Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 69
‘Oh yes, the bread shop.’ Selina smiled sadly. ‘He talked about the bakery all the time. He loved your bread.’
‘Look, I don’t want to intrude…’
‘No,’ said Selina. ‘It’s fine. I just had to get out from my mum’s. All those cocked heads and “Are you OKAY?” all the time. You know, in that really soft voice so that people can show how caring they are. FUCK, I am tired of it.’
Polly nodded.
‘So then I have to say “Yes, I’m okay” to make THEM feel better. Seriously. For the rest of my life.’
She twisted the wedding ring on her left hand.
‘How could you possibly be okay?’ said Polly, genuinely confused. ‘What a stupid question, like they think you might be a monster.’
‘YES,’ said Selina. She went quiet again. They both stared out to sea.
‘Except I am a monster,’ she said. ‘Because I am SO fucking FURIOUS with him. I TOLD him. I TOLD him not to go to sea. I begged him not to be a bloody fisherman. Everyone knows it’s dangerous, and there’s no bloody money in it. And he was away all the time, here – I mean, who can live here, it’s half a bloody island, for heaven’s sake. Seriously, we nearly broke up about it all the time, we fought and fought and fought about his damn job, and then what does he do?’
Her eyes were filled with tears.
‘He only goes and proves me bloody right, the bloody bastard. BASTARD. I am SO cross with him.’
She wiped her face furiously. ‘Oh God, again with the tears,’ she said. ‘Sorry. Sorry for venting. Do you think I’m a monster?’
‘I think that makes perfect sense,’ said Polly, feeling awful. She liked this woman. Silly Tarnie.
‘I miss him,’ said Selina. ‘Oh God, I miss fighting with him.’ She snuffled. ‘And I wish everyone would stop talking about him like he was some kind of saint.’
‘I know,’ said Polly fervently.
‘He could be a right dickhead. But he was MY dickhead.’
Polly put an arm around her shoulder.
‘Do you think they’ll let me put that on the memorial stone?’ Selina was half hiccuping, half laughing.
‘Well, the amount of money people have sent in to pay for it, you can probably have anything you like,’ said Polly, and they both half laughed and half cried at that, and eventually Polly said sod it, hang on, and went up to the flat and grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge, and they sat on the sea wall and drank it from plastic cups, and Polly let Selina tell annoying Tarnie stories all afternoon until people started filling up the town again and recognising Selina, and she scowled and said it was like being the worst kind of celebrity ever, super-widow, and left. They both hugged when she went.
That week was the busiest ever in the shop. Mount Polbearne was famous now, and everyone wanted a piece of it. Henry and Samantha, the incoming couple, who were in the middle of vast overhauling building works, came in brimful with excitement.
‘Well, we are QUITE the talk of Chelsea!’ said Samantha. ‘I don’t think house prices are going to be static for long! All the DRAMA!’ she trilled.
Polly winced, then looked outside. The Range Rover was parked across the cobbles, blocking the road again. She wondered gloomily if they’d have to get a traffic warden.
‘I don’t suppose you’d fancy also opening an artisan butcher’s?’ asked Henry hopefully. Today his cords were pink. They matched his blowsy cheeks. ‘That kind of thing really helps.’
‘What? God, no,’ said Polly. She watched one of the fishermen pass the window with his arms full of yellow ducks.
‘I see someone’s got an enterprising spirit,’ said Henry. ‘Hmm. I wonder if he’d fancy opening a butcher’s.’
Polly looked at them.
‘So, are all your friends moving here?’ she asked politely.
‘Deffo! Binky and Max and Biff and Jules and Mills and Pinky and Froufrou are already calling their agents, aren’t they?’ said Henry to Samantha.
‘Oh good,’ said Polly, putting their specially ordered gluten-free loaf (for which she charged enough to pay her fuel bill for a month) into a paper bag. ‘Oh good.’
Saturday dawned glorious and perfect. There were a couple of puffy white clouds breezing across the sky, but otherwise it was a technicolour blue. It reminded Polly of the day Tarnie had taken her out on his little boat, and it took her three times longer than usual to get ready, because every time she thought about that day, she cried all her make-up off and had to do it again. She spoke to herself fiercely. She was not going to make an idiot of herself. She wasn’t. Tarnie had been a friend, that was all, whom she had known for a few months. She didn’t deserve to selfishly grab a slice of the grief – the real grief, the huge, never-ending, life-shattering heartbreak. That belonged to his family, his old friends, Selina. She had no right to intrude. She had to lock it inside, be strong, not embarrass herself.
Thankfully Kerensa turned up bright and early to catch the tide. She looked insane but also fabulous, in a short – slightly too short – black lace dress, dramatic make-up and a fascinator with netting.
‘Oh my God,’ said Polly, rubbing under her eyes for the thousandth time. ‘You look like the black widow.’
‘Good,’ said Kerensa, turning on the coffee machine. ‘What do you think? Too much?’
‘You only met him once,’ said Polly.
‘I know,’ said Kerensa. ‘But I thought that if anyone was suspiciously searching the church for likely bits on the side, they’d skip over you and assume it was me.’
Polly gasped. ‘That’s brilliant.’
‘I know.’
‘Thanks,’ said Polly, dissolving again.
‘It’s all right,’ said Kerensa kindly, patting her on the shoulder. ‘You wouldn’t have looked as good as me even if you were trying.’
But Polly knew what she was really saying, and simply bawled in her arms until there was nothing left in her.
‘Better?’ said Kerensa.
Polly nodded.
‘Then go have a shower.’
‘I’ve had three. It’s only cold water left.’
‘Even better, it’ll tighten up the pores.’
Polly did what she was told, then Kerensa, looking on sternly and bringing out the waterproof mascara, sorted her out in a plain black short-sleeved dress made up of a silk skirt and T-shirt top.
