Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 92
It dawned on him slowly. What an idiot he’d been. What on earth…
Suddenly, in his mind’s eye, he saw her like she was standing right in front of him. Saw her walking through the avenue of trees – such beautiful trees, he remembered – rain or shine, summer and winter, every day, simply going there to tend his bees, on top of everything else she had to do. His eyes blinked away tears. All those months when he’d thought she was in love with the memory of a ghost; all those months, in the mud and the wet, she had tramped across the causeway and up to his house, and tended his goddam bees.
He looked round at his office – the novelty of being busy once more was fast wearing off. He thought of the snarled freeways and the humid, sticky evenings, the tie that felt far too tight around his neck, his buddies sending him group messages about going to watch a baseball game, the files teetering high on his desk, his promise to take his mother to church on Sunday, the invitation to Candice and Ron’s wedding, which looked as if it would be just as over the top as Reuben’s. His entire life piled up around him, holding him in, and all he could think about was those goddam bees. Well, not quite all.
Without realising it, he had pulled off his tie.
‘Oh man,’ he said to himself, running his hands through his hair. ‘Man. Susan!’
His PA was holding his black coffee hopefully. She was madly in love with him.
‘Er. I have to…’
He couldn’t think of what to say. The last time he had left he had gone quietly, taken time out under his own rules. This time it didn’t seem to have anything to do with him; his legs were moving of their own accord. He absolutely couldn’t believe he was doing it again. But he was.
‘Yeah, I have some… some things to take care of.’
‘Anything I can help you with?’
Huckle shook his head.
‘Er, no. Not… No. Er. Can you book me a cab to the airport?’
He didn’t call anyone, didn’t speak, didn’t stop to think. He barely slept on the plane, but the long train ride from London to Looe knocked him out completely and the guard had to gently shake him, having noticed his destination on the reservation on his seat. Huckle was extremely grateful.
The cabbie chattered non-stop all the way to Polbearne about how incredibly successful the place was becoming, how they might get a new bridge and that would change everything. Spring was coming in, and many of the little winding roads were papered with pink and white blossom. Between the rolling hills, the sea still sparked. Huckle gave a sigh. He had forgotten just how beautiful it was.
The taxi driver got so far up the lane and no further; Huckle turned and thanked him, and got out with his leather overnight bag. Feeling leadenly tired after his incredibly long journey, he almost limped up the familiar avenue, the thick carpet of petals beneath his feet.
At the little cottage gate he stood for a second and put his bag down. Then he slipped off his shoes and socks so he could sink his bare feet into the cool, soft grass. He could hear once again the reassuring babbling of the little brook and the low, gentle hum of the bees.
‘Hiya there, guys,’ he murmured, overwhelmed with tiredness and, oddly, the most extraordinary relief.
He noticed, to almost no surprise, that his bee coveralls had been scrubbed clean and hung up tidily. The hives themselves were humming along in immaculate condition. The wax had been scraped away, the honey perfectly jarred. He looked at the trees with the fairy lights and remembered the night they’d spent drinking mead. He smiled. All his mead dreams turned to dust for a well-paid job back in an air-conditioned office. No. No no no.
Quick as a flash, Huckle pulled off his smart travelling suit, ran in and out of the shower, bouncing with excitement and sudden adrenalin, and pulled on jeans and an old T-shirt. He charged out of the house, not even locking it, eating toothpaste for speed. Thank God the motorbike started first time, because he was beyond thought now. He wasn’t thinking, he wasn’t planning, he wasn’t doing anything rational at all. It felt wonderful.
He sped along the little lanes, narrowly missing a huge lorry carrying vast amounts of scree, and pulling up with a roar at the end of the road leading to the causeway. The tide was coming in; there was a stern sign warning people not to use the causeway within two hours of high tide. He was well within the window, but he didn’t care. He barely noticed that there were loads of vans and cars parked there, some with television insignia on the side, and a small crowd of people standing around; all he wanted to do was get on the causeway before it closed.
Then he saw it. Right along the causeway. A massive line of people; the whole of Polbearne, holding hands, all the way from the mainland to the Mount.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked Muriel, who was standing on the end, a cute baby in a sling on her back.
‘HUCKLE!’ she screamed. ‘Oh my God, you’re back! Polly’s right at the other end!’
‘What are you doing?’
‘We’re protesting. We don’t want a bridge!’
‘No bridge, no bridge!’ chanted the crowd, filmed by the television crews.
Huckle broke into a huge grin and took Muriel’s arm.
‘Quite right too,’ he said. ‘NO BRIDGE, NO BRIDGE!’
But he could see that the water was already lapping up the side of the causeway. He took a worried look at the baby.
‘How long are you going to keep doing this?’ he asked.
‘I know, we’re nearly done,’ she said, and just as she spoke, a bullhorn went off.
‘CLEAR THE CAUSEWAY! CLEAR THE CAUSEWAY! MOUNT POLBEARNE FOR EVER!’ called a voice Huckle recognised as Samantha’s.
There was a surge of people coming off his end, and he had to struggle his way through.
‘Nope, we’re done now,’ said Jayden, looking officious in a reflective jacket. ‘Come on, sir… Oh, it’s YOU.’
‘Yes,’ said Huckle.
‘Well, we all have to be off the causeway by five. Come on, it’s the law.’
‘I just want to see Polly.’
‘She’s on the other side – you can see her in the morning.’
The water had started washing across the causeway now, and everyone was hurrying off with damp feet.
‘I’ll just go quickly.’
‘You won’t make it,’ said Jayden. ‘And I’m on this side, I can’t take the boat out.’
