Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 55

‘Nan… the van came off the road,’ she whispered. ‘We’re off the road. We’re… I don’t know where…’
‘Oh my God,’ said Huckle. ‘Oh God. Are you all right? I told you to check the tyres.’
‘You told me to check the tyres?!’ exclaimed Polly. ‘I just nearly died in a horrible accident and you’re making sure that I know it was my own fault?’
‘No, no. Sorry. I’m sorry. You gave me such a fright… At first I thought you’d heard the news and were just upset about it – God knows we’re all upset, so it could have been that, could have been anything… Jesus. Are you all right?’
‘I think so,’ said Polly, trying to breathe out through her nose like she’d read somewhere, even though it felt weird. ‘I think I might be slightly stuck.’ She paused, trying to think straight. ‘Where are you?’
‘Didn’t you get the news?’
‘The news that you’re back?’
‘No, the news from the hospital.’
‘What news? What’s happening?’
‘It’s the baby,’ said Huckle.
Polly didn’t say anything.
‘What?’ she said finally. ‘What? What’s happened with the baby? You didn’t…’
‘Of course not,’ said Huckle crossly. ‘No. No. The doctor came and looked at the baby… I was just leaving, and calling to find out if you knew. Apparently there’s something wrong with it.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It was as if a bell was tolling deep inside Polly’s soul. Everything else fell away; all the little petty things, all the worries and concerns and jealousies and getting-bys, they all left, immediately, to be replaced by her deepest, darkest fears.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Are you coming? It’s filthy out here.’
The snow was falling more heavily than ever.
‘Of course.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘I don’t know. I think Kerensa was trying to get you. She sounded hysterical.’
Polly blinked. Oh God.
‘Are you really stuck?’ said Huckle.
‘Yes,’ said Polly. ‘And there’s nobody on the road. Nobody on the road at all.’
‘Well you’ll need me then, won’t you? To pull you out.’
‘Can the motorbike do that?’ said Polly sceptically.
‘EXCUSE ME,’ said Huckle. ‘Don’t diss the bike when you’re upside down in a ditch.’
Polly turned up the heating, but it didn’t make a lot of difference.
‘Hurry up,’ she said, meaning it. ‘Hurry up. I need you, Huckle.’
Over an hour later, Polly was still sitting stock still, too scared to try and get out of the van, even as she could feel the snow piling up around her; too petrified with fear. She had tried to call Kerensa but couldn’t get through, and Reuben’s number just went to voicemail.
But the baby had been perfect. Utterly perfect. She’d seen him; held him. Everything had been fine.
She thought again. Babies could have fits; or the doctors could have done all those tests and come back with something awful. Cystic fibrosis or spina bifida or any of those terrible, terrible things that haunted parents’ worst nightmares.
She was trapped in a cycle of desperate fear, huddling deeper and deeper into her coat, wondering where on earth Huckle was – it shouldn’t be taking him this long. There was only one exit to Mount Polbearne. Had he tried to get that bloody motorbike over the causeway? Had he just skidded off into the water, lost to the sea, like so many boats around the ragged Cornish coastline; so many men beneath the waves in high winds and weather?
A fragment of an old song about a shipwreck came to her, ‘And many was the fine feather beds floating on the foam/ And many was the little lords’ sons who never did come home.’
Where was he? Where was she? The road was quiet: the occasional passing lights of a traveller trundling on through the darkening afternoon and the whirling flakes, but they didn’t stop.
She huddled deeper in her seat. Perhaps everything was over now, everything was done, and there was nothing to do but stay here. Everything had gone wrong and she’d lost the only thing she’d ever wanted and…
TAP TAP TAP!
Polly realised she was sinking into a stupor; that she was half asleep. She didn’t know where the noise was coming from.
TAP TAP TAP!
She glanced around blearily. Something or someone was tapping on the window. Was it a tree? Where was she?
She leaned over and wound down the window. There, hovering outside, beating his little wings frantically, was Neil. He eeped furiously at her.
‘Neil!’ said Polly, feeling a stupid smile spread across her face. Why did she feel so weird?
‘Polly!’ came a voice, and charging up behind Neil was a headlamp, and behind that was Huckle’s face. Polly stared at him woozily.
‘I thought you were dead,’ she said, smiling at him in a funny way.
Huckle wrenched open the van door and pulled her out, shoving her unceremoniously on to the ground. The shock of the cold air felt like someone had poured a bucket of cold water over her head. She coughed and choked on the freezing snow bank.
‘Oh my God!’ Huckle was saying. ‘The stink in there! There’s some gas feeding back; you must have bumped something when you came to rest. Oh my God, Polly! You could have poisoned yourself! You can’t… I can’t believe… It’s a deathtrap, that van! Everyone’s been telling you that!’
Polly shook her head.
‘Didn’t you feel weird? Woozy?’
‘Yes,’ said Polly, frowning. ‘It felt nice.’
‘Oh God,’ said Huckle, pulling her to him, then letting her go again as she suddenly had to turn away and vomit into the snow. He handed her some water.
‘Jesus, Polly.’ He was almost as white as she was. ‘JESUS. Shit. When did everything go so wrong?’
Polly shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said tearfully. ‘I don’t know. I wish I did so I could go back and fix it.’
‘You didn’t do anything,’ said Huckle, holding her. ‘It’s not your fault, my darling. It’s not your fault. Oh my God, you’re shivering.’