Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 33

‘Hey,’ she said.
‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Cheese scone?’
‘YES! God, I like living with you.’
Polly popped a warm slice, covered in salty butter, into his mouth.
‘Oh, heaven. So…’
She shook her head to indicate she didn’t really want to talk about it.
‘My family’s bananas,’ she said. ‘And it’s the village fair on Saturday. So…’
‘All families are bananas,’ said Huckle.
‘Exactly. They’re all nuts. Nuts and bananas.’
‘An ice cream sundae.’
‘Precisely. So I’ve decided. There’s no point in dwelling on it for years and years and years. They’re screwed up but it’s not my fault, so I’m just going to get on with things and stop beating myself up about it. They did all the mad stuff, not me. I don’t want anything to do with it. We are going to make a tremendous Christmas for Reuben, then pay off the puffin shelter so the puffins are safe, which will be more of a contribution to this earthly existence than I ever expected to make, then we are going to take the remainder of the money and go somewhere on holiday where they serve cocktails larger than my head – there’s nothing larger than your head…’
‘Thanks,’ said Huckle.
‘And we’re going to lie on the sand and make love and go swimming and get drunk and think about absolutely nothing at all. How does that sound to you?’
‘That sounds awesome.’
He came closer.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I am totally and utterly sure. Being unselfish is going to get me absolutely nowhere with Mum or with… with Tony. So I might as well be completely selfish.’
‘Is saving a puffin sanctuary and cooking for someone else’s Christmas and running the town fair your definition of selfish?’
‘Yes,’ said Polly. ‘Because it will make me feel good. Whereas none of the other stuff does. So I may as well stick to what I know will work.’
‘Okay,’ said Huckle. ‘Well, that sounds fine by me. I am going out to sell honey to lots of stupid beauticians to pay for this holiday of ours. You’ve inspired me.’
‘Good!’ said Polly. ‘Take some of these mini cheese scones as bribes.’
‘I shall,’ said Huckle.
‘Are you going to eat them all before you get to your first client?’
But whatever Huckle’s answer was, it was lost in a sea of crumbs.
Chapter Nineteen
Polly put out the tray.
‘Free samples!’ she said cheerily, and the old ladies gathered around, cooing happily. She was trying pigs in blankets with honey – she had a good supplier for the honey, which helped – and more of the mini scones.
‘Not you, Jayden,’ she said firmly to her second-in-command, who looked wounded and stroked the side of his moustache.
‘But I need to test what I’m selling,’ he said.
‘I thought you wanted to get in shape for You Know What.’
Jayden coloured instantly.
‘Go on then. One.’
Jayden grimaced. ‘That barely touches the sides. I think you’re getting mean in your old age.’
‘Do you?’ said Polly. Jayden was twenty-three, so of course he thought she was ancient for being over thirty.
‘You’ll be turning into Mrs Manse…’
‘Any more cheek from you,’ said Polly, whipping him lightly with a tea towel, ‘and you’ll be scrubbing under the bread ovens for the next two weeks. Anyway, how are things going with Flora?’
‘I’m just gearing up to it,’ said Jayden solemnly. ‘It’s important to get these things right.’
‘It is,’ said Polly.
Patrick the vet came in, looking slightly harassed as usual. He liked Polly, although he disapproved mightily of her keeping a seabird as a pet. He’d long realised, though, that as in many other parts of his life, there wasn’t actually that much he could do about it, so had learned to keep quiet.
‘How’s Neil?’
‘He’s good!’ said Polly quickly. ‘Perfect BMI for a puffin, probably. Free sample?’
‘Thank you. That wasn’t why I came in, though.’
‘No?’ said Polly.
Outside, it was absolutely freezing. The wind was blowing a gale sideways into the houses, whistling down the little alleyways that made up the bottom of Mount Polbearne; the houses became less frequent and the road steeper as you wound your way to the top, to the ruined church that stood there, ancient but magnificent.
No, today was a day for staying indoors with the fire on, watching the white-crested waves; or huddling somewhere cosy and warm, whatever the weather. Hence the excellent trade at the bakery.
Polly thought about Neil.
‘He really is fine,’ she said. ‘I was quite cross with him, actually, taking losing the egg so well.’
Patrick smiled. ‘Male chauvinist puff, huh?’
‘I like to think, when he’s staring out to sea, that he’s feeling bad for his little egg,’ said Polly.
Patrick gave her a look.
‘Instead of thinking about tasty fish?’
‘Instead of thinking about tasty fish.’
‘You really shouldn’t anthropomorphise animals,’ said Patrick. ‘Seriously, it doesn’t do them any good. Neil won’t remember that egg. Neither will Celeste. They’re instinct-driven creatures.’
As he said this, he helped himself to another sausage without even realising he was doing it, but Polly didn’t mention it.
‘Do you think he might… find another girlfriend one day?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Patrick. ‘Puffins mate for life. They were just unlucky. Of course if you took him to the sanctuary…’
Polly gave him a look.
‘I think we already know that’s not happening.’
‘Well, quite. No, I think you’re stuck with a bachelor puffin.’
‘Good,’ said Polly.
‘You know they can live for twenty years?’
‘Also good,’ said Polly.
Patrick shook his head. ‘Well then.’
‘Did you hear they might be shutting the sanctuary?’
‘Really?’ said Patrick. ‘Now that is a shame.’