Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 68
‘But we should do something,’ she said.
They didn’t have a vicar on the island, but a local woman had offered to do a service in her church in Looe. Kerensa argued that they should hold it in the ancient church high up on Mount Polbearne itself, even though it had been deconsecrated long ago.
Selina had gone back to her mother’s on the mainland, and whilst they couldn’t begin to share her pain, nonetheless the local community had to acknowledge it – hers, and the pain of the men left behind, who felt guilty, as well as having been terrified to within an inch of their lives.
On the Monday morning of the second week after the accident, the phone rang. Polly was elbow-deep in flour and asked Kerensa – who had come to Polbearne again to be with her friend – to answer it.
‘Hello, Pol,’ said Reuben, sounding sleepy. ‘Wassup?’
‘It’s not Polly,’ said Kerensa. ‘It’s Kerensa.’
There was a hurried shaking noise at the other end of the phone. When Reuben spoke again, he sounded a lot more awake and had dropped his voice by about an octave.
‘Well hull-oo,’ he said, as manfully as he could muster. Kerensa rolled her eyes. ‘What can I do for you?’ he said.
‘Well,’ said Kerensa. ‘We were thinking of having a commemoration of the boat and Tarnie. We’re probably going to have it in Polly’s shitty little apartment. You can come if you like.’
‘Oi!’ shouted Polly crossly. Neil hopped up and down in the sink, where he was amusing himself. In amongst everything else, Polly had managed to find time to call the sanctuary.
‘Er, hi. I think I have one of your birds that’s escaped?’ she’d said.
It was the same cheery Kiwi girl as before.
‘Oh! You know, we haven’t missed it. We’ve got, like —’
‘A million and a half, I know. But this one is wearing a special honey tag.’
‘I remember you! Are you the one who loved your puffin?’
‘I think every puffin deserves to be loved,’ said Polly.
‘Yeah. But don’t you live on the south coast?’
‘I do,’ said Polly proudly. ‘He made it all the way home.’
She waited for the girl to be incredibly impressed and say something about how Neil was the most amazing puffin she’d ever heard of.
‘Well,’ said the girl. ‘You can bring him back if you like.’
Polly looked at Neil. The bird regarded her with his beady black eyes. He eeped quietly.
‘You know,’ she said. ‘I think we’re all right.’
Kerensa and Reuben were still talking on the phone now. Reuben seemed to be incensed that they didn’t expect him to host.
‘I got a dance floor! I got lighting! I got access to DJs and a fully stocked champagne cellar,’ he was saying. Polly could hear him from the other side of the room.
‘It’s not a party,’ said Kerensa. ‘It’s a wake, numbnuts.’
‘I think everyone should have this when they die,’ said Reuben. ‘It’s what I want.’
‘He’s got a point,’ said Polly.
‘Anyway, what are you guys going to do, make some toast?’ Reuben continued.
‘I like toast,’ said Kerensa.
‘Fine,’ said Reuben. ‘When I’m flying in the sushi chef, I’ll fly in a toast chef too.’
Kerensa and Polly looked at each other. Polly nodded her head. ‘We should do it. The town needs it.’
‘OKAY,’ said Kerensa, as if she were doing Reuben the most massive favour, and ended the call.
‘You know, you should be nicer to him,’ said Polly. ‘He took that boat out and found the rest of those men. He was really being quite heroic.’
‘Well, one, he was showing off as usual,’ said Kerensa.
‘You’re harsh,’ said Polly.
‘And two, it was Huckle who made him do it.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I do. Reuben told me. Well, I suggested it and he couldn’t deny it.’
‘I can’t believe you really dislike this guy but you’ve still managed to persuade him to host the entire thing.’
Kerensa rolled her eyes.
‘There is a reason I’m still in business.’
‘Low blow.’
Kerensa stuck out her tongue.
‘Come on,’ said Polly. ‘We’ve still got a lot of work to do.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kerensa, true to her word, managed to arrange for the vicar to perform a service of remembrance in the old church. It would take place on Saturday, followed by a blow-out at Reuben’s place. Polly hoped the weather would be fine. They told everyone in the village.
The media, thank God, had mostly gone home. But they had left an unexpected legacy behind. When people had seen the news reports on the ‘tragic tidal village’, they hadn’t thought about the fishing so much as the beautiful upwards sweep of the town towards the picturesque ruined castle; its quaint cobbles; its lovely little artisan bakery; its sun-dappled waters. Within a day, they were descending en masse as daytrippers – not just ghouls, but genuine holidaymakers too. Kerensa went back to Plymouth, and Polly missed her helping around the place; she was run off her feet. Anything she baked was snapped up at the speed of light. She was so busy she could sometimes forget everything that had happened. Then she would glance out of the window, looking for the chattering masts, the banter, the jokes, the shouting of the fishermen, the familiar tall figure with the piercing blue eyes, and he would not be there, and it was like being hit in the stomach with a cannonball all over again.
On Wednesday, she was closing up the blinds when she saw a thin, bent figure approaching the harbour wall. The daytrippers were all on the beach; it was a ravishing day, and a quiet postprandial heat had overtaken the town. There was nobody else around. Polly made a cup of tea and took it outside, sitting down on the wall next to her.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I brought you some tea, but I’ll leave if you want to be alone.’
Selina looked up at her, blinking in confusion.
‘Hello, sorry, I don’t…’
‘I’m Polly Waterford,’ she said. ‘I was a friend of Tarnie’s… Well, I mean, I knew all the fishermen. I work just over there.’
