Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 15

But now, in the heart of winter, there was a touch of frost on the sand that had not rinsed away, and the entire beautiful, desolate beach was completely deserted. Reuben’s beach hut – which had a full working kitchen and bar – was shuttered for the season; the turn-off to the private road was even harder to find than usual.
Polly drove along the bumpy track at the top of the dunes and on up to the house itself. She’d thought it was crazy the first time she’d been here, and time and circumstances hadn’t changed it: this was a mad place.
The house was very contemporary in style, with a lot of steel and glass, overlooking the unbeatable views of the wild coastline. There was a round turret almost entirely glassed in, which Reuben had requested because he’d seen it in an Iron Man film. This pretty much summed up the madness of the project. Film companies were always asking to use the house, and Reuben generally said no, although he’d started saying yes if it was an actor Kerensa liked.
Polly was now starting to doubt the wisdom of being here. Then she got cross with herself for even thinking it. Oh God, what a mess. And it wasn’t as if she’d never made a mistake herself. She’d slept with Tarnie without even knowing he was married. They’d been careful, but maybe she’d just been lucky. Maybe she’d have been raising Tarnie’s baby right now… Maybe, she thought, everyone was only ever two feet from disaster, and it was luck, not fundamental goodness, that made all the difference.
She’d stopped the van in the nearby town, which was full of chintzy gift shops selling driftwood with HOME written on it at highly inflated prices, and gone into the third one she saw. She’d chosen an incredibly overpriced, but very plain, cream cashmere blanket, then picked out all the wrapping bobbins, which seemed to cost just as much again, and handed over her credit card with her fingers crossed. Kerensa forgot sometimes that other people had to think about money, but this wasn’t about that. This was about buying something lovely: and it was an apology, not a gift.
She rang the bell, not even sure if Kerensa would be in. It was often hard to tell, given how many cars they had parked on the gravel driveway around the peculiar fountain sculpture. She hadn’t heard from her at all – normally they texted and spoke every day more or less – and she didn’t blame her. She hadn’t wanted to let Kerensa know she was coming, in case she told her not to. It wouldn’t have surprised her; would have felt like what she deserved, really.
The vast door already had a thick wreath of holly hanging from it. They actually paid people to do the Christmas decorations in this house. Polly hadn’t even known that was possible; that that was a job.
The maid didn’t come to the door; instead, it was Kerensa herself.
She looked even worse than before, all her natural buoyancy gone. She was washed out and pale, with great dark circles under her eyes.
There was a silence between them. Kerensa looked sullen, like a dog waiting for a blow.
‘Is Reuben in?’ said Polly.
Kerensa shook her head. ‘Why?’ she said, looking terrified suddenly. ‘Is that who you’ve come to see?’
‘No,’ said Polly. She handed over the present. ‘Kerensa, can you forgive me? I’m so, so sorry.’
There was a roaring fire in the hallway and they sat beside it, underneath a Christmas tree that looked to be about thirty feet tall and filled the three-storey turret.
‘That tree is mad,’ said Polly.
‘That’s what I said,’ said Kerensa. ‘Then he ordered one that was about four times bigger on purpose.’
They both smiled ruefully. Kerensa stared at the floor as Marta brought them hot chocolate.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Polly. ‘I’m sorry. I was just so shocked, that’s all. The fact that you kept it from me all that time…’
‘YOU were shocked?’ said Kerensa bitterly. She looked up at Polly, eyes full of pain. ‘I didn’t expect… I didn’t expect you to turn away.’
‘I was wrong,’ said Polly. ‘I was so, so wrong. Kerensa, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have done anything except tell you it’s going to be all right.’
‘How can it be all right?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Polly. ‘Things work out. You love each other, right?’
‘I think we’ll find out when I have a six-foot olive-skinned baby with thick dark hair,’ wept Kerensa.
‘Don’t be stupid, you’ll drag up a relative from somewhere. Why don’t I start seeding the conversation?’
‘What, hey Kerensa, remember that Spanish grandfather you never mentioned before?’
‘Exactly,’ said Polly. ‘That great-uncle who came back from sea very rarely.’
Kerensa perked up slightly. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘There is that side of the family… I mean, we hardly see them.’ Her father had died four years ago, but her parents had been divorced for a long time before that.
‘Exactly!’ said Polly. ‘Just don’t bring it up when your mum’s about.’
‘I could say it was something of a scandal at the time… marrying a foreigner.’
‘Will he buy that?’
‘Reuben thinks Spanish means Hispanic. He’ll buy it.’
‘That’s incredibly racist.’
‘Who’s incredibly racist?’ Reuben marched in, whistling cheerfully. ‘Where’s the gorgeous mother of my baby, huh? Huh?’
He chucked Kerensa under the chin, and she did her best to smile at him.
‘She’s been so sick,’ said Reuben to Polly. ‘Honestly. I thought she’d be, like, too awesome to be sick, but, huh, apparently not. She’s sleeping in the spare room because she throws up every five minutes.’
‘It’s very common,’ said Polly. ‘Kerensa was just saying you’re a big fat racist.’
‘Did you bring me some hot chocolate?’
‘No,’ said Polly. ‘But I did bring you some Sachertorte.’
Reuben’s face brightened. ‘That’ll do. Yes, I am racist. I hate everyone.’
‘Why?’
‘Because at my school for advanced and gifted children I took a pounding on a regular basis by blacks, Chinese, Asians, Caucasians, Hispanics, Arabs, Jews, Catholics and Zoroastrians. So I just totally hate everybody.’