Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 62
She turned the ‘Closed’ sign to ‘Open’, pinging the door as she pulled back the lock and opening it on to vicious grey skies and heavy clouds. No wonder she had slept in; the sun had not come up at all.
‘What is it?’ she asked Patrick, who was standing there with his three dogs, out for their morning constitutional. But when she followed his gaze, she realised. There was nothing in the harbour. No boats at all, apart from the dinghies belonging to the weekend potterers and the old lags.
‘The fleet,’ she said in shock, and Patrick nodded as she put her hand out to steady herself. ‘Oh my God, where’s the fleet?’
‘We’re waiting to find out, Pol,’ said one of her older regulars. ‘They say they’ve got one or two up Looe way, managed to beach themselves in the night.’
He looked at the sky, still grey, the wind still pulling at the trees, the rain still plopping down.
‘I reckon they can head back now.’
Polly’s heart was in her mouth.
‘Oh God, but Tarnie said he’d get ahead of the storm. He said.’
Patrick touched her arm reassuringly.
‘I’m sure he did. I’m sure he’s washed up, having a big English breakfast somewhere.’
‘Phone him,’ said Polly sharply, but Pat shook his head.
‘The phone masts are down,’ he said. ‘Last night was a doozy. No one can get through to anyone.’
Polly’s hand went to her mouth. She turned towards the end of the harbour wall closest to the causeway.
‘ALL HANDS!’ she heard a man’s voice shout once again in the distance. Several figures were charging along, pulling on yellow oilskins, heading for the white RNLI shelter. Then they were bringing the bright orange boat on its runners straight down into the freezing water with a splash and jumping on board.
‘Why didn’t they go out before?’ Polly asked crossly. ‘Why are they only going out now?’
Patrick turned to her seriously.
‘They’ve been out three times,’ he said. ‘This is the fourth search today. When they run out of fuel or can’t go any further, they come back.’
‘Oh God,’ said Polly. ‘Oh God. I’m sorry. And they haven’t found them?’
‘Not yet,’ said Patrick, grimly.
‘One of the village teenagers came tearing up shouting, ‘There’s a wreck! There’s a wreck over on Darkpoint Bay! A big ’un, too!’
Patrick stiffened. ‘Oh no. That’ll bring folks out in force.’
‘One of the fishing boats?’ said Polly in horror.
‘Neh, a great big cargo ship! Full of stuff an’ all!’
Several of the young men who had up until now been looking tired from their stint on the lifeboat suddenly appeared a lot more awake.
‘The police will be down,’ warned Patrick. ‘You loot it and you know where you’ll end up.’
Following the others blindly, Polly walked across the causeway and over the top of the headland. At first, she couldn’t work out the scale of what she was witnessing. It was as if a skyscraper had fallen sideways on to the land. Part beached, but part submerged too, it was the largest thing she had ever seen. It must have been more than two hundred metres end to end, and looked hideously unnatural lying there: a gigantic supertanker loaded with crates, which were now floating about on the surf.
‘Fuck,’ said Patrick sharply. ‘Oh God, please let there not be oil.’
‘What about the crew?’ said Polly anxiously. She narrowed her eyes and could just about make out six or seven tiny, frantically waving figures sitting on the front end of the prow.
‘We’ll get the doc out,’ said Patrick. ‘But meanwhile…’
Polly looked at him. ‘Can I help? I don’t think I can just hang about.’
‘Of course,’ said Patrick. ‘Oh Christ. If there’s oil…’
Polly could barely take it in as they scrambled down the cliffside with the other villagers. Muriel was there from the shop.
‘Oh my, those poor men,’ she said. She looked around. ‘They used to do this on purpose, you know,’ she told Polly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Wreckers, you know? They used to show a light to lure ships ashore. Then kill the sailors and take the swag off the boats. Was a huge living round here.’
‘You are kidding?’ said Polly. ‘No wonder everyone looks so nervous.’
The real problem, they saw as they reached the beach, would be getting the men off. The closer they came, the more immense the structure appeared. Sure enough, a helicopter from the nearby air-sea rescue base could soon be heard flip-flipping its way over the coastline. The lifeboat was bobbing round the bottom of the ship: it must have looked like the side of a vast cliff from down there.
‘I wonder if it’s going to land,’ Patrick said, looking up at the sky. But as the helicopter hovered there, they saw a sling rope descend with a man attached to it.
‘Wow,’ said Polly. The men on top of the sunken ship were waving their arms excitedly. She could make out one lying there, obviously injured.
‘You know,’ said Patrick. ‘What everyone could really do with is some tea and probably something to eat. Do you think you might be able to…’
‘Open the shop?’ said Polly before he had even finished the thought. ‘I probably should, shouldn’t I? There’s going to be loads of people down here.’
‘Especially if there’s oil.’
‘Oh God.’
The men on top of the sunken ship were loading their injured comrade into the sling with the man from the helicopter. People were filming it on their phones. Polly wanted to watch, but she saw the sense in what Patrick was saying – people were going to need a lot of tea, the media was going to be here and she had bread in the oven. She turned round to leave.
The other thing about having to hare back to the shop, even if she was missing all the excitement, was that she was instantly so busy she didn’t have much time to think about Tarnie and the boys, out there somewhere. Where? The sea was calmer now; they could make it back if they tried. Were they drifting? But why hadn’t they been picked up by now? Everyone was out looking for them; she’d heard it on the radio. The man on the radio was also saying it was an unprecedented storm, far worse than forecast. There were calls for the meteorological services to explain themselves, and fears for insurance companies.
