Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 72
‘Bloody hell,’ said one of the Polbearne lot, a little intimidated. This was a far cry from their normal world of the pub and the sea.
‘Well, this is what I call a send-off,’ said someone else, but they still didn’t move.
Finally, the waiters stepped forward to serve them all with champagne. Reuben picked up two flutes himself and brought them over to Polly and Kerensa. The two stunningly lovely girls he’d been talking to looked instantly pouty.
‘Hi. Welcome to my brilliant wake for Tarnie. It’s very kind of me to do it,’ he said, presenting them with their glasses.
‘Do you buy yourself attention like this often?’ said Kerensa.
‘Stop being rude,’ ordered Polly. She gave Reuben a hug and a kiss. ‘You were a hero, a true hero, and this will be the best send-off ever. His family will never forget it.’
‘I know,’ said Reuben.
There were boys still out on the surf, where the tide was high, but when they finished they would come in, strip off, have a beer. The barbecue turned out to be a pit in which whole pigs, rubbed with spices, were being roasted and expertly crisped into rolls. On the other side was a massive bonfire, crackling up to the sky, to keep them warm later in the evening. There were pictures of Tarnie up in the covered bar. Polly paused in front of one of them, a candid shot of him mending a net. It had been taken at exactly the same angle as how she used to see him from the flat; it was like she was looking out of her window.
The entire beach was lit up, but the most astonishing backdrop of all was the sky, bestowing a bright pink and purple sunset as if ordered in especially. Polly wouldn’t put much past Reuben.
Waiters circulated with sushi and other hors d’oeuvres, but as soon as the band had a break and the DJ started up with ‘Get Lucky’, Polly and Kerensa realised what they wanted to do.
Dancing was their escape, a way to deal with all their pent-up emotion. They danced as the sun went down, watching the boys mess about in the water; watching Muriel from the minimart drink too much too fast in excitement at being out before collapsing in a chair with a kindly-brought cup of tea; watching Archie and his wife standing shyly to the side, slightly overcome and very close to one another; watching John’s children charging about shrieking and laughing, chasing each other with water pistols that seemed to have been conjured from nowhere.
They talked and laughed and made a million new friends, and danced with boys or with each other or on their own. Polly felt her shoulders free up, her cheeks ache with laughter in the midst of such sadness, her feet bare, her black dress floating out around her. It felt as if everyone there – those who had cheated death, who had cheated the calamity in their community – was intent on celebrating life and happiness and the sheer beauty around them, and it made Polly dance and twirl even faster.
Huckle sipped his beer slowly, watching her. The party was full of beautiful young things – Reuben’s usual rent-a-mob of trust-fund hanger-ons, models and semi-professionals – but he wasn’t interested in any of them, even though he could tell from the looks and the flirtatious chat and dancing from some of the girls that they would like to turn the evening into something more. Huckle was six foot two, blond and blue-eyed; finding girls had never been a problem for him. Finding a girl who wouldn’t break his heart, on the other hand…
He thought back to Polly, pounding up the jetty the day Tarnie had not come home, and took another slow swig of his beer.
Polly couldn’t have said how late it was, but the stars had changed position. The party wasn’t slowing down, though; if anything, it was getting more hectic, the bar serving faster, the food still circling, more and more people dancing, including a hugely successful boy band who’d been playing St Ives and had dropped in on their way back to London.
Suddenly the DJ turned off his set and Reuben stood up to take the mike. There was mass cheering, and some of the girls jostled their way to the front to make sure he could see them there being supportive.
‘So, yeah, I know, greatest party of all time, right?’ he said nonchalantly.
‘Seriously, he’s like Kanye West without the humble, modest side,’ sniffed Kerensa, who’d sidled up. Her skin was shining from the dancing and her make-up had run a little, but it made her look rather endearing, Polly thought, younger and less carefully put together.
‘But we’re here to honour our brother Tarnie – and all our brothers who did come home.’
‘Thanks, Reuben!’ shouted one of the girls. Reuben smirked.
Kerensa tutted. ‘Seriously.’
‘He did do an amazing thing,’ said Polly.
‘It’ll be even more amazing when people stop going on about it.’
‘So, anyway…’
A fisherman from one of the other boats stood up.
‘Oh Lord,’ said Kerensa, who, Polly suddenly realised, was drunker than she’d thought. ‘He’s going to sing “My Way” or something.’
The fisherman walked up to the mike, looking out nervously at the crowd of people. Everyone cheered. The rest of the fishermen went and stood beside him. Jayden was there in his wheelchair, looking thin and anxious, but also incredibly pleased to be there.
‘Um,’ said the man. ‘I just want to say thanks. To Reuben. But to each and every boat that went out looking for us.’
A huge cheer went up.
‘To the tireless emergency services.’
A clutch of very drunk ambulance drivers waved merrily.
‘To everyone who…’ His voice cracked a little and he raised his glass. ‘To everyone who never gave up on us.’
‘To everyone who never gave up,’ chorused the partygoers.
Jayden was now pushed forward, and coughed anxiously. Apart from the distant waves, there was total silence.
‘And to say goodbye to our boy, these are a few words,’ he said, fumbling with a piece of paper, ‘from Robert Burns. He’s a poet.’
He put his hand up in the direction of the sea.
An honest man here lies at rest
As e’er God with his image blest;
The friend of man, the friend of truth,
The friend of age, and guide of youth;
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm’d,
Few heads with knowledge so informed;
If there’s another world, he lives in bliss;
If there is none, he made the best of this.