They didn’t have a vicar on the island, but a local woman had offered to do a service in her church in Looe. Kerensa argued that they should hold it in the ancient church high up on Mount Polbearne itself, even though it had been deconsecrated long ago.
Selina had gone back to her mother’s on the mainland, and whilst they couldn’t begin to share her pain, nonetheless the local community had to acknowledge it – hers, and the pain of the men left behind, who felt guilty, as well as having been terrified to within an inch of their lives.
On the Monday morning of the second week after the accident, the phone rang. Polly was elbow-deep in flour and asked Kerensa – who had come to Polbearne again to be with her friend – to answer it.
‘Hello, Pol,’ said Reuben, sounding sleepy. ‘Wassup?’
‘It’s not Polly,’ said Kerensa. ‘It’s Kerensa.’
There was a hurried shaking noise at the other end of the phone. When Reuben spoke again, he sounded a lot more awake and had dropped his voice by about an octave.
‘Well hull-oo,’ he said, as manfully as he could muster. Kerensa rolled her eyes. ‘What can I do for you?’ he said.
‘Well,’ said Kerensa. ‘We were thinking of having a commemoration of the boat and Tarnie. We’re probably going to have it in Polly’s shitty little apartment. You can come if you like.’
‘Oi!’ shouted Polly crossly. Neil hopped up and down in the sink, where he was amusing himself. In amongst everything else, Polly had managed to find time to call the sanctuary.
‘Er, hi. I think I have one of your birds that’s escaped?’ she’d said.
It was the same cheery Kiwi girl as before.
‘Oh! You know, we haven’t missed it. We’ve got, like —’
‘A million and a half, I know. But this one is wearing a special honey tag.’
‘I remember you! Are you the one who loved your puffin?’
‘I think every puffin deserves to be loved,’ said Polly.
‘Yeah. But don’t you live on the south coast?’
‘I do,’ said Polly proudly. ‘He made it all the way home.’
She waited for the girl to be incredibly impressed and say something about how Neil was the most amazing puffin she’d ever heard of.
‘Well,’ said the girl. ‘You can bring him back if you like.’
Polly looked at Neil. The bird regarded her with his beady black eyes. He eeped quietly.
‘You know,’ she said. ‘I think we’re all right.’
Kerensa and Reuben were still talking on the phone now. Reuben seemed to be incensed that they didn’t expect him to host.
‘I got a dance floor! I got lighting! I got access to DJs and a fully stocked champagne cellar,’ he was saying. Polly could hear him from the other side of the room.
‘It’s not a party,’ said Kerensa. ‘It’s a wake, numbnuts.’
‘I think everyone should have this when they die,’ said Reuben. ‘It’s what I want.’
‘He’s got a point,’ said Polly.
‘Anyway, what are you guys going to do, make some toast?’ Reuben continued.
‘I like toast,’ said Kerensa.
‘Fine,’ said Reuben. ‘When I’m flying in the sushi chef, I’ll fly in a toast chef too.’
Kerensa and Polly looked at each other. Polly nodded her head. ‘We should do it. The town needs it.’
‘OKAY,’ said Kerensa, as if she were doing Reuben the most massive favour, and ended the call.
‘You know, you should be nicer to him,’ said Polly. ‘He took that boat out and found the rest of those men. He was really being quite heroic.’
‘Well, one, he was showing off as usual,’ said Kerensa.
‘You’re harsh,’ said Polly.
‘And two, it was Huckle who made him do it.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I do. Reuben told me. Well, I suggested it and he couldn’t deny it.’
‘I can’t believe you really dislike this guy but you’ve still managed to persuade him to host the entire thing.’
Kerensa rolled her eyes.
‘There is a reason I’m still in business.’
‘Low blow.’
Kerensa stuck out her tongue.
‘Come on,’ said Polly. ‘We’ve still got a lot of work to do.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kerensa, true to her word, managed to arrange for the vicar to perform a service of remembrance in the old church. It would take place on Saturday, followed by a blow-out at Reuben’s place. Polly hoped the weather would be fine. They told everyone in the village.
The media, thank God, had mostly gone home. But they had left an unexpected legacy behind. When people had seen the news reports on the ‘tragic tidal village’, they hadn’t thought about the fishing so much as the beautiful upwards sweep of the town towards the picturesque ruined castle; its quaint cobbles; its lovely little artisan bakery; its sun-dappled waters. Within a day, they were descending en masse as daytrippers – not just ghouls, but genuine holidaymakers too. Kerensa went back to Plymouth, and Polly missed her helping around the place; she was run off her feet. Anything she baked was snapped up at the speed of light. She was so busy she could sometimes forget everything that had happened. Then she would glance out of the window, looking for the chattering masts, the banter, the jokes, the shouting of the fishermen, the familiar tall figure with the piercing blue eyes, and he would not be there, and it was like being hit in the stomach with a cannonball all over again.
On Wednesday, she was closing up the blinds when she saw a thin, bent figure approaching the harbour wall. The daytrippers were all on the beach; it was a ravishing day, and a quiet postprandial heat had overtaken the town. There was nobody else around. Polly made a cup of tea and took it outside, sitting down on the wall next to her.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I brought you some tea, but I’ll leave if you want to be alone.’
Selina looked up at her, blinking in confusion.
‘Hello, sorry, I don’t…’
‘I’m Polly Waterford,’ she said. ‘I was a friend of Tarnie’s… Well, I mean, I knew all the fishermen. I work just over there.’
