Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 40
Huckle looked at the soft candlelight playing on Polly’s features as she bit her lip anxiously. She looked absolutely lovely, but he hated seeing her so worried and sad. In fact, he felt his only job was to keep her from being worried and sad, and make her laugh and keep her happy, like she’d been yesterday splashing in the water of Reuben’s cove, even now Reuben no longer had a cove; even when their splashing days were over.
‘Well,’ he said, in that slow way of his. He wasn’t looking forward to this, but it had to be said. ‘Well, Polly, there is something.’
Polly blinked. ‘I know, I know. We move. We move, we go and get office jobs again, we drive through traffic every day for the rest of our lives, we work nine to five, we never see the sun go down over the sea or have a picnic in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. I know that’s life, Huckle. I know that’s how it is for most people, and I know I’m not special, or different, that I don’t deserve to be doing something else. It just took me longer to figure it out than everybody else. It’s time to grow up. Get rid of this millstone lighthouse and go do something else.’
There was a long silence. Then Huckle drew her to him and gently kissed her neck.
‘Actually I was going to say exactly the opposite,’ he said, drawing her up to sit on his lap. ‘You belong here. You belong here doing what you love. You should stay here. Build it up again. Heck, fail again if you like. It doesn’t matter. It will work out in the end, what you do. Keep doing the right thing, and do it right and it will come right. That’s my promise to you.’
Polly looked at him, not comprehending.
‘And meanwhile, for a little while…’
There was a pause.
‘Clemmie rang. Dubose’s girlfriend. She rang me, looking for him.’
They hadn’t seen or heard from Dubose; Polly assumed that if he was at Selina’s she’d have seen him, even though she was steering clear of the bakery, but she hadn’t. It was like he’d vanished into thin air.
‘He hasn’t even got in touch?’ she said, shocked.
‘That’s not unusual.’
‘Oh my God, what if he left us that night and drowned on the causeway!’
‘I think we’d know,’ said Huckle. ‘Anyway, I called Mom. He sent them an email… asking for money.’
‘Oh,’ said Polly. ‘Your brother is the WORST chancer.’
‘I know,’ said Huckle. ‘But anyway. I’ve been thinking.’
Polly felt an anxious feeling deep in her stomach.
‘I can go back,’ said Huckle.
‘No,’ said Polly instantaneously.
‘Shush,’ said Huckle. ‘I can go back. I can make money on the farm. Gaw, making money is all I used to be good at, till I got into the honey trade. I haven’t worked on a farm for a while, but I can do it. And it pays reasonably well. Clemmie will put me up.’
‘You can’t go!’
‘Are you going to listen to me or are you just going to talk yourself into a gigantic panic?’ said Huckle, kindly but firmly. ‘Listen to me. I’d been thinking about this anyway, even before what happened, otherwise I can’t see how on earth we’ll ever make the lighthouse into anything other than a death trap.’
‘It’s not a death trap!’
‘What about that stair moss?’
‘I can’t believe you’re bringing the stair moss up again.’
‘I just think most people live in houses that don’t have moss.’
‘Well hooray for them.’
Polly’s face looked cross. Huckle rubbed her back and arms.
‘Look,’ he said, his voice low and soothing, ‘I go back to the States, work for a few months, make some money. Clemmie needs help. And I’ll save Dubose his job for when he gets home. Not that he deserves it. I’ll send you the money. I will trust you not to spunk it all on shoes and getting your nails done.’
Polly managed a tiny grin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her nails done.
‘When you’ve got your van up and running, I’ll come back again. Get back into my highly demanding career of being occasional honey-collector and bee-keeper and hanging-out-with-Polly-and-Neil-er.’
Polly looked at him.
‘But you can’t go. I’ll miss you!’
Huckle nodded. ‘Well, good. I would find it very difficult if you didn’t notice or remotely care.’
‘Can’t we get through this together?’
‘This is getting through this together,’ said Huckle. ‘All of us together. Sorry, Poll. I apologise for my family baggage.’
Polly’s eyes were wide. She thought of Selina sending Tarnie off for weeks on end, his dangerous work miles away from home. She thought of sailors’ wives everywhere who waited months for their men to come home; of men who raised families whilst their wives did night shifts and collapsed, exhausted, to try and grab a few hours’ sleep in the noisy day; of the men who worked on oil rigs; of divers, and soldiers, and women who left their children behind in other countries to earn a crust. And poor abandoned Clemmie, in love with the handsome, carefree Dubose.
Huckle grabbed her and held her tight.
‘Don’t think I won’t miss you,’ he said. ‘Every second of the day.’
‘All those American girls will want to eat you up,’ grumbled Polly, trying to stop a tear coming to her eye.
‘Yeah, fortunately I can only get turned on by an English accent these days,’ said Huckle. ‘Seriously, anything else just puts me right off.’
Polly laughed.
‘You are surrre, monsieurrr?’
‘What’s that?’ said Huckle. ‘Lebanese?’
‘Shut up! It’s French!’
‘Oh,’ said Huckle. ‘Well, actually, you know, that one appears to be working too.’
‘Disproves your theory,’ said Polly. Huckle shook his head and pulled her closer to him.
‘Proves it,’ he said. ‘The only person in the entire world for me is you. We need this for us.’
‘You promise it won’t be for long?’