‘Well, this is what I call a send-off,’ said someone else, but they still didn’t move.
Finally, the waiters stepped forward to serve them all with champagne. Reuben picked up two flutes himself and brought them over to Polly and Kerensa. The two stunningly lovely girls he’d been talking to looked instantly pouty.
‘Hi. Welcome to my brilliant wake for Tarnie. It’s very kind of me to do it,’ he said, presenting them with their glasses.
‘Do you buy yourself attention like this often?’ said Kerensa.
‘Stop being rude,’ ordered Polly. She gave Reuben a hug and a kiss. ‘You were a hero, a true hero, and this will be the best send-off ever. His family will never forget it.’
‘I know,’ said Reuben.
There were boys still out on the surf, where the tide was high, but when they finished they would come in, strip off, have a beer. The barbecue turned out to be a pit in which whole pigs, rubbed with spices, were being roasted and expertly crisped into rolls. On the other side was a massive bonfire, crackling up to the sky, to keep them warm later in the evening. There were pictures of Tarnie up in the covered bar. Polly paused in front of one of them, a candid shot of him mending a net. It had been taken at exactly the same angle as how she used to see him from the flat; it was like she was looking out of her window.
The entire beach was lit up, but the most astonishing backdrop of all was the sky, bestowing a bright pink and purple sunset as if ordered in especially. Polly wouldn’t put much past Reuben.
Waiters circulated with sushi and other hors d’oeuvres, but as soon as the band had a break and the DJ started up with ‘Get Lucky’, Polly and Kerensa realised what they wanted to do.
Dancing was their escape, a way to deal with all their pent-up emotion. They danced as the sun went down, watching the boys mess about in the water; watching Muriel from the minimart drink too much too fast in excitement at being out before collapsing in a chair with a kindly-brought cup of tea; watching Archie and his wife standing shyly to the side, slightly overcome and very close to one another; watching John’s children charging about shrieking and laughing, chasing each other with water pistols that seemed to have been conjured from nowhere.
They talked and laughed and made a million new friends, and danced with boys or with each other or on their own. Polly felt her shoulders free up, her cheeks ache with laughter in the midst of such sadness, her feet bare, her black dress floating out around her. It felt as if everyone there – those who had cheated death, who had cheated the calamity in their community – was intent on celebrating life and happiness and the sheer beauty around them, and it made Polly dance and twirl even faster.
Huckle sipped his beer slowly, watching her. The party was full of beautiful young things – Reuben’s usual rent-a-mob of trust-fund hanger-ons, models and semi-professionals – but he wasn’t interested in any of them, even though he could tell from the looks and the flirtatious chat and dancing from some of the girls that they would like to turn the evening into something more. Huckle was six foot two, blond and blue-eyed; finding girls had never been a problem for him. Finding a girl who wouldn’t break his heart, on the other hand…
He thought back to Polly, pounding up the jetty the day Tarnie had not come home, and took another slow swig of his beer.
Polly couldn’t have said how late it was, but the stars had changed position. The party wasn’t slowing down, though; if anything, it was getting more hectic, the bar serving faster, the food still circling, more and more people dancing, including a hugely successful boy band who’d been playing St Ives and had dropped in on their way back to London.
Suddenly the DJ turned off his set and Reuben stood up to take the mike. There was mass cheering, and some of the girls jostled their way to the front to make sure he could see them there being supportive.
‘So, yeah, I know, greatest party of all time, right?’ he said nonchalantly.
‘Seriously, he’s like Kanye West without the humble, modest side,’ sniffed Kerensa, who’d sidled up. Her skin was shining from the dancing and her make-up had run a little, but it made her look rather endearing, Polly thought, younger and less carefully put together.
‘But we’re here to honour our brother Tarnie – and all our brothers who did come home.’
‘Thanks, Reuben!’ shouted one of the girls. Reuben smirked.
Kerensa tutted. ‘Seriously.’
‘He did do an amazing thing,’ said Polly.
‘It’ll be even more amazing when people stop going on about it.’
‘So, anyway…’
A fisherman from one of the other boats stood up.
‘Oh Lord,’ said Kerensa, who, Polly suddenly realised, was drunker than she’d thought. ‘He’s going to sing “My Way” or something.’
The fisherman walked up to the mike, looking out nervously at the crowd of people. Everyone cheered. The rest of the fishermen went and stood beside him. Jayden was there in his wheelchair, looking thin and anxious, but also incredibly pleased to be there.
‘Um,’ said the man. ‘I just want to say thanks. To Reuben. But to each and every boat that went out looking for us.’
A huge cheer went up.
‘To the tireless emergency services.’
A clutch of very drunk ambulance drivers waved merrily.
‘To everyone who…’ His voice cracked a little and he raised his glass. ‘To everyone who never gave up on us.’
‘To everyone who never gave up,’ chorused the partygoers.
Jayden was now pushed forward, and coughed anxiously. Apart from the distant waves, there was total silence.
‘And to say goodbye to our boy, these are a few words,’ he said, fumbling with a piece of paper, ‘from Robert Burns. He’s a poet.’
He put his hand up in the direction of the sea.
An honest man here lies at rest
As e’er God with his image blest;
The friend of man, the friend of truth,
The friend of age, and guide of youth;
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm’d,
Few heads with knowledge so informed;
If there’s another world, he lives in bliss;
If there is none, he made the best of this.
