Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 79
Their waiter was a gorgeous boy in his early twenties; Polly had no idea how he’d ended up here. He took their order solicitously, and Kerensa insisted they have a glass of Sauvignon Blanc too, whilst Polly mentally wrote off going back to work that afternoon.
‘So,’ she said, treading carefully. ‘What about your job?’
Kerensa looked down at her plate.
‘Um,’ she said.
‘WHAT?’
‘Er, well, Rubes called the office and threatened to buy the company and sack everyone in it if they didn’t let me have a leave of absence,’ mumbled Kerensa, at least having the grace to sound embarrassed.
‘Kerensa! Are you a kept woman? What happened to “the house I live in, I bought it”?’
‘I did buy it,’ protested Kerensa. ‘It was either that or he threatened to hire me as a consultant. I am going straight back. Just as soon as I’ve got this very annoying man out of my system.’
There was a long pause. The phone beeped again, and Kerensa smiled and texted something back.
‘You’re right,’ said Polly. ‘This is totally a casual fling that you can take or leave.’
‘No, no, hang on, I’ll stop.’
Polly rolled her eyes. ‘I think you’re in love with him.’
‘He’s a doof,’ said Kerensa, but fondly. ‘You know, there is something very sexy about somebody who tells you they’re going to be fantastic and then is.’
‘Well now,’ said Polly, pleased. ‘I’ve always liked him.’
‘Have you heard from Huckle?’
Polly took a large gulp of the delicious freezing cold wine that had just shown up. Kerensa had told her in advance that she was paying for lunch so shut up, and they had both ordered the oysters and the whitebait, which was a lot fancier than what Polly normally liked, but she found to her surprise that she was enjoying it.
‘Because it was weird, wasn’t it, him shooting off like that? When’s he back?’
Polly hadn’t told a living soul about the kiss she and Huckle had shared at the party. She was too ashamed, especially after Tarnie.
‘I don’t know, she said.
She was heading down to the cottage every couple of days to collect the honey and keep an eye on things. She hadn’t told Huckle it wasn’t the temp agency doing it; he’d have felt guilty and hired someone else. Anyway, on these glorious long summer days it was actually very enjoyable to be outside: the drowsy humming, the heavy scents, and everywhere the astonishing flowers. Plus the honey was a good seller in the shop.
Kerensa put down her glass.
‘Nothing happened between you two, did it?’
Polly nodded slowly.
‘HURRAY! Great! I knew it! He’s a total hunk!’
‘Yes, and he’s gone back to the States,’ said Polly, trying to be brave.
‘For a bit,’ said Kerensa. ‘Probably getting his affairs in order so he can fly back and do you senseless.’
Polly shook her head sadly.
‘No,’ she said. ‘It didn’t… it didn’t go well. It was just… it was so weird it happening at Tarnie’s wake and everything and I got a bit spooked… and he pulled back, did that funny closed-up thing again. I think… I think I totally freaked him out and now it’s all gone wrong.’
‘Oh don’t be ridiculous,’ said Kerensa crossly. ‘Call him and tell him you made a terrible mistake and he has to stop being a nobber and come home.’
Polly shook her head. ‘He hasn’t called, emailed, nothing at all. He left the country. I think I have to see that as a very clear message.’
‘Yes, a very clear message that you’re both total idiots,’ said Kerensa.
Polly bit her lip.
‘No,’ she said. ‘He told me before that he wasn’t ready for a relationship. He’d just come out of something really serious. Anyway, if a boy likes you, he’ll come and get you. Like Reuben did.’
‘What are you, in the 1950s?’ said Kerensa crossly. ‘That’s nonsense. Call him.’
‘It was just a kiss.’
‘Sometimes that’s worse. Oh, I don’t mean that. Oh Pol. You have had some rotten luck.’
They both fell silent.
‘I’m such an idiot,’ said Polly. ‘I really thought he was…’
‘There’s no doubt he likes you,’ said Kerensa. ‘He’s always looking for you. He doesn’t talk to anyone else, just sits in his chair giving it the big Owen Wilson. Then you turn up and it’s like his eyes suddenly open; he’s suddenly there.’
‘Really?’ said Polly, then, quickly, ‘Oh. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter now. He probably won’t come back.’
Kerensa paused. Polly wondered if she would try a comforting lie, but in the end she didn’t.
‘He might not,’ she said. ‘But you’ll be all right, yeah?’
‘Of course!’ said Polly stoically, taking a large slurp of her wine. ‘I’ve got Neil.’
‘Exactly!’ said Kerensa.
And they chatted about other things, and decided in for a penny, and ordered a bottle of the delicious white wine and had a hilarious afternoon after all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Huckle found it both comforting and a bit weird how people hardly commented on his being back. It was like he’d just been on holiday. Which he had, he supposed.
His mother was pleased, of course, but she was so used to him being away in the ‘big city’, which was what she called Savannah, doing things that she didn’t really understand, that going to a totally foreign country wasn’t much different to her. His buddies were glad to see him, and made lots of cracks about warm beer and cricket, and whether he’d developed a weird accent. He spoke to a firm of consultants he knew, who took him on immediately, and found himself working regularly in offices around town. The hours were long, but the work wasn’t difficult – it was quite nice to engage his brain again, at least for now – and the money was amazing. As his quiet way of saying fuck it, he rented an apartment just like his old one, as far away as possible from the quaint town houses of the old city, which reminded him too much of England: a glass box, way up in the sky in a new high-rise. He had hardly anything in it; it was not at all cosy, had no rugs or eiderdowns or thatched roofs. And it was cool.
