Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 24
‘To your mum’s,’ she said, getting up with some reluctance.
‘Do you need a spare T-shirt?’ said Polly.
‘It’s all right,’ said Jayden. ‘My mum’s got lots of nighties.’
They all looked at one another.
‘Probably,’ said Jayden. ‘Or you can borrow one of my T-shirts.’
‘As a sleeping bag,’ said Flora.
Jayden and Flora headed up the winding hill to Jayden’s mother’s tiny two-up two-down fisherman’s cottage, which clung to the hillside like a child clinging to its mother.
Polly and Kerensa walked side by side, trying not to sneak glances back at Selina and Dubose, who were very close together, slightly tipsy, behind them.
They walked past the Little Beach Street Bakery, its windows crumb-free and empty, apart from a wedding cake Polly had made for a family on the mainland, which she was displaying in the window until it was ready to go. Polly turned round to say good night to Selina.
‘I think you did a good thing coming back here,’ she said. She couldn’t bear the look of misery in Selina’s eyes. ‘Tarnie… your husband… he’s in every stone of this place. Every brick. You can talk about him all day if you like. Nobody didn’t know him, and nobody didn’t like him. This was his place, he came from here, and you can be here too.’
Selina paused for a moment.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Sorry. Arriving has been a bit overwhelming. Thanks for letting me unload on you lot.’
‘No problem,’ said Polly. She watched, slightly concerned, as Dubose squeezed Selina’s hand, and leant over and kissed her hard on the cheek. But then he rejoined Polly and Kerensa.
Later, after they’d had a cup of tea back at the house, and Kerensa had gone to bed in the real, big proper bed in the annexe downstairs, Polly went up to look at the sea and text Huckle, hoping it wasn’t too late. It wasn’t too late, he explained laboriously when he phoned, rather drunk, but the mead had come out again and had made it completely impossible to form co… co… co… understandable words, but did she know that he… he… no, listen, this was important, no, don’t hang up, okay, because he loved her more than everything in the world, did she understand that? Because it was vitally important that she understood that, okay?
And Polly laughed and said she did understand, and let him talk on while she got ready for bed, until he told her once more that he loved her.
Then she gave Neil a big cuddle, and remembered her slightly worrying conversation with Patrick, but decided to put it out of her head for now, as the little Puffin fluttered about getting comfortable in his bed, made from an old tea box (she had bought him an expensive dog basket but he hated it. He liked the rustling of the cardboard. Also, when he had one of his invariable accidents, she could just throw the box out and get another one. Neil had never quite become house-trained, although he had got a lot better).
Finally, going to the window, she looked out over the little town. She could see the fairy lights at the pub being switched off, and the street lamps going out; only the beam from the lighthouse continuing to swing around in the thick of the evening; and down in the town, just where she used to sit, a low light shining and a small shape in front of the window, sleepless, alone, in the tiny flat above the Little Beach Street Bakery.
Chapter Eight
After a lazy Sunday, during which Huckle was frankly good for nothing except eating bacon sandwiches and groaning, and Dubose disappeared completely, Polly wasn’t looking forward to Monday morning. She had a strong suspicion that Malcolm was going to show up again. Unfortunately she was right.
Ironically, the shop had never looked better. It was a beautiful day. The cobbles seemed freshly scrubbed under a clear blue sky. The pale grey frontage was fresh and clean; the windows, thanks to Jayden’s hard work, shone. Regardless of what other problems she might have, thought Polly, it was just a wonderful morning to be alive. The warm scent of the first batch of newly baked bread was already rising on the air. Hopping down the steps from the lighthouse (Neil, who had wanted to leave with her, was tucked under Huckle’s sleeping arm), carrying two extra trays of proved dough to make cinnamon rolls, she was in an exceptionally good mood.
‘Hey, Jayden,’ she sang out as she came through the door. ‘Nice job.’
Jayden looked up from where he was scrubbing out a drawer, pink as ever.
‘Well?’ said Polly, washing her hands and rolling out the cinnamon dough with the butter cinnamon mix, then expertly rolling them up again into spirals and chopping them into neat slices.
‘Well what?’ said Jayden gruffly.
‘How did it go with Flora?’
Jayden stopped and sighed.
‘She looks like an angel,’ he said, his eyes dazed. ‘She looks like a star. I can’t even look at her, she’s so beautiful.’
‘But did you talk to her?’
Jayden shook his head.
‘How could I talk to her? It’s like she’s off of a film or something. She’s too beautiful. I couldn’t say anything to her at all.’ He sighed. ‘I can only worship her till the end of my days.’
‘I don’t think she’ll like that,’ said Polly. ‘Can’t you talk to her about baking, or something else she likes?’
Jayden looked taken aback.
‘But she’s so beautiful!’ he said.
‘Okay,’ said Polly. ‘I’m starting to see Flora’s problem.’
‘She doesn’t have any problems,’ said Jayden. ‘She’s perfect.’
Malcolm stumbled in at about ten o’clock. He did not look well. His peaky face was grey and lumpy and his hair was dirty. He was wearing the same rumpled trousers as he had the week before, but they looked even more wrinkled and stained, and he smelled a little stale.
‘Hello, Malcolm,’ said Polly brightly. ‘We’re bird-free today, as I hope you can see. Cinnamon roll?’
If he could resist her cinammon rolls, Polly thought, then he was a stronger man than she gave him credit for. The lightly melting sweet buttery inside; the soft, yielding doughy exterior…
He polished it off in two bites.
‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘You can get ’em from the services in packs of three.’
