Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 61

‘Work?’ he said crossly.
‘Bring Huckle,’ said Reuben authoritatively down the phone.
‘No!’ said Huckle, but it was too late. Reuben had already hung up.
‘Oh for heaven’s sake,’ said Polly. ‘Seriously. I don’t think being friends with those two is remotely good for us. And I don’t even know if we can get there.’
Huckle glanced out of the window.
‘I don’t think that’s going to be an issue,’ he said.
A tiny dot in the sky grew larger and larger and eventually came into focus, the noise growing louder and louder.
‘He sent the helicopter?’ said Polly. ‘This is utterly ridiculous. Honestly. For a few pastries!’
‘The best pastries,’ said Huckle, and Polly rolled her eyes.
The helicopter touched down carefully on the harbour front, which Polly was sure was entirely illegal. The snow had stopped, and it was a bright, freezing, crunchy day; a beautiful day in fact. Which didn’t change the fact that she didn’t want to be out in it at all.
The pilot beckoned to them to hurry up, and Polly pulled on a coat and grabbed her bag. Neil hopped up to the helicopter to have a look at it – he obviously thought it was a really big puffin – and Polly let him come inside. Huckle looked grumpy, then followed her out of the house.
‘This is annoying,’ he said. ‘Because obviously Reuben is being a total pain in the arse, but I’ve always really wanted to go in a helicopter.’
‘Me too,’ said Polly. They grinned at each other as the pilot gave them both a set of headphones and strapped them in, then off they went.
They held hands as the helicopter lurched sideways and they circled the lighthouse once; it was odd to see it veer away below them at an angle that felt quite close to being in the sea, which was beating up against the rocks with white-crested waves. There were very few fishing boats out today; even the men were taking a little time off to reconnect with their families at Christmas.
Mount Polbearne from above, under its mantle of snow, looked like a postcard, the little rambling cottages and streets jammed up against each other, tumbling over one another, all the way down the cobbles to the busy harbour, and Polly snapped some pictures on her phone.
She could see Muriel’s shop, still resolutely open when the rest of the world was taking a break. She saw Patrick out walking one of the stray dogs he seemed to collect around him at all times – he couldn’t bear to let an animal go to the pound or anywhere it might be put down, so often had the most motley collection of fleabags around his heels. She saw two of the toddlers of the town, done up like little Michelin men in their winter zip-up outfits, tumbling and playing with stones on the beach, whilst their parents clutched their arms tightly around themselves and – from the look of it – shot evil glances at the door of the Little Beach Street Bakery for being shut when they clearly needed hot chocolate now more than ever.
Then the helicopter turned and flew over the sea – Mount Polbearne was a proper island this morning, cut off completely, its own little world, and Polly felt, as she often did, a little pang for leaving it, even if it was only for the day.
‘I’ve had worse commutes,’ she told Huckle, who smiled back, enjoying the trip as much as she was.
They flew over the mainland of Cornwall, its rocky crags giving way to fertile fields, now all laid out in white stripes and white hedges; tangles of woodland as old as the legends of the land King Arthur once strode through silent under their blanket of snow; creatures deep in the undergrowth below. An owl searching for field mice glanced up at them as they passed above. The few cars on the roads looked like toys; horses turned out loose in their fields started a little at the noise of the helicopter, which made Polly feel guilty.
Away from the coastal towns, it felt like the beautiful county was spread out below for them alone; almost no people, just the soft, silent countryside they had both taken so much to their hearts, and Huckle squeezed her hand tightly, and she returned it, as the sound of a church bell reached them through the roar, and then the northern tip of the county came into view on the horizon and the helicopter turned towards the great house on the top of the cliff, Reuben’s mansion, with its huge H painted on the ground. Reuben, Kerensa and the baby were out front, waving furiously.
‘Okay, ready to go,’ said Polly as they landed and thanked the pilot. Neil hopped around with a confused look on his face. Probably slightly noisier flying than he’d been used to.
Reuben and Kerensa looked utterly delighted; Kerensa far better than any woman who’d given birth less than a week ago had the right to. Baby Herschel-Lowin was sleeping happily in his father’s arms. Rhonda and Merv also came out to greet them. This felt odd; Polly had expected to be hustled into the kitchen to start getting on with things.
‘What’s up?’ she said.
Everyone was beaming at them in a slightly peculiar way, especially Kerensa. She and Reuben exchanged glances. Reuben’s staff were also lined up out front, in a weird, presidential visit kind of a way.
‘So anyway,’ said Kerensa, ‘I was trying to… we were trying to find a way to say thank you. For your support. For everything you’ve done for us over the years. To give you a Christmas present.’
‘I should say now,’ said Reuben, ‘that this was mostly a way for Kerensa to keep shopping when she was all miserable about being pregnant.’
‘Shut up,’ said Kerensa, beaming happily at him.
‘What’s going on?’ said Polly, feeling nervous.
Kerensa came up and took both their hands.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘You absolutely don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.’
‘Do what?’ said Polly with suspicion. Kerensa beamed and pulled her inside.
The house had once again been totally transformed. White orchids and lilies lined the entrance hall, their heavy scent hanging amongst the smell of cranberries and oranges that had filled the house throughout the Christmas season. There were runs of flowers up and down the circular banister. And ahead were rows of white seats with bows on the back, laid out in front of the huge conservatory…
There was a long silence.
‘Oh,’ said Polly, in deep shock. It couldn’t be. They couldn’t possibly mean…
Kerensa looked at her.
‘Because you see,’ she said, so excited she could barely get the words out. ‘Well. I wanted to thank you. For. You know. Everything. And so did lots of other people. And I know you were busy and didn’t want fuss and don’t like buying stuff and don’t have any money…’