Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 31
‘Thank you!’ she said. ‘Thank you!’ She gave him a huge hug.
‘Um,’ said Patrick. ‘Have you got puffin sick on your trousers?’
‘Uh, yeah,’ said Polly.
‘Now it’s on my trousers.’
‘It is,’ said Polly. ‘Sorry about that. Can I hug you instead?’ she asked Huckle.
‘Not a chance,’ said Huckle. He bent down next to where Neil was lying, still a little confused, on the table.
‘Hey, little fella’,’ he said. ‘Hey, you. Good to have you back.’
Neil eeped again, more strongly this time.
‘Yeah, he knows his daddy,’ said Huckle.
‘You’re not his daddy,’ said Patrick, shortly.
‘Can we take him home?’ said Polly.
Patrick nodded.
‘I’ll write out your prescription for antibiotics… two drops, three times a day. I assume you have no trouble getting him to eat?’
Polly shook her head.
‘And you absolutely have to keep him warm. But after that… I seriously think that the right thing to do is try the sanctuary again. Puffins live for thirty-five years, Polly. Thirty-five years to fly and hunt and flock and reproduce and do everything puffins are meant to do. It’s not too late for Neil.’
‘Jeez, he was serious, wasn’t he?’
Polly was stunned that it was only lunchtime. She felt like a month had passed. Holding Neil in a shoebox Patrick had rustled up for her, she walked carefully down the street to the bakery. She wanted to sleep for a million years, but she couldn’t, of course. She had work to do. Lots of work; she’d missed the entire morning.
‘I saw you run past!’ said Jayden, standing in consternation behind the empty counter. ‘All I’ve had this morning are three dozen standard loaves and about fifty people yelling at me because they’re hungry.’
‘Sorry,’ said Polly. ‘There was an accident.’
Jayden’s eyes bulged.
‘Who? What happened?’
‘Neil got attacked,’ said Polly. Jayden’s hand flew to his mouth. ‘By a cat,’ she added. ‘A cat who lives upstairs from the bakery.’
‘She’ll have to get rid of it,’ said Huckle, looking worried.
‘I don’t think you can just tell people with cats to get rid of them,’ said Polly.
Huckle shook his head.
‘I know, but I’m not comfortable with you down here and that thing upstairs.’
‘He needs to be by the oven,’ pointed out Polly, who still hadn’t put Neil down. She hadn’t told Huckle about Selina and Dubose either. ‘And he needs to be near me. We’ll protect him.’
‘We will,’ said Jayden, holding up a rolling pin and looking fierce.
Huckle looked at them and sighed.
‘All right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But be careful.’
Polly nodded.
‘Don’t you have to be somewhere?’
‘Not if you need me.’
‘No, don’t worry about it,’ said Polly. ‘I’ll be okay. I’ll see you tonight. Go. The bees will be getting cross. And that’s no good. Cross bees.’
‘They were looking pretty annoyed,’ mused Huckle.
‘Well definitely go then. I’ll see you later.’
‘Are you sure? You look incredibly pale.’
‘That’s because I am strawberry blonde,’ said Polly valiantly.
Huckle looked at her for a long moment, then caressed her cheek.
‘Okay, darling. Take it easy. I’ll see you later.’
‘Are you all right?’ said Jayden when Huckle had gone. ‘Let me make you some tea.’
‘Thanks,’ said Polly, as he disappeared into the back of the shop. ‘Also, can you get those spare kitchen trousers out? I think I need to change.’
She looked down at Neil, who was eeping piteously to himself.
‘Oh what am I going to do with you?’ she said, popping the box on top of the oven, which was pleasingly toasty to the touch but not too hot through its great ancient cast-iron walls.
The bell tinged. She looked up, for a moment not really focused on who was coming through the door. There was a pause, and a loud sniff.
‘What the fuck is that stink?’ came a loud, grating voice. ‘Jesus.’
Polly blinked.
‘Bloody hell, this place reeks.’
Polly’s heart plummeted.
‘Hello, Malcolm,’ she said glumly.