They blew out the candles one by one, except for one each, which they took downstairs to their bedroom and placed either side of the bed. Outside there was nothing except, every so often, the waves, and then Mount Polbearne, lit by the light from above their heads.
‘Well,’ he said, in that slow way of his. He wasn’t looking forward to this, but it had to be said. ‘Well, Polly, there is something.’
Polly blinked. ‘I know, I know. We move. We move, we go and get office jobs again, we drive through traffic every day for the rest of our lives, we work nine to five, we never see the sun go down over the sea or have a picnic in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. I know that’s life, Huckle. I know that’s how it is for most people, and I know I’m not special, or different, that I don’t deserve to be doing something else. It just took me longer to figure it out than everybody else. It’s time to grow up. Get rid of this millstone lighthouse and go do something else.’
There was a long silence. Then Huckle drew her to him and gently kissed her neck.
‘Actually I was going to say exactly the opposite,’ he said, drawing her up to sit on his lap. ‘You belong here. You belong here doing what you love. You should stay here. Build it up again. Heck, fail again if you like. It doesn’t matter. It will work out in the end, what you do. Keep doing the right thing, and do it right and it will come right. That’s my promise to you.’
Polly looked at him, not comprehending.
‘And meanwhile, for a little while…’
There was a pause.
‘Clemmie rang. Dubose’s girlfriend. She rang me, looking for him.’
They hadn’t seen or heard from Dubose; Polly assumed that if he was at Selina’s she’d have seen him, even though she was steering clear of the bakery, but she hadn’t. It was like he’d vanished into thin air.
‘He hasn’t even got in touch?’ she said, shocked.
‘That’s not unusual.’
‘Oh my God, what if he left us that night and drowned on the causeway!’
‘I think we’d know,’ said Huckle. ‘Anyway, I called Mom. He sent them an email… asking for money.’
‘Oh,’ said Polly. ‘Your brother is the WORST chancer.’
‘I know,’ said Huckle. ‘But anyway. I’ve been thinking.’
Polly felt an anxious feeling deep in her stomach.
‘I can go back,’ said Huckle.
‘No,’ said Polly instantaneously.
‘Shush,’ said Huckle. ‘I can go back. I can make money on the farm. Gaw, making money is all I used to be good at, till I got into the honey trade. I haven’t worked on a farm for a while, but I can do it. And it pays reasonably well. Clemmie will put me up.’
‘You can’t go!’
‘Are you going to listen to me or are you just going to talk yourself into a gigantic panic?’ said Huckle, kindly but firmly. ‘Listen to me. I’d been thinking about this anyway, even before what happened, otherwise I can’t see how on earth we’ll ever make the lighthouse into anything other than a death trap.’
‘It’s not a death trap!’
‘What about that stair moss?’
‘I can’t believe you’re bringing the stair moss up again.’
‘I just think most people live in houses that don’t have moss.’
‘Well hooray for them.’
Polly’s face looked cross. Huckle rubbed her back and arms.
‘Look,’ he said, his voice low and soothing, ‘I go back to the States, work for a few months, make some money. Clemmie needs help. And I’ll save Dubose his job for when he gets home. Not that he deserves it. I’ll send you the money. I will trust you not to spunk it all on shoes and getting your nails done.’
Polly managed a tiny grin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her nails done.
‘When you’ve got your van up and running, I’ll come back again. Get back into my highly demanding career of being occasional honey-collector and bee-keeper and hanging-out-with-Polly-and-Neil-er.’
Polly looked at him.
‘But you can’t go. I’ll miss you!’
Huckle nodded. ‘Well, good. I would find it very difficult if you didn’t notice or remotely care.’
‘Can’t we get through this together?’
‘This is getting through this together,’ said Huckle. ‘All of us together. Sorry, Poll. I apologise for my family baggage.’
Polly’s eyes were wide. She thought of Selina sending Tarnie off for weeks on end, his dangerous work miles away from home. She thought of sailors’ wives everywhere who waited months for their men to come home; of men who raised families whilst their wives did night shifts and collapsed, exhausted, to try and grab a few hours’ sleep in the noisy day; of the men who worked on oil rigs; of divers, and soldiers, and women who left their children behind in other countries to earn a crust. And poor abandoned Clemmie, in love with the handsome, carefree Dubose.
Huckle grabbed her and held her tight.
‘Don’t think I won’t miss you,’ he said. ‘Every second of the day.’
‘All those American girls will want to eat you up,’ grumbled Polly, trying to stop a tear coming to her eye.
‘Yeah, fortunately I can only get turned on by an English accent these days,’ said Huckle. ‘Seriously, anything else just puts me right off.’
Polly laughed.
‘You are surrre, monsieurrr?’
‘What’s that?’ said Huckle. ‘Lebanese?’
‘Shut up! It’s French!’
‘Oh,’ said Huckle. ‘Well, actually, you know, that one appears to be working too.’
‘Disproves your theory,’ said Polly. Huckle shook his head and pulled her closer to him.
‘Proves it,’ he said. ‘The only person in the entire world for me is you. We need this for us.’
‘You promise it won’t be for long?’
They blew out the candles one by one, except for one each, which they took downstairs to their bedroom and placed either side of the bed. Outside there was nothing except, every so often, the waves, and then Mount Polbearne, lit by the light from above their heads.