‘What is it?’ she asked Patrick, who was standing there with his three dogs, out for their morning constitutional. But when she followed his gaze, she realised. There was nothing in the harbour. No boats at all, apart from the dinghies belonging to the weekend potterers and the old lags.
‘The fleet,’ she said in shock, and Patrick nodded as she put her hand out to steady herself. ‘Oh my God, where’s the fleet?’
‘We’re waiting to find out, Pol,’ said one of her older regulars. ‘They say they’ve got one or two up Looe way, managed to beach themselves in the night.’
He looked at the sky, still grey, the wind still pulling at the trees, the rain still plopping down.
‘I reckon they can head back now.’
Polly’s heart was in her mouth.
‘Oh God, but Tarnie said he’d get ahead of the storm. He said.’
Patrick touched her arm reassuringly.
‘I’m sure he did. I’m sure he’s washed up, having a big English breakfast somewhere.’
‘Phone him,’ said Polly sharply, but Pat shook his head.
‘The phone masts are down,’ he said. ‘Last night was a doozy. No one can get through to anyone.’
Polly’s hand went to her mouth. She turned towards the end of the harbour wall closest to the causeway.
‘ALL HANDS!’ she heard a man’s voice shout once again in the distance. Several figures were charging along, pulling on yellow oilskins, heading for the white RNLI shelter. Then they were bringing the bright orange boat on its runners straight down into the freezing water with a splash and jumping on board.
‘Why didn’t they go out before?’ Polly asked crossly. ‘Why are they only going out now?’
Patrick turned to her seriously.
‘They’ve been out three times,’ he said. ‘This is the fourth search today. When they run out of fuel or can’t go any further, they come back.’
‘Oh God,’ said Polly. ‘Oh God. I’m sorry. And they haven’t found them?’
‘Not yet,’ said Patrick, grimly.
‘One of the village teenagers came tearing up shouting, ‘There’s a wreck! There’s a wreck over on Darkpoint Bay! A big ’un, too!’
Patrick stiffened. ‘Oh no. That’ll bring folks out in force.’
‘One of the fishing boats?’ said Polly in horror.
‘Neh, a great big cargo ship! Full of stuff an’ all!’
Several of the young men who had up until now been looking tired from their stint on the lifeboat suddenly appeared a lot more awake.
‘The police will be down,’ warned Patrick. ‘You loot it and you know where you’ll end up.’
Following the others blindly, Polly walked across the causeway and over the top of the headland. At first, she couldn’t work out the scale of what she was witnessing. It was as if a skyscraper had fallen sideways on to the land. Part beached, but part submerged too, it was the largest thing she had ever seen. It must have been more than two hundred metres end to end, and looked hideously unnatural lying there: a gigantic supertanker loaded with crates, which were now floating about on the surf.
‘Fuck,’ said Patrick sharply. ‘Oh God, please let there not be oil.’
‘What about the crew?’ said Polly anxiously. She narrowed her eyes and could just about make out six or seven tiny, frantically waving figures sitting on the front end of the prow.
‘We’ll get the doc out,’ said Patrick. ‘But meanwhile…’
Polly looked at him. ‘Can I help? I don’t think I can just hang about.’
‘Of course,’ said Patrick. ‘Oh Christ. If there’s oil…’
Polly could barely take it in as they scrambled down the cliffside with the other villagers. Muriel was there from the shop.
‘Oh my, those poor men,’ she said. She looked around. ‘They used to do this on purpose, you know,’ she told Polly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Wreckers, you know? They used to show a light to lure ships ashore. Then kill the sailors and take the swag off the boats. Was a huge living round here.’
‘You are kidding?’ said Polly. ‘No wonder everyone looks so nervous.’
The real problem, they saw as they reached the beach, would be getting the men off. The closer they came, the more immense the structure appeared. Sure enough, a helicopter from the nearby air-sea rescue base could soon be heard flip-flipping its way over the coastline. The lifeboat was bobbing round the bottom of the ship: it must have looked like the side of a vast cliff from down there.
‘I wonder if it’s going to land,’ Patrick said, looking up at the sky. But as the helicopter hovered there, they saw a sling rope descend with a man attached to it.
‘Wow,’ said Polly. The men on top of the sunken ship were waving their arms excitedly. She could make out one lying there, obviously injured.
‘You know,’ said Patrick. ‘What everyone could really do with is some tea and probably something to eat. Do you think you might be able to…’
‘Open the shop?’ said Polly before he had even finished the thought. ‘I probably should, shouldn’t I? There’s going to be loads of people down here.’
‘Especially if there’s oil.’
‘Oh God.’
The men on top of the sunken ship were loading their injured comrade into the sling with the man from the helicopter. People were filming it on their phones. Polly wanted to watch, but she saw the sense in what Patrick was saying – people were going to need a lot of tea, the media was going to be here and she had bread in the oven. She turned round to leave.
The other thing about having to hare back to the shop, even if she was missing all the excitement, was that she was instantly so busy she didn’t have much time to think about Tarnie and the boys, out there somewhere. Where? The sea was calmer now; they could make it back if they tried. Were they drifting? But why hadn’t they been picked up by now? Everyone was out looking for them; she’d heard it on the radio. The man on the radio was also saying it was an unprecedented storm, far worse than forecast. There were calls for the meteorological services to explain themselves, and fears for insurance companies.
