Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 26

She had a nasty memory, suddenly, from out of the blue. When she was very small, hardly older than Year 1, she had developed a huge pash for the school janitor and had to be told not to throw her arms around him or follow him about. Even at that tender age, she had been hopelessly humiliated as the headteacher had spoken gently but firmly to her mother, telling her to make sure it didn’t happen again.
What had that been, she wondered now, but a sublimated desire to attach herself to a father figure?
And every dead end in her heart; every time she’d stopped thinking about it, or cut herself off. Had it changed things? Made them go away? Of course not. Just because she stopped herself spending a lot of time dwelling on things, that didn’t mean they had disappeared. She was just putting off confronting them for another day, and then another.
And now that day was here.
She realised that part of her felt flattered, oddly vindicated. As if, yes, you did think about me. It did matter to you, whatever you said or didn’t say, however much you didn’t pay me any mind or make contact. I was there all the time. I did exist for you. I was real in your eyes.
Although did that matter in the end?
Her heart was beating dangerously fast.
She had to see him. Didn’t she? But what kind of a state would he even be in? Perhaps he was raving. Completely crazy.
And what would her mother say? This terrible thing, this elephant in the room, how would they move beyond it? Perhaps Polly wouldn’t tell her. Yet would that not just add to the family secrets that bore down on them so heavily; that kept her mother’s heart so sad even after all these years?
She sighed out loud, but Huckle didn’t hear her. The sun was up properly now. It was going to be a ravishing English winter’s day, the sun slowly rising over fields carpeted with frost; beasts turned out in the fields; a pause in the beat of the farming year as the world held its breath, waiting for Christmas, the darkest, quietest time – or at least it was meant to be – followed by the full bursting of spring. It was quite lovely.
They could go somewhere else: watch the cold crashing waves; find a deserted out-of-season hotel; eat scones in front of a roaring fire. Jayden already had the shop covered, and it didn’t take much to persuade Huckle to bunk off. They could just have a lovely day, the two of them.
But how could she, when all she’d be thinking about was this?
Instead, they neared the busy outskirts of Plymouth, already clogged with angry-looking commuters – was it worse, Polly thought, commuting to work on a mucky day or a beautiful one? She hadn’t ever thought about it when she used to drive to the graphic design office she ran with Chris. It was traffic and parking and fuss. It was what it was. Nowadays she ran thirty metres along a cobbled promenade with trays of warm buns in her arms; that was her commute.
She looked at the angry drivers, most of whom turned to stare at the motorbike – it garnered attention wherever they went. They looked stressed, their shoulders and bodies tense over the steering wheel; groups of noisy, disruptive schoolchildren in the back; radios blaring.
It was funny, she reflected. When she thought about how tough it was working for yourself – the long hours, the paperwork, the worries that kept you up at night – she never considered that she no longer had to get to work, and how grateful she was for that.
They queued through the traffic and finally turned in to the hospital. There was nowhere to park, but Huckle popped them up on a grass verge: nobody minded a motorbike, even if it was as wide as a small car. He stilled the engine, and suddenly the world became a lot quieter.
Polly started to shake. She felt incredibly sick. She should have eaten before they left. Or maybe that would have been worse. Huckle blinked. Even his blinking, Polly thought sometimes, was kind.
‘Well?’ he said in that slow drawl she loved so much. ‘Whadya reckon?’
She sat there, not moving. Huckle didn’t feel the need to fill the silence, or indicate what he’d rather do either way. He was perfectly happy to wait, or to come, just as she needed him. Although if he’d heard her plan to take the day off and have a picnic, he’d probably have liked that the best.
Finally Polly turned to him, her face pale and anxious.
‘We’re… I mean. I suppose. We’re here now,’ she said.
Huckle shrugged. ‘That doesn’t matter.’
‘But I don’t… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. Three hours ago I thought I didn’t have a dad, or rather that it didn’t matter. Three hours ago my life was totally happy.’
‘Well that’s good to hear,’ said Huckle, politely not mentioning the snit she was in about Christmas, or the puffin sanctuary.
‘But now… I mean, everything’s been turned upside down.’
‘Eep,’ said Neil.
‘Thanks,’ said Polly. Huckle tried not to roll his eyes.
Stiffly Polly pulled herself out of the sidecar. It wasn’t the easiest of manoeuvres. She stretched her legs.
‘Well?’ said Huckle.
‘Well,’ said Polly. ‘Nothing ventured.’
‘You’re very brave.’
‘I’m an idiot.’
‘Do you want me to come?’
‘Yes. No. Yes. No.’
‘Don’t start this again.’
Polly heaved a sigh.
‘I feel this is something I need to find out by myself. Maybe. In case it all goes wrong.’
‘Okay.’ Huckle nodded. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Look. I know this isn’t exactly the time, but… I bought you something. Well, something I owed you. Selina made it for me. Well. For you. For us.’
Polly blinked.
‘What do you mean?’
He handed her a little box.
‘I was going to keep it for Christmas. But I decided I couldn’t.’
‘When did you decide this?’ said Polly.
‘Five minutes ago,’ said Huckle. ‘When you couldn’t decide anything, I decided something.’
Polly took the box and opened it gently.
It was a beautiful engagement ring. Silver, the metal carved so that it looked like a tiny twist of seaweed; exactly what he’d proposed with in the first place. It was quirky and precious and entirely them, and suddenly Polly loved it more than anything in the world.
‘Oh!’ she said, slipping it on. It fitted perfectly. ‘I love it,’ she said.