‘Look, I don’t want to intrude…’
‘No,’ said Selina. ‘It’s fine. I just had to get out from my mum’s. All those cocked heads and “Are you OKAY?” all the time. You know, in that really soft voice so that people can show how caring they are. FUCK, I am tired of it.’
Polly nodded.
‘So then I have to say “Yes, I’m okay” to make THEM feel better. Seriously. For the rest of my life.’
She twisted the wedding ring on her left hand.
‘How could you possibly be okay?’ said Polly, genuinely confused. ‘What a stupid question, like they think you might be a monster.’
‘YES,’ said Selina. She went quiet again. They both stared out to sea.
‘Except I am a monster,’ she said. ‘Because I am SO fucking FURIOUS with him. I TOLD him. I TOLD him not to go to sea. I begged him not to be a bloody fisherman. Everyone knows it’s dangerous, and there’s no bloody money in it. And he was away all the time, here – I mean, who can live here, it’s half a bloody island, for heaven’s sake. Seriously, we nearly broke up about it all the time, we fought and fought and fought about his damn job, and then what does he do?’
Her eyes were filled with tears.
‘He only goes and proves me bloody right, the bloody bastard. BASTARD. I am SO cross with him.’
She wiped her face furiously. ‘Oh God, again with the tears,’ she said. ‘Sorry. Sorry for venting. Do you think I’m a monster?’
‘I think that makes perfect sense,’ said Polly, feeling awful. She liked this woman. Silly Tarnie.
‘I miss him,’ said Selina. ‘Oh God, I miss fighting with him.’ She snuffled. ‘And I wish everyone would stop talking about him like he was some kind of saint.’
‘I know,’ said Polly fervently.
‘He could be a right dickhead. But he was MY dickhead.’
Polly put an arm around her shoulder.
‘Do you think they’ll let me put that on the memorial stone?’ Selina was half hiccuping, half laughing.
‘Well, the amount of money people have sent in to pay for it, you can probably have anything you like,’ said Polly, and they both half laughed and half cried at that, and eventually Polly said sod it, hang on, and went up to the flat and grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge, and they sat on the sea wall and drank it from plastic cups, and Polly let Selina tell annoying Tarnie stories all afternoon until people started filling up the town again and recognising Selina, and she scowled and said it was like being the worst kind of celebrity ever, super-widow, and left. They both hugged when she went.
That week was the busiest ever in the shop. Mount Polbearne was famous now, and everyone wanted a piece of it. Henry and Samantha, the incoming couple, who were in the middle of vast overhauling building works, came in brimful with excitement.
‘Well, we are QUITE the talk of Chelsea!’ said Samantha. ‘I don’t think house prices are going to be static for long! All the DRAMA!’ she trilled.
Polly winced, then looked outside. The Range Rover was parked across the cobbles, blocking the road again. She wondered gloomily if they’d have to get a traffic warden.
‘I don’t suppose you’d fancy also opening an artisan butcher’s?’ asked Henry hopefully. Today his cords were pink. They matched his blowsy cheeks. ‘That kind of thing really helps.’
‘What? God, no,’ said Polly. She watched one of the fishermen pass the window with his arms full of yellow ducks.
‘I see someone’s got an enterprising spirit,’ said Henry. ‘Hmm. I wonder if he’d fancy opening a butcher’s.’
Polly looked at them.
‘So, are all your friends moving here?’ she asked politely.
‘Deffo! Binky and Max and Biff and Jules and Mills and Pinky and Froufrou are already calling their agents, aren’t they?’ said Henry to Samantha.
‘Oh good,’ said Polly, putting their specially ordered gluten-free loaf (for which she charged enough to pay her fuel bill for a month) into a paper bag. ‘Oh good.’
Saturday dawned glorious and perfect. There were a couple of puffy white clouds breezing across the sky, but otherwise it was a technicolour blue. It reminded Polly of the day Tarnie had taken her out on his little boat, and it took her three times longer than usual to get ready, because every time she thought about that day, she cried all her make-up off and had to do it again. She spoke to herself fiercely. She was not going to make an idiot of herself. She wasn’t. Tarnie had been a friend, that was all, whom she had known for a few months. She didn’t deserve to selfishly grab a slice of the grief – the real grief, the huge, never-ending, life-shattering heartbreak. That belonged to his family, his old friends, Selina. She had no right to intrude. She had to lock it inside, be strong, not embarrass herself.
Thankfully Kerensa turned up bright and early to catch the tide. She looked insane but also fabulous, in a short – slightly too short – black lace dress, dramatic make-up and a fascinator with netting.
‘Oh my God,’ said Polly, rubbing under her eyes for the thousandth time. ‘You look like the black widow.’
‘Good,’ said Kerensa, turning on the coffee machine. ‘What do you think? Too much?’
‘You only met him once,’ said Polly.
‘I know,’ said Kerensa. ‘But I thought that if anyone was suspiciously searching the church for likely bits on the side, they’d skip over you and assume it was me.’
Polly gasped. ‘That’s brilliant.’
‘I know.’
‘Thanks,’ said Polly, dissolving again.
‘It’s all right,’ said Kerensa kindly, patting her on the shoulder. ‘You wouldn’t have looked as good as me even if you were trying.’
But Polly knew what she was really saying, and simply bawled in her arms until there was nothing left in her.
‘Better?’ said Kerensa.
Polly nodded.
‘Then go have a shower.’
‘I’ve had three. It’s only cold water left.’
‘Even better, it’ll tighten up the pores.’
Polly did what she was told, then Kerensa, looking on sternly and bringing out the waterproof mascara, sorted her out in a plain black short-sleeved dress made up of a silk skirt and T-shirt top.
