Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 70
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Just sit quietly at the back and try not to draw attention to yourself. Have you met his family before?’
Polly shook her head. ‘Only Selina.’
‘Good, they won’t recognise you. You’ll be fine, do you hear me?’
Huckle and Reuben met them at the church, both looking unusually sober in dark suits and ties. Reuben didn’t pass up the opportunity to tell them that his tie and shoes were sharkskin, ‘the most expensive skin you can buy’, which Kerensa quickly told him made him a biological terrorist.
The church, once the focal point of the community, stood at the very top of the village, a walk up the stepped pavements. Originally built in the Middle Ages, when the town was still connected to the land, it had fallen into disuse as the causeway closed over, and had been deconsecrated at the end of the nineteenth century. It was more like a ruin now than a church, with its old stone walls and paved floors; there was no roof, just birds’ nests high in the crumbling stonework. It was a nice spot to picnic outside, even amongst the ancient gravestones, and the view out to sea on three sides was absolutely magnificent: boats dotted here and there, the sky a massive flag waving over their heads.
Seats had been brought up from the tiny village hall for older people to sit on, but the church was so crowded that most people were standing along the walls or sitting on the floor, or on rocky outcrops where the flagstones had been broken or taken away. There was a murmur of low voices, men standing awkwardly in their best suits, slightly red-faced in the heat. At the front, sitting with their heads bowed, were two people who Polly realised instantly were Tarnie’s parents. She knew that after his father had retired, his mother had insisted they move to the mainland, in search of a little more excitement. She also hadn’t been happy that Tarnie had been a fisherman; she’d had higher hopes for her only son. She had the same bright blue eyes as her boy, Polly could see, presently so misted and unfocused she looked blind.
The man did not raise his head, but she could see Tarnie in the slope of his shoulders, in the rangy build, in the shadow of his jaw, and she took a sharp intake of breath. She could not bear to think what must be going through his head, this fisherman. A woman shepherding several small children and looking harassed and worn down had to be Tarnie’s sister.
Next to them was Selina, in a pretty black dress that showed off her thin collarbones. Polly smiled an apologetic smile at her, and Selina gave her a look of such open pain it made Polly’s heart constrict. She was being supported by her mother and various other relatives, and looked too frail to even stand up.
Mrs Manse was sitting, ignoring everyone, straight-backed and uncomfortable-looking, in one of the chairs. In black, she resembled Queen Victoria. Polly tried to wave and received a disapproving look in return.
The entire town was there, even, Polly was surprised to note, the newcomers, Samantha and Henry, who looked awkward and out of place. She gave a little wave towards them too. Then they all stood, anxiously, waiting for something to happen.
Finally, the female vicar from the mainland appeared, coming in through the ruined walls like everyone else. She made her way to the front and cleared her throat, and everyone immediately sat up attentively.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘And thank you all for coming on such a beautiful day. I know the circumstances are unusual, but I feel that even if we cannot bury our brother Cornelius William Tarnforth, we can celebrate him.’
At the sound of his name, his mother gave a stifled wail.
‘Not all deaths are tragedies,’ continued the vicar. ‘But this one was.’
She went on to talk about how well known Tarnie had been in the community, how loved by his family, how missed he would be; then various people got up and said a few words, told stories Polly hadn’t heard: about his habit of dropping fish in on people who didn’t have much money to spare, about the lifeboat-manning shifts he took on in his spare time, some ridiculous story about pushing over a cow that Archie told through gulping sobs and that wasn’t very coherent.
The vicar read from the Bible.
‘And it came to pass, that, as the people pressed upon him to hear the word of God, he stood by the lake of Gennesaret,
And saw two ships standing by the lake: but the fishermen were gone out of them, and were washing their nets.
And he entered into one of the ships, which was Simon’s, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land. And he sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.
Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.
And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net did brake.
And they beckoned unto their partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them. And they came, and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink.
When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.
For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken:
And so was also James, and John, the sons of Zebedee, which were partners with Simon. And Jesus said unto Simon, Fear not; from henceforth thou shalt be a fisher of men.
And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all, and followed him.’
Then, at a prearranged signal, the men Polly recognised as fishermen shambled to the front of the congregation and started to sing.
Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bid’st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep:
The voices swelled louder and louder now, joined by most of the others there.
Oh hear us when we cry to thee
For those in peril on the sea.
Polly glanced over and saw Tarnie’s father trying, and failing, to mouth the words. That was when she lost it completely. Trying very, very hard to be quiet, she buried her head in the inner lining of Huckle’s jacket and sobbed and sobbed. The lining was never the same afterwards.
Oh Christ, whose voice the waters heard,
And hushed their raging at thy word
Who walkedst on the foaming deep,
And calm amidst its rage didst sleep:
Oh hear us when we cry to thee
Polly shook her head. ‘Only Selina.’