Suddenly, in his mind’s eye, he saw her like she was standing right in front of him. Saw her walking through the avenue of trees – such beautiful trees, he remembered – rain or shine, summer and winter, every day, simply going there to tend his bees, on top of everything else she had to do. His eyes blinked away tears. All those months when he’d thought she was in love with the memory of a ghost; all those months, in the mud and the wet, she had tramped across the causeway and up to his house, and tended his goddam bees.
He looked round at his office – the novelty of being busy once more was fast wearing off. He thought of the snarled freeways and the humid, sticky evenings, the tie that felt far too tight around his neck, his buddies sending him group messages about going to watch a baseball game, the files teetering high on his desk, his promise to take his mother to church on Sunday, the invitation to Candice and Ron’s wedding, which looked as if it would be just as over the top as Reuben’s. His entire life piled up around him, holding him in, and all he could think about was those goddam bees. Well, not quite all.
Without realising it, he had pulled off his tie.
‘Oh man,’ he said to himself, running his hands through his hair. ‘Man. Susan!’
His PA was holding his black coffee hopefully. She was madly in love with him.
‘Er. I have to…’
He couldn’t think of what to say. The last time he had left he had gone quietly, taken time out under his own rules. This time it didn’t seem to have anything to do with him; his legs were moving of their own accord. He absolutely couldn’t believe he was doing it again. But he was.
‘Yeah, I have some… some things to take care of.’
‘Anything I can help you with?’
Huckle shook his head.
‘Er, no. Not… No. Er. Can you book me a cab to the airport?’
He didn’t call anyone, didn’t speak, didn’t stop to think. He barely slept on the plane, but the long train ride from London to Looe knocked him out completely and the guard had to gently shake him, having noticed his destination on the reservation on his seat. Huckle was extremely grateful.
The cabbie chattered non-stop all the way to Polbearne about how incredibly successful the place was becoming, how they might get a new bridge and that would change everything. Spring was coming in, and many of the little winding roads were papered with pink and white blossom. Between the rolling hills, the sea still sparked. Huckle gave a sigh. He had forgotten just how beautiful it was.
The taxi driver got so far up the lane and no further; Huckle turned and thanked him, and got out with his leather overnight bag. Feeling leadenly tired after his incredibly long journey, he almost limped up the familiar avenue, the thick carpet of petals beneath his feet.
At the little cottage gate he stood for a second and put his bag down. Then he slipped off his shoes and socks so he could sink his bare feet into the cool, soft grass. He could hear once again the reassuring babbling of the little brook and the low, gentle hum of the bees.
‘Hiya there, guys,’ he murmured, overwhelmed with tiredness and, oddly, the most extraordinary relief.
He noticed, to almost no surprise, that his bee coveralls had been scrubbed clean and hung up tidily. The hives themselves were humming along in immaculate condition. The wax had been scraped away, the honey perfectly jarred. He looked at the trees with the fairy lights and remembered the night they’d spent drinking mead. He smiled. All his mead dreams turned to dust for a well-paid job back in an air-conditioned office. No. No no no.
Quick as a flash, Huckle pulled off his smart travelling suit, ran in and out of the shower, bouncing with excitement and sudden adrenalin, and pulled on jeans and an old T-shirt. He charged out of the house, not even locking it, eating toothpaste for speed. Thank God the motorbike started first time, because he was beyond thought now. He wasn’t thinking, he wasn’t planning, he wasn’t doing anything rational at all. It felt wonderful.
He sped along the little lanes, narrowly missing a huge lorry carrying vast amounts of scree, and pulling up with a roar at the end of the road leading to the causeway. The tide was coming in; there was a stern sign warning people not to use the causeway within two hours of high tide. He was well within the window, but he didn’t care. He barely noticed that there were loads of vans and cars parked there, some with television insignia on the side, and a small crowd of people standing around; all he wanted to do was get on the causeway before it closed.
Then he saw it. Right along the causeway. A massive line of people; the whole of Polbearne, holding hands, all the way from the mainland to the Mount.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked Muriel, who was standing on the end, a cute baby in a sling on her back.
‘HUCKLE!’ she screamed. ‘Oh my God, you’re back! Polly’s right at the other end!’
‘What are you doing?’
‘We’re protesting. We don’t want a bridge!’
‘No bridge, no bridge!’ chanted the crowd, filmed by the television crews.
Huckle broke into a huge grin and took Muriel’s arm.
‘Quite right too,’ he said. ‘NO BRIDGE, NO BRIDGE!’
But he could see that the water was already lapping up the side of the causeway. He took a worried look at the baby.
‘How long are you going to keep doing this?’ he asked.
‘I know, we’re nearly done,’ she said, and just as she spoke, a bullhorn went off.
‘CLEAR THE CAUSEWAY! CLEAR THE CAUSEWAY! MOUNT POLBEARNE FOR EVER!’ called a voice Huckle recognised as Samantha’s.
There was a surge of people coming off his end, and he had to struggle his way through.
‘Nope, we’re done now,’ said Jayden, looking officious in a reflective jacket. ‘Come on, sir… Oh, it’s YOU.’
‘Yes,’ said Huckle.
‘Well, we all have to be off the causeway by five. Come on, it’s the law.’
‘I just want to see Polly.’
‘She’s on the other side – you can see her in the morning.’
The water had started washing across the causeway now, and everyone was hurrying off with damp feet.
‘I’ll just go quickly.’
‘You won’t make it,’ said Jayden. ‘And I’m on this side, I can’t take the boat out.’