‘So,’ she said, treading carefully. ‘What about your job?’
Kerensa looked down at her plate.
‘Um,’ she said.
‘WHAT?’
‘Er, well, Rubes called the office and threatened to buy the company and sack everyone in it if they didn’t let me have a leave of absence,’ mumbled Kerensa, at least having the grace to sound embarrassed.
‘Kerensa! Are you a kept woman? What happened to “the house I live in, I bought it”?’
‘I did buy it,’ protested Kerensa. ‘It was either that or he threatened to hire me as a consultant. I am going straight back. Just as soon as I’ve got this very annoying man out of my system.’
There was a long pause. The phone beeped again, and Kerensa smiled and texted something back.
‘You’re right,’ said Polly. ‘This is totally a casual fling that you can take or leave.’
‘No, no, hang on, I’ll stop.’
Polly rolled her eyes. ‘I think you’re in love with him.’
‘He’s a doof,’ said Kerensa, but fondly. ‘You know, there is something very sexy about somebody who tells you they’re going to be fantastic and then is.’
‘Well now,’ said Polly, pleased. ‘I’ve always liked him.’
‘Have you heard from Huckle?’
Polly took a large gulp of the delicious freezing cold wine that had just shown up. Kerensa had told her in advance that she was paying for lunch so shut up, and they had both ordered the oysters and the whitebait, which was a lot fancier than what Polly normally liked, but she found to her surprise that she was enjoying it.
‘Because it was weird, wasn’t it, him shooting off like that? When’s he back?’
Polly hadn’t told a living soul about the kiss she and Huckle had shared at the party. She was too ashamed, especially after Tarnie.
‘I don’t know, she said.
She was heading down to the cottage every couple of days to collect the honey and keep an eye on things. She hadn’t told Huckle it wasn’t the temp agency doing it; he’d have felt guilty and hired someone else. Anyway, on these glorious long summer days it was actually very enjoyable to be outside: the drowsy humming, the heavy scents, and everywhere the astonishing flowers. Plus the honey was a good seller in the shop.
Kerensa put down her glass.
‘Nothing happened between you two, did it?’
Polly nodded slowly.
‘HURRAY! Great! I knew it! He’s a total hunk!’
‘Yes, and he’s gone back to the States,’ said Polly, trying to be brave.
‘For a bit,’ said Kerensa. ‘Probably getting his affairs in order so he can fly back and do you senseless.’
Polly shook her head sadly.
‘No,’ she said. ‘It didn’t… it didn’t go well. It was just… it was so weird it happening at Tarnie’s wake and everything and I got a bit spooked… and he pulled back, did that funny closed-up thing again. I think… I think I totally freaked him out and now it’s all gone wrong.’
‘Oh don’t be ridiculous,’ said Kerensa crossly. ‘Call him and tell him you made a terrible mistake and he has to stop being a nobber and come home.’
Polly shook her head. ‘He hasn’t called, emailed, nothing at all. He left the country. I think I have to see that as a very clear message.’
‘Yes, a very clear message that you’re both total idiots,’ said Kerensa.
Polly bit her lip.
‘No,’ she said. ‘He told me before that he wasn’t ready for a relationship. He’d just come out of something really serious. Anyway, if a boy likes you, he’ll come and get you. Like Reuben did.’
‘What are you, in the 1950s?’ said Kerensa crossly. ‘That’s nonsense. Call him.’
‘It was just a kiss.’
‘Sometimes that’s worse. Oh, I don’t mean that. Oh Pol. You have had some rotten luck.’
They both fell silent.
‘I’m such an idiot,’ said Polly. ‘I really thought he was…’
‘There’s no doubt he likes you,’ said Kerensa. ‘He’s always looking for you. He doesn’t talk to anyone else, just sits in his chair giving it the big Owen Wilson. Then you turn up and it’s like his eyes suddenly open; he’s suddenly there.’
‘Really?’ said Polly, then, quickly, ‘Oh. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter now. He probably won’t come back.’
Kerensa paused. Polly wondered if she would try a comforting lie, but in the end she didn’t.
‘He might not,’ she said. ‘But you’ll be all right, yeah?’
‘Of course!’ said Polly stoically, taking a large slurp of her wine. ‘I’ve got Neil.’
‘Exactly!’ said Kerensa.
And they chatted about other things, and decided in for a penny, and ordered a bottle of the delicious white wine and had a hilarious afternoon after all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Huckle found it both comforting and a bit weird how people hardly commented on his being back. It was like he’d just been on holiday. Which he had, he supposed.
His mother was pleased, of course, but she was so used to him being away in the ‘big city’, which was what she called Savannah, doing things that she didn’t really understand, that going to a totally foreign country wasn’t much different to her. His buddies were glad to see him, and made lots of cracks about warm beer and cricket, and whether he’d developed a weird accent. He spoke to a firm of consultants he knew, who took him on immediately, and found himself working regularly in offices around town. The hours were long, but the work wasn’t difficult – it was quite nice to engage his brain again, at least for now – and the money was amazing. As his quiet way of saying fuck it, he rented an apartment just like his old one, as far away as possible from the quaint town houses of the old city, which reminded him too much of England: a glass box, way up in the sky in a new high-rise. He had hardly anything in it; it was not at all cosy, had no rugs or eiderdowns or thatched roofs. And it was cool.