‘Seriously, what the hell is that smell?’
‘Um. A bird threw up on me,’ said Polly quietly.
Malcolm was so horrified he just stared straight ahead.
‘A what?’
Polly prayed that Neil would stay quiet.
‘A bird,’ she said. ‘I was just about to change.’
‘You came into a place where you handle and prepare food with vomit on you?’ said Malcolm. As if in answer to his question, Neil coughed and vomited again.
Malcolm was not a handsome man, and anger made a deep purple flush spread right over his face, from his thick creased neck upwards. As Polly stared at him, helpless, he took out his phone.
‘Hello, Mum. Look. That girl. The one who’s running the bakery… No, not that one, the snotty one.’
There was a pause.
‘Yeah, well I’ve found the place completely empty, no bread, no cakes or nothing, AND she’s brought that damned bird in again… Yes, I did tell her. Yes, she’s had a warning. And wait till you hear this.’
Polly stood dully waiting for it to end as Malcolm told his mother about the spew. There was another long silence, but she could hear Janet chattering away in horrified tones on the other end. She wasn’t the least bit surprised when Malcolm finally hung up and turned to her, full of righteous aggression.
‘My mother agrees with me, obviously,’ he said.
He drew himself up to his full height, which was about five foot six, and made the most of his Alan Sugar moment.
‘I am sure you will understand that we have absolutely no choice but to let you go.’
Chapter Nine
As if she was sleepwalking, Polly left it all behind.
Carrying the box, she walked through the shelves filled with flour; past the fridge, where her ugly-looking but delicious-tasting sourdough was mouldering and bubbling over in its pot. Past the fresh sea salt, and the cardamom pods and caraway seeds; the vast sack of raisins, and the fresh and powdered yeast. Past the recipe book Polly had started putting together so Jayden could bake sometimes; past the stupid puffin postcards Huckle had sent her every time he came across one, pinned up on the noticeboard along with the rota; past the government inspection she’d passed with flying colours eight months before; past the freshly laundered and starched white aprons and chef’s trousers.
‘Um,’ said Patrick. ‘Have you got puffin sick on your trousers?’
‘Uh, yeah,’ said Polly.
‘Now it’s on my trousers.’
‘It is,’ said Polly. ‘Sorry about that. Can I hug you instead?’ she asked Huckle.
‘Not a chance,’ said Huckle. He bent down next to where Neil was lying, still a little confused, on the table.
‘Hey, little fella’,’ he said. ‘Hey, you. Good to have you back.’
Neil eeped again, more strongly this time.
‘Yeah, he knows his daddy,’ said Huckle.
‘You’re not his daddy,’ said Patrick, shortly.
‘Can we take him home?’ said Polly.
Patrick nodded.
‘I’ll write out your prescription for antibiotics… two drops, three times a day. I assume you have no trouble getting him to eat?’
Polly shook her head.
‘And you absolutely have to keep him warm. But after that… I seriously think that the right thing to do is try the sanctuary again. Puffins live for thirty-five years, Polly. Thirty-five years to fly and hunt and flock and reproduce and do everything puffins are meant to do. It’s not too late for Neil.’
‘Jeez, he was serious, wasn’t he?’
Polly was stunned that it was only lunchtime. She felt like a month had passed. Holding Neil in a shoebox Patrick had rustled up for her, she walked carefully down the street to the bakery. She wanted to sleep for a million years, but she couldn’t, of course. She had work to do. Lots of work; she’d missed the entire morning.
‘I saw you run past!’ said Jayden, standing in consternation behind the empty counter. ‘All I’ve had this morning are three dozen standard loaves and about fifty people yelling at me because they’re hungry.’
‘Sorry,’ said Polly. ‘There was an accident.’
Jayden’s eyes bulged.
‘Who? What happened?’
‘Neil got attacked,’ said Polly. Jayden’s hand flew to his mouth. ‘By a cat,’ she added. ‘A cat who lives upstairs from the bakery.’
