Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 66
Polly looked at the old woman, who, shaking now, was so desperate to escape from the trap of her life, but so unable to. It was like Polly was suddenly waking up. What was she doing? This wouldn’t help Tarnie, or anybody else.
‘Can you… Do you want to come home with me?’ she said. ‘Have some tea?’
‘I can’t,’ said Mrs Manse, shaking her head. ‘But you can. Please. Go. While you still can.’
‘I can’t leave you out here.’
‘You have to,’ said Mrs Manse. ‘It’s all right. I know what I’m doing.’ She bravely attempted a half-smile, her eyes still on the dark horizon.
Without thinking about it, Polly put her arms around the woman and gave her a tight squeeze, then she pressed her lips to Gillian Manse’s lined cheek.
Chapter Twenty-One
Back in the flat, Polly settled in her chair again, warming up with the blanket over her. Oh Lord, where were they? A part of her thought they couldn’t possibly survive another night out there, another night like this. She tried to imagine them dead; all their energies and worries dispelled into nothing. The idea of them blanked out was odd, shocking. She had been here less than four months, and already they were part of her life.
At about five she must have dozed off again, because when she woke up, it was to a huge noise, and light was streaming in.
There was a bang. Then another bang. Polly jumped. What the hell? What was happening now? Her first thought was that the big boat was breaking up in the water, being pulled apart by the waves. But the noise was closer to home. Then she thought it was the fishermen, hungry and home, crashing at the door. Or, a darker side of her suggested, returned drowned, banging on the window…
Her eyes popped open in a huge adrenalin rush of panic and fear.
It took her a few moments to focus as dawn light flooded the room. The bang came again. She looked at the window, and gasped.
Outside, a small black bird with a large orange beak was frantically trying to get her attention.
She ran to open the window. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. But there it was: on his leg – grubby and covered in who knows what from what had evidently been a long journey – was a plastic seal, with the words ‘Huckle’s Honey’.
‘NEIL!’ she screamed, as the window went up and the little puffin hurled himself into her arms. ‘NEIL!’
The bird flapped his wings happily and made an eeping noise. Polly covered him in kisses. He smelled a little oily and fishy and the best thing ever as she shed tears on to his feathery head. He put up with the affection for quite a while, rubbing the side of his head frantically against her finger, but his eyes were darting around the room.
‘Are you hungry?’ said Polly, realising. ‘Of course you are. You’ve flown a REALLY long way. Come on.’
Her untouched supper was at the top of the bin, so she fished it out and put it on a plate. Neil eeped happily and dived into the food. Once he’d eaten his fill and drunk water from a saucer, he flew happily round the sitting room, as if rechecking his territory, returning every now and then to peck at the crumbs.
‘I am so pleased to see you,’ Polly said, unable to stop her happy grin as he returned to perch cheerfully on her shoulder, like a pirate’s parrot. ‘You’ve got too thin.’
She tickled his tummy.
‘Not enough white carbohydrates. Too much seaweed and fish. Better for your brain, but you still came back, huh?’
Kerensa appeared, yawning, at the doorway.
‘Are you talking to a bird?’ she said. ‘Or am I still asleep?’
‘Not just any bird,’ said Polly. ‘Look! It’s my bird! He flew right across the county to come back to me! He made it all the way! Neil, you’re amazing.’ She smothered him in kisses.
‘Er, okay,’ said Kerensa, recoiling slightly. She glanced around the room. ‘Any news?’
Polly grabbed her phone.
‘No messages,’ she said. ‘The system’s back up. But there’s no…’
All her joy at seeing Neil again suddenly evaporated. Her whole body slumped. ‘Oh GOD, Kerensa. Oh God.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Kerensa hurriedly. ‘A cup of tea. And something to eat.’
Polly slumped back into her chair, Neil hopping all over her making concerned noises. As Kerensa went to put on the kettle, however, they heard a noise. A strange noise coming from outside.
‘What’s that?’
It was the tolling of a bell from the old ruined church. It was the only piece of the steeple still standing. Not pealing, as Polly heard on Sundays, when people came from all around to the ancient place of worship that some said pre-dated Christianity altogether. It was not wedding bells, or happy, joyful Easter bells. This was a low, repeated tolling, a dong dong dong. It sounded dolorous and sad.
‘What is that?’ repeated Kerensa, forgetting the tea. They both pulled on their clothes – Polly couldn’t remember seeing Kerensa with bed-head before – and ran downstairs, Neil in Polly’s arms.
Everyone else in the village was also down on the harbour, milling around, rubbing their eyes, some in pyjamas, some hastily pulling on mismatched jumpers. It was just after 6 a.m.
At first, there was nothing to see. Then, slowly, a tiny dark shape appeared on the horizon. It picked up speed gradually, then came into focus.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Polly.
A murmuring started up amongst the crowd.
The boat arced back and forth over the waves, which were just starting to glisten in the sunlight.
‘It’s almost like they’re… showing off,’ said Kerensa. ‘Hmmm.’
And sure enough, as the boat came closer, they could see that it was the Riva.
‘But they came in last night,’ said Polly.
‘They dropped you off last night,’ said someone who’d obviously been there. ‘Then they went out again.’
‘In the dark?’
As if in answer, the Riva turned, and the girls caught sight of a huge spotlight attached to the front.
The boat was getting closer and closer, setting up plumes of surf. Finally, the bell still tolling its deep, ponderous note, it whizzed to a flashy halt in front of the harbour wall. Reuben waved merrily from the driver’s seat as Polly, and everyone else, frantically checked the number of people in the back.