‘Good, they won’t recognise you. You’ll be fine, do you hear me?’
Huckle and Reuben met them at the church, both looking unusually sober in dark suits and ties. Reuben didn’t pass up the opportunity to tell them that his tie and shoes were sharkskin, ‘the most expensive skin you can buy’, which Kerensa quickly told him made him a biological terrorist.
The church, once the focal point of the community, stood at the very top of the village, a walk up the stepped pavements. Originally built in the Middle Ages, when the town was still connected to the land, it had fallen into disuse as the causeway closed over, and had been deconsecrated at the end of the nineteenth century. It was more like a ruin now than a church, with its old stone walls and paved floors; there was no roof, just birds’ nests high in the crumbling stonework. It was a nice spot to picnic outside, even amongst the ancient gravestones, and the view out to sea on three sides was absolutely magnificent: boats dotted here and there, the sky a massive flag waving over their heads.
Seats had been brought up from the tiny village hall for older people to sit on, but the church was so crowded that most people were standing along the walls or sitting on the floor, or on rocky outcrops where the flagstones had been broken or taken away. There was a murmur of low voices, men standing awkwardly in their best suits, slightly red-faced in the heat. At the front, sitting with their heads bowed, were two people who Polly realised instantly were Tarnie’s parents. She knew that after his father had retired, his mother had insisted they move to the mainland, in search of a little more excitement. She also hadn’t been happy that Tarnie had been a fisherman; she’d had higher hopes for her only son. She had the same bright blue eyes as her boy, Polly could see, presently so misted and unfocused she looked blind.
The man did not raise his head, but she could see Tarnie in the slope of his shoulders, in the rangy build, in the shadow of his jaw, and she took a sharp intake of breath. She could not bear to think what must be going through his head, this fisherman. A woman shepherding several small children and looking harassed and worn down had to be Tarnie’s sister.
Next to them was Selina, in a pretty black dress that showed off her thin collarbones. Polly smiled an apologetic smile at her, and Selina gave her a look of such open pain it made Polly’s heart constrict. She was being supported by her mother and various other relatives, and looked too frail to even stand up.
Mrs Manse was sitting, ignoring everyone, straight-backed and uncomfortable-looking, in one of the chairs. In black, she resembled Queen Victoria. Polly tried to wave and received a disapproving look in return.
The entire town was there, even, Polly was surprised to note, the newcomers, Samantha and Henry, who looked awkward and out of place. She gave a little wave towards them too. Then they all stood, anxiously, waiting for something to happen.
Finally, the female vicar from the mainland appeared, coming in through the ruined walls like everyone else. She made her way to the front and cleared her throat, and everyone immediately sat up attentively.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘And thank you all for coming on such a beautiful day. I know the circumstances are unusual, but I feel that even if we cannot bury our brother Cornelius William Tarnforth, we can celebrate him.’
At the sound of his name, his mother gave a stifled wail.
‘Not all deaths are tragedies,’ continued the vicar. ‘But this one was.’
She went on to talk about how well known Tarnie had been in the community, how loved by his family, how missed he would be; then various people got up and said a few words, told stories Polly hadn’t heard: about his habit of dropping fish in on people who didn’t have much money to spare, about the lifeboat-manning shifts he took on in his spare time, some ridiculous story about pushing over a cow that Archie told through gulping sobs and that wasn’t very coherent.
The vicar read from the Bible.
‘And it came to pass, that, as the people pressed upon him to hear the word of God, he stood by the lake of Gennesaret,
And saw two ships standing by the lake: but the fishermen were gone out of them, and were washing their nets.
And he entered into one of the ships, which was Simon’s, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land. And he sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.
Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.
And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net did brake.
And they beckoned unto their partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them. And they came, and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink.
When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.
For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken:
And so was also James, and John, the sons of Zebedee, which were partners with Simon. And Jesus said unto Simon, Fear not; from henceforth thou shalt be a fisher of men.
And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all, and followed him.’
Then, at a prearranged signal, the men Polly recognised as fishermen shambled to the front of the congregation and started to sing.
Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bid’st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep:
The voices swelled louder and louder now, joined by most of the others there.
Oh hear us when we cry to thee
For those in peril on the sea.
Polly glanced over and saw Tarnie’s father trying, and failing, to mouth the words. That was when she lost it completely. Trying very, very hard to be quiet, she buried her head in the inner lining of Huckle’s jacket and sobbed and sobbed. The lining was never the same afterwards.
Oh Christ, whose voice the waters heard,
And hushed their raging at thy word
Who walkedst on the foaming deep,
And calm amidst its rage didst sleep:
Oh hear us when we cry to thee
