Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 59

So they walked in the beautiful, sunny, snowy grounds, talking of this and that: of Huckle’s new business line, how he was going to have to outsource production even more, beyond Dave, his regular bee man, and how it ought to work; and of what Kerensa and Reuben would call the baby – Huckle was fairly sure Herschel would win, and Polly accused him of only liking it because it sounded like Huckle.
Then there was a pause as they walked, and Polly said, ‘I am so sorry,’ and Huckle said, ‘Me too.’
Then Polly said, ‘Will that do?’ and Huckle thought, just for a brief moment, about bringing up how the hotel might be a nice place to get married one of these days, but decided they’d been through enough for now. He was so relieved that they were back, that they were Polly and Huckle again, that he was determined never to rock the boat about anything, not even when Neil had made pancake-butter footprints across the posh restaurant table and the maître d’ had pulled a face that Polly had patently ignored. No. Not even then.
He tugged her braids under the big woollen hat.
‘Of course.’
And they squeezed hands again, and thought they had had a very narrow escape after all.
After a while Huckle said, ‘Do you think you might go to the funeral?’
Polly blinked.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I met him. I kind of understand – I do understand. The stuff people do in their twenties… they’re not grown up really. And in the end… Well. He learned his lesson, didn’t he? He went back and raised his family and he obviously really loved them and was a wonderful father. I was his mistake, but that wasn’t my fault. My mum could maybe have dealt with it slightly differently, but it was a great love affair for her, and it wasn’t for him. And that’s nobody’s fault either; sometimes these things just don’t shake down. But no,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I need to hear lots of people stand up and say what a great guy he was, you know?’
Huckle nodded. ‘Of course.’
They walked on in silence.
‘What about his children?’ he asked.
Polly thought back with a pang to the close-knit-looking group of smartly dressed people. How nice it must be, when things were really tough, to have people to lean on like that. She’d never known what it was like to have brothers and sisters. Huckle’s brother was a bit of a rogue, but he was family. She would have liked something like that.
‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘They all… I’m sure they all have their own lives. I’m the last thing they need to complicate matters.’
‘Yes, well, wait till they discover you make the world’s most awesome bread. You’ll be welcomed with open arms,’ said Huckle cheerfully.
Polly shook her head. ‘God, no. What if they think I’m there to cause trouble, or to get at his will?’
‘Do you think there’s any money?’
Polly shrugged. ‘Dunno. Don’t care.’ She frowned. ‘I wonder if my mum will keep brooding.’
‘Maybe she’ll have to get a job,’ said Huckle.
‘Huck!’
‘What? There’s nothing wrong with her. Do her good to get out of the house a bit.’
‘She’s fragile,’ said Polly.
‘Maybe she’s like that because everyone’s been tiptoeing around her for so long.’
‘She looked after her own parents very well.’
‘That’s true,’ allowed Huckle. ‘She should look after other people’s. For money.’
‘Hmm,’ said Polly.
They’d made a full circle of the grounds and were back at the grand entrance. Polly was looking longingly at the posh indoor spa arrangement.
‘I’d love a swim.’
And as if by magic, a swimsuit in her size was found, and they went and swam under an indoor waterfall and bathed in clouds of puffy steam in the steam room and giggled in the jacuzzi, and despite the fact that they spent less than twelve hours at the beautiful country house hotel, it was one of the nicest holidays Polly had ever had in her life.
Chapter Forty
The snow was settling in, possibly for a long stay, but the sun was out, the roads were clear and there was hardly any traffic – people were obviously staying in, settling down for the lovely hazy days between Christmas and New Year with chocolate and liqueurs and a general sense of having nowhere to go and nothing to do except a jigsaw and some audio books.
Polly and Huckle took a cab to Nan the Van, which was still parked safely by the side of the road. When Polly turned the key in the ignition, amazingly the engine roared into life first time, and she climbed behind the wheel while Huck went to start the motorbike. Before they headed off, Polly called Kerensa, who announced cheerfully that she was coming home with Lowin, whereupon Reuben yelled, ‘Herschel!’ in the background and a squabble commenced, which sounded exactly like Kerensa and Reuben getting back to normal.
‘Are you sure you should be coming home so soon?’ said Polly.
‘Oh yes,’ said Kerensa, a sparkle in her voice. ‘I know most people are meant to feel a bit tired and washed out after childbirth. But I feel oddly good.’
‘Because my baby is awesome,’ came the voice in the background. ‘Totally the most awesome.’
Polly smiled down the phone.
‘My godson too,’ she said.
And still the snow came down.
Polly started making batches of bread every morning and delivering it to the elderly of the village, and eventually, when people kept catching her on her rounds, to just about everybody else as well. She’d given Jayden some time off – he rather looked like he needed it – and when she finished in the bakery, she headed back to the lighthouse, where they kept the stove running day and night for once, keeping the sitting room at the top of the house warm and cosy, and heating the bedroom too.
And when the day’s work was done – for Huckle had a lot to do too, with the business taking off – they ate buns and crackers and cheese and drank champagne and lazed in bed, watching films and looking at the snow coming down and listening to reports recommending that people didn’t travel unless it was absolutely necessary, and smugly chinked their glasses together because they didn’t want to travel at all.
Reuben and Kerensa were, if the hourly photographs were anything to go by, completely immersed in a babymoon of gigantic proportions, cuddling and cooing and sending loved-up pictures of their three hands or feet, or of them all snuggled up in a bed the size of Polly’s mother’s front room, beaming mightily and joyously, Reuben fully back to his bouncy King of the World persona; the baby looking more like him every day.