‘Can you… Do you want to come home with me?’ she said. ‘Have some tea?’
‘I can’t,’ said Mrs Manse, shaking her head. ‘But you can. Please. Go. While you still can.’
‘I can’t leave you out here.’
‘You have to,’ said Mrs Manse. ‘It’s all right. I know what I’m doing.’ She bravely attempted a half-smile, her eyes still on the dark horizon.
Without thinking about it, Polly put her arms around the woman and gave her a tight squeeze, then she pressed her lips to Gillian Manse’s lined cheek.
Chapter Twenty-One
Back in the flat, Polly settled in her chair again, warming up with the blanket over her. Oh Lord, where were they? A part of her thought they couldn’t possibly survive another night out there, another night like this. She tried to imagine them dead; all their energies and worries dispelled into nothing. The idea of them blanked out was odd, shocking. She had been here less than four months, and already they were part of her life.
At about five she must have dozed off again, because when she woke up, it was to a huge noise, and light was streaming in.
There was a bang. Then another bang. Polly jumped. What the hell? What was happening now? Her first thought was that the big boat was breaking up in the water, being pulled apart by the waves. But the noise was closer to home. Then she thought it was the fishermen, hungry and home, crashing at the door. Or, a darker side of her suggested, returned drowned, banging on the window…
Her eyes popped open in a huge adrenalin rush of panic and fear.
It took her a few moments to focus as dawn light flooded the room. The bang came again. She looked at the window, and gasped.
Outside, a small black bird with a large orange beak was frantically trying to get her attention.
She ran to open the window. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. But there it was: on his leg – grubby and covered in who knows what from what had evidently been a long journey – was a plastic seal, with the words ‘Huckle’s Honey’.
‘NEIL!’ she screamed, as the window went up and the little puffin hurled himself into her arms. ‘NEIL!’
The bird flapped his wings happily and made an eeping noise. Polly covered him in kisses. He smelled a little oily and fishy and the best thing ever as she shed tears on to his feathery head. He put up with the affection for quite a while, rubbing the side of his head frantically against her finger, but his eyes were darting around the room.
‘Are you hungry?’ said Polly, realising. ‘Of course you are. You’ve flown a REALLY long way. Come on.’
Her untouched supper was at the top of the bin, so she fished it out and put it on a plate. Neil eeped happily and dived into the food. Once he’d eaten his fill and drunk water from a saucer, he flew happily round the sitting room, as if rechecking his territory, returning every now and then to peck at the crumbs.
‘I am so pleased to see you,’ Polly said, unable to stop her happy grin as he returned to perch cheerfully on her shoulder, like a pirate’s parrot. ‘You’ve got too thin.’
She tickled his tummy.
‘Not enough white carbohydrates. Too much seaweed and fish. Better for your brain, but you still came back, huh?’
Kerensa appeared, yawning, at the doorway.
‘Are you talking to a bird?’ she said. ‘Or am I still asleep?’
‘Not just any bird,’ said Polly. ‘Look! It’s my bird! He flew right across the county to come back to me! He made it all the way! Neil, you’re amazing.’ She smothered him in kisses.
‘Er, okay,’ said Kerensa, recoiling slightly. She glanced around the room. ‘Any news?’
Polly grabbed her phone.
‘No messages,’ she said. ‘The system’s back up. But there’s no…’
All her joy at seeing Neil again suddenly evaporated. Her whole body slumped. ‘Oh GOD, Kerensa. Oh God.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Kerensa hurriedly. ‘A cup of tea. And something to eat.’
Polly slumped back into her chair, Neil hopping all over her making concerned noises. As Kerensa went to put on the kettle, however, they heard a noise. A strange noise coming from outside.
‘What’s that?’
It was the tolling of a bell from the old ruined church. It was the only piece of the steeple still standing. Not pealing, as Polly heard on Sundays, when people came from all around to the ancient place of worship that some said pre-dated Christianity altogether. It was not wedding bells, or happy, joyful Easter bells. This was a low, repeated tolling, a dong dong dong. It sounded dolorous and sad.
‘What is that?’ repeated Kerensa, forgetting the tea. They both pulled on their clothes – Polly couldn’t remember seeing Kerensa with bed-head before – and ran downstairs, Neil in Polly’s arms.
Everyone else in the village was also down on the harbour, milling around, rubbing their eyes, some in pyjamas, some hastily pulling on mismatched jumpers. It was just after 6 a.m.
At first, there was nothing to see. Then, slowly, a tiny dark shape appeared on the horizon. It picked up speed gradually, then came into focus.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Polly.
A murmuring started up amongst the crowd.
The boat arced back and forth over the waves, which were just starting to glisten in the sunlight.
‘It’s almost like they’re… showing off,’ said Kerensa. ‘Hmmm.’
And sure enough, as the boat came closer, they could see that it was the Riva.
‘But they came in last night,’ said Polly.
‘They dropped you off last night,’ said someone who’d obviously been there. ‘Then they went out again.’
‘In the dark?’
As if in answer, the Riva turned, and the girls caught sight of a huge spotlight attached to the front.
The boat was getting closer and closer, setting up plumes of surf. Finally, the bell still tolling its deep, ponderous note, it whizzed to a flashy halt in front of the harbour wall. Reuben waved merrily from the driver’s seat as Polly, and everyone else, frantically checked the number of people in the back.
