Polbearne through a prism which made it a lovely place; somewhere people would like to be.
She checked her phone. There was a message on it from Reuben. I’m in love with your girlfriend, it said. Please tell her to call me straight away. I’ll send the jet.
Polly laughed out loud and was briefly disappointed that Kerensa wasn’t still there so she could see her face. She headed over to the window with her coffee, just in time to see Tarnie turn up, waving when he caught sight of her.
‘What are you doing today?’ he yelled.
‘I’m scrubbing a horrible black filthy room just in case I get to run it as a bakery,’ she said, making a face.
‘No you’re not,’ said Tarnie. ‘It’s Sunday, and it’s the most beautiful day ever. So. Come fishing with me.’
‘You’re taking me to work?’
‘Nope. This is just for fun.’
‘You fish all week then you fish for fun?’
‘Do we have to debate this shouting out of high windows?’
Polly smiled. ‘Okay. Do we need a picnic?’
‘No,’ said Tarnie. ‘Well, you know, anything you have lying about.’
Polly thought about the wholemeal bloomer she’d left to rise the previous evening out of sheer habit.
‘I need to get the boat ready,’ said Tarnie.
‘Good,’ said Polly. ‘I’ll be there in forty minutes.’
By the time she’d washed and changed, the bread was ready. It was warm and stunningly fragrant. She packed a jar of honey and a knife, a roundel of local cheese she’d bought from someone at the side of the road, some early Pink Lady apples, a large bottle of water and, on a whim, the macaroons and posh white wine Kerensa had brought her as a gift, ‘because you can’t get this stuff in Hicksville, right?’ about which she had in fact been exactly right.
It was a perfect day, sunny and warm, with a little cooling breeze that sent tiny rags of cloud scuttling across the sky. The water was a light inviting blue. Polly dithered for a few minutes and eventually, feeling nervous and a little daring, tossed her swimming costume into her rucksack before she ran downstairs. Halfway down, she paused, wondering what was missing, and then realised that of course it was Neil.
She had expected Tarnie to be on his fishing boat, but that wasn’t what he had meant at all, as it turned out; he was standing next to a little white rowing boat with a small engine at the back.
‘Welcome to my yacht,’ he said, smiling.
‘Well I think she’s very pretty,’ said Polly, accepting his hand as she stepped off the wharf.
‘Have you got a hat?’ he asked.
‘Oh no,’ said Polly. ‘I didn’t think.’
‘It gets pretty bright out there,’ he said, tossing her a hat with lots of little pockets up the side.
Polly jammed it over her strawberry-blonde hair. ‘Does it suit me?’
Tarnie smiled. ‘You look about five.’
‘I’m taking that as a no,’ she said, taking it off again. ‘What are these pockets for? Worms?’
‘You have a real obsession with carrying animals about your person,’ said Tarnie. ‘Anyway, no. Hooks and flies mostly, but leave that to me.’
‘Are you insinuating I can’t fish?’
‘Can you fish?’
‘No, but you shouldn’t assume.’
Polly put on her lifejacket. Tarnie smiled.
‘What? Do the cool kids not do that?’
‘Sorry,’ said Tarnie. ‘It’s my fault. I assumed you could swim.’
‘Of course I can SWIM.’
‘Well then, I don’t think you have to wear that – unless you want to. I’ll be gentle, I promise.’
He set his hand on the tiller, and Polly took off the very bulky lifejacket and sat down on the little wooden bench at the front. Tarnie had been right: the boat jerked just once to start, then cut very smoothly through the white-tipped waves. This early in the morning there was nobody else out on the water, just a few fishermen standing forlornly at the end of the jetty, holding out for a catch. The sun shone down warmly and Polly was surprised at how much she enjoyed the sensation of the little boat zipping speedily along. The engine was noisy, so they didn’t talk; she just watched as the great mount shape of Polbearne faded behind them in the morning mist, its clustered buildings and cobbled streets sweet and soft-looking in the haze. It was odd, she realised, but she almost thought of it as home.
Ahead was the open sea, suddenly thrilling in its endless expanse.
‘No, flat,’ said Kerensa. ‘You’ve made it your home. With a job of your own and a whole group of new friends – plus one jerk – and a whole new life. I mean, seriously’ – they chinked Fanta cans – ‘that really is amazing, Polly.’
‘When you put it like that, it sounds better than it is.’
‘It is what it is,’ said Kerensa. ‘Chris is at his mum’s getting pissed and making passes at waitresses.’
Polly looked around. Although there wasn’t another person in sight and the chippy had closed, the sea was never quiet; she could hear the gentle splash at the harbourside and the clattering of the masts.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Well. I suppose. It’s all right…’
‘Where’s my smiley friend?’
Polly bit her lip.
‘Come on! Where’s that smile? I used to see it all the time.’
Polly grinned at her. ‘Shut up!’