He put out a paw to reach for another one. Polly resisted the urge to slap him down.
‘Do you need a spare T-shirt?’ said Polly.
‘It’s all right,’ said Jayden. ‘My mum’s got lots of nighties.’
They all looked at one another.
‘Probably,’ said Jayden. ‘Or you can borrow one of my T-shirts.’
‘As a sleeping bag,’ said Flora.
Jayden and Flora headed up the winding hill to Jayden’s mother’s tiny two-up two-down fisherman’s cottage, which clung to the hillside like a child clinging to its mother.
Polly and Kerensa walked side by side, trying not to sneak glances back at Selina and Dubose, who were very close together, slightly tipsy, behind them.
They walked past the Little Beach Street Bakery, its windows crumb-free and empty, apart from a wedding cake Polly had made for a family on the mainland, which she was displaying in the window until it was ready to go. Polly turned round to say good night to Selina.
‘I think you did a good thing coming back here,’ she said. She couldn’t bear the look of misery in Selina’s eyes. ‘Tarnie… your husband… he’s in every stone of this place. Every brick. You can talk about him all day if you like. Nobody didn’t know him, and nobody didn’t like him. This was his place, he came from here, and you can be here too.’
Selina paused for a moment.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Sorry. Arriving has been a bit overwhelming. Thanks for letting me unload on you lot.’
‘No problem,’ said Polly. She watched, slightly concerned, as Dubose squeezed Selina’s hand, and leant over and kissed her hard on the cheek. But then he rejoined Polly and Kerensa.
Later, after they’d had a cup of tea back at the house, and Kerensa had gone to bed in the real, big proper bed in the annexe downstairs, Polly went up to look at the sea and text Huckle, hoping it wasn’t too late. It wasn’t too late, he explained laboriously when he phoned, rather drunk, but the mead had come out again and had made it completely impossible to form co… co… co… understandable words, but did she know that he… he… no, listen, this was important, no, don’t hang up, okay, because he loved her more than everything in the world, did she understand that? Because it was vitally important that she understood that, okay?
And Polly laughed and said she did understand, and let him talk on while she got ready for bed, until he told her once more that he loved her.
Then she gave Neil a big cuddle, and remembered her slightly worrying conversation with Patrick, but decided to put it out of her head for now, as the little Puffin fluttered about getting comfortable in his bed, made from an old tea box (she had bought him an expensive dog basket but he hated it. He liked the rustling of the cardboard. Also, when he had one of his invariable accidents, she could just throw the box out and get another one. Neil had never quite become house-trained, although he had got a lot better).
Finally, going to the window, she looked out over the little town. She could see the fairy lights at the pub being switched off, and the street lamps going out; only the beam from the lighthouse continuing to swing around in the thick of the evening; and down in the town, just where she used to sit, a low light shining and a small shape in front of the window, sleepless, alone, in the tiny flat above the Little Beach Street Bakery.
Chapter Eight
After a lazy Sunday, during which Huckle was frankly good for nothing except eating bacon sandwiches and groaning, and Dubose disappeared completely, Polly wasn’t looking forward to Monday morning. She had a strong suspicion that Malcolm was going to show up again. Unfortunately she was right.
Ironically, the shop had never looked better. It was a beautiful day. The cobbles seemed freshly scrubbed under a clear blue sky. The pale grey frontage was fresh and clean; the windows, thanks to Jayden’s hard work, shone. Regardless of what other problems she might have, thought Polly, it was just a wonderful morning to be alive. The warm scent of the first batch of newly baked bread was already rising on the air. Hopping down the steps from the lighthouse (Neil, who had wanted to leave with her, was tucked under Huckle’s sleeping arm), carrying two extra trays of proved dough to make cinnamon rolls, she was in an exceptionally good mood.
‘Hey, Jayden,’ she sang out as she came through the door. ‘Nice job.’
Jayden looked up from where he was scrubbing out a drawer, pink as ever.
‘Well?’ said Polly, washing her hands and rolling out the cinnamon dough with the butter cinnamon mix, then expertly rolling them up again into spirals and chopping them into neat slices.
‘Well what?’ said Jayden gruffly.
‘How did it go with Flora?’
Jayden stopped and sighed.
‘She looks like an angel,’ he said, his eyes dazed. ‘She looks like a star. I can’t even look at her, she’s so beautiful.’
‘But did you talk to her?’
Jayden shook his head.
‘How could I talk to her? It’s like she’s off of a film or something. She’s too beautiful. I couldn’t say anything to her at all.’ He sighed. ‘I can only worship her till the end of my days.’
‘I don’t think she’ll like that,’ said Polly. ‘Can’t you talk to her about baking, or something else she likes?’
Jayden looked taken aback.
‘But she’s so beautiful!’ he said.
‘Okay,’ said Polly. ‘I’m starting to see Flora’s problem.’
‘She doesn’t have any problems,’ said Jayden. ‘She’s perfect.’
Malcolm stumbled in at about ten o’clock. He did not look well. His peaky face was grey and lumpy and his hair was dirty. He was wearing the same rumpled trousers as he had the week before, but they looked even more wrinkled and stained, and he smelled a little stale.
‘Hello, Malcolm,’ said Polly brightly. ‘We’re bird-free today, as I hope you can see. Cinnamon roll?’
If he could resist her cinammon rolls, Polly thought, then he was a stronger man than she gave him credit for. The lightly melting sweet buttery inside; the soft, yielding doughy exterior…
He polished it off in two bites.
‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘You can get ’em from the services in packs of three.’
He put out a paw to reach for another one. Polly resisted the urge to slap him down.