‘She’ll have to get rid of it,’ said Huckle, looking worried.
‘I don’t think you can just tell people with cats to get rid of them,’ said Polly.
Huckle shook his head.
‘I know, but I’m not comfortable with you down here and that thing upstairs.’
‘He needs to be by the oven,’ pointed out Polly, who still hadn’t put Neil down. She hadn’t told Huckle about Selina and Dubose either. ‘And he needs to be near me. We’ll protect him.’
‘We will,’ said Jayden, holding up a rolling pin and looking fierce.
Huckle looked at them and sighed.
‘All right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But be careful.’
Polly nodded.
‘Don’t you have to be somewhere?’
‘Not if you need me.’
‘No, don’t worry about it,’ said Polly. ‘I’ll be okay. I’ll see you tonight. Go. The bees will be getting cross. And that’s no good. Cross bees.’
‘They were looking pretty annoyed,’ mused Huckle.
‘Well definitely go then. I’ll see you later.’
‘Are you sure? You look incredibly pale.’
‘That’s because I am strawberry blonde,’ said Polly valiantly.
Huckle looked at her for a long moment, then caressed her cheek.
‘Okay, darling. Take it easy. I’ll see you later.’
‘Are you all right?’ said Jayden when Huckle had gone. ‘Let me make you some tea.’
‘Thanks,’ said Polly, as he disappeared into the back of the shop. ‘Also, can you get those spare kitchen trousers out? I think I need to change.’
She looked down at Neil, who was eeping piteously to himself.
‘Oh what am I going to do with you?’ she said, popping the box on top of the oven, which was pleasingly toasty to the touch but not too hot through its great ancient cast-iron walls.
The bell tinged. She looked up, for a moment not really focused on who was coming through the door. There was a pause, and a loud sniff.
‘What the fuck is that stink?’ came a loud, grating voice. ‘Jesus.’
Polly blinked.
‘Bloody hell, this place reeks.’
Polly’s heart plummeted.
‘Hello, Malcolm,’ she said glumly.
‘Seriously, what the hell is that smell?’
‘Um. A bird threw up on me,’ said Polly quietly.
Malcolm was so horrified he just stared straight ahead.
‘A what?’
Polly prayed that Neil would stay quiet.
‘A bird,’ she said. ‘I was just about to change.’
‘You came into a place where you handle and prepare food with vomit on you?’ said Malcolm. As if in answer to his question, Neil coughed and vomited again.
Malcolm was not a handsome man, and anger made a deep purple flush spread right over his face, from his thick creased neck upwards. As Polly stared at him, helpless, he took out his phone.
‘Hello, Mum. Look. That girl. The one who’s running the bakery… No, not that one, the snotty one.’
There was a pause.
‘Yeah, well I’ve found the place completely empty, no bread, no cakes or nothing, AND she’s brought that damned bird in again… Yes, I did tell her. Yes, she’s had a warning. And wait till you hear this.’
Polly stood dully waiting for it to end as Malcolm told his mother about the spew. There was another long silence, but she could hear Janet chattering away in horrified tones on the other end. She wasn’t the least bit surprised when Malcolm finally hung up and turned to her, full of righteous aggression.
‘My mother agrees with me, obviously,’ he said.
He drew himself up to his full height, which was about five foot six, and made the most of his Alan Sugar moment.
‘I am sure you will understand that we have absolutely no choice but to let you go.’
Chapter Nine
As if she was sleepwalking, Polly left it all behind.
Carrying the box, she walked through the shelves filled with flour; past the fridge, where her ugly-looking but delicious-tasting sourdough was mouldering and bubbling over in its pot. Past the fresh sea salt, and the cardamom pods and caraway seeds; the vast sack of raisins, and the fresh and powdered yeast. Past the recipe book Polly had started putting together so Jayden could bake sometimes; past the stupid puffin postcards Huckle had sent her every time he came across one, pinned up on the noticeboard along with the rota; past the government inspection she’d passed with flying colours eight months before; past the freshly laundered and starched white aprons and chef’s trousers.