‘HA!’ Kerensa laughed. ‘I knew you were coming back to us.’ She put a finger to Polly’s forehead. ‘Now all you need is a LEETLE bit of Botox to get rid of these worry lines…’
Chapter Fourteen
Polly slept in the next morning, which was something of a novelty. When she woke, Kerensa was gone, heading back to town and shopping and all the busyness. Polly had assumed she would feel jealous, hadn’t been a hundred per cent sure before Kerensa’s visit that she wouldn’t just grab her friend’s arm and beg her to take her back to Plymouth with her.
But instead, as she padded over to the stove to put the coffee machine on, she realised how glad she was not to be heading back to the world of noisy radios and commutes and traffic jams and drive-throughs and packed shopping centres. It was as if Kerensa had given her the gift of seeing Mount Polbearne through a prism which made it a lovely place; somewhere people would like to be.
She checked her phone. There was a message on it from Reuben. I’m in love with your girlfriend, it said. Please tell her to call me straight away. I’ll send the jet.
Polly laughed out loud and was briefly disappointed that Kerensa wasn’t still there so she could see her face. She headed over to the window with her coffee, just in time to see Tarnie turn up, waving when he caught sight of her.
‘What are you doing today?’ he yelled.
‘I’m scrubbing a horrible black filthy room just in case I get to run it as a bakery,’ she said, making a face.
‘No you’re not,’ said Tarnie. ‘It’s Sunday, and it’s the most beautiful day ever. So. Come fishing with me.’
‘You’re taking me to work?’
‘Nope. This is just for fun.’
‘You fish all week then you fish for fun?’
‘Do we have to debate this shouting out of high windows?’
Polly smiled. ‘Okay. Do we need a picnic?’
‘No,’ said Tarnie. ‘Well, you know, anything you have lying about.’
Polly thought about the wholemeal bloomer she’d left to rise the previous evening out of sheer habit.
‘I need to get the boat ready,’ said Tarnie.
‘Good,’ said Polly. ‘I’ll be there in forty minutes.’
By the time she’d washed and changed, the bread was ready. It was warm and stunningly fragrant. She packed a jar of honey and a knife, a roundel of local cheese she’d bought from someone at the side of the road, some early Pink Lady apples, a large bottle of water and, on a whim, the macaroons and posh white wine Kerensa had brought her as a gift, ‘because you can’t get this stuff in Hicksville, right?’ about which she had in fact been exactly right.
It was a perfect day, sunny and warm, with a little cooling breeze that sent tiny rags of cloud scuttling across the sky. The water was a light inviting blue. Polly dithered for a few minutes and eventually, feeling nervous and a little daring, tossed her swimming costume into her rucksack before she ran downstairs. Halfway down, she paused, wondering what was missing, and then realised that of course it was Neil.
She had expected Tarnie to be on his fishing boat, but that wasn’t what he had meant at all, as it turned out; he was standing next to a little white rowing boat with a small engine at the back.
‘Welcome to my yacht,’ he said, smiling.
‘Well I think she’s very pretty,’ said Polly, accepting his hand as she stepped off the wharf.
‘Have you got a hat?’ he asked.
‘Oh no,’ said Polly. ‘I didn’t think.’
‘It gets pretty bright out there,’ he said, tossing her a hat with lots of little pockets up the side.
Polly jammed it over her strawberry-blonde hair. ‘Does it suit me?’
Tarnie smiled. ‘You look about five.’
‘I’m taking that as a no,’ she said, taking it off again. ‘What are these pockets for? Worms?’
‘You have a real obsession with carrying animals about your person,’ said Tarnie. ‘Anyway, no. Hooks and flies mostly, but leave that to me.’
‘Are you insinuating I can’t fish?’
‘Can you fish?’
‘No, but you shouldn’t assume.’
Polly put on her lifejacket. Tarnie smiled.
‘What? Do the cool kids not do that?’
‘Sorry,’ said Tarnie. ‘It’s my fault. I assumed you could swim.’
‘Of course I can SWIM.’
‘Well then, I don’t think you have to wear that – unless you want to. I’ll be gentle, I promise.’
He set his hand on the tiller, and Polly took off the very bulky lifejacket and sat down on the little wooden bench at the front. Tarnie had been right: the boat jerked just once to start, then cut very smoothly through the white-tipped waves. This early in the morning there was nobody else out on the water, just a few fishermen standing forlornly at the end of the jetty, holding out for a catch. The sun shone down warmly and Polly was surprised at how much she enjoyed the sensation of the little boat zipping speedily along. The engine was noisy, so they didn’t talk; she just watched as the great mount shape of Polbearne faded behind them in the morning mist, its clustered buildings and cobbled streets sweet and soft-looking in the haze. It was odd, she realised, but she almost thought of it as home.
Ahead was the open sea, suddenly thrilling in its endless expanse.
