Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 12
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Polly dragged out an old-fashioned armchair she’d found in the bedroom – it was squashy and old, upholstered in a turquoise fabric, but actually not as tasteless as the other sparse furnishings – and placed it by the front-facing windows, which were swung wide open to dry. Then she sat down and put her legs up on the window ledge. From that angle she couldn’t see anything except sea and sky; she practically felt like she was flying. She sipped her coffee, breathing in the salty air and watching the waves, trying to time her breathing as they rolled in and out, in and out. Before long, she was in the deepest, calmest sleep she’d known for months.
Chapter Six
A positive attitude, Polly discovered, was a lot easier to fake at five o’clock in the afternoon than the early hours of the morning. She’d woken, chilled, then found it hard to get back to sleep, to stop the negative thoughts from creeping back.
And the flat was cold. As well as the wood-burner, which she wasn’t at all sure how to use, there was an exceedingly dangerous-looking black stove, so she’d turned that on, then, stupidly, gone and checked the meter, which, sure enough, was whizzing round and round at the speed of light. So she’d pulled a sweatshirt on over her pyjamas, wishing she hadn’t put her dressing gown into storage – what was she thinking? – and snuck under the lightweight breathable duvet that had been perfect for a small, modern, centrally heated apartment but wasn’t nearly adequate here, as the wind whistled through the last remaining holes in the roof and she could hear the waves thundering on the shingle below. She thought longingly of the soft fluffy white duvet they’d used for visitors, or, increasingly, on the nights they’d slept apart because of Chris’s tossing and turning.
The strange noises were unnerving. At one point she dropped off and dreamt that she was down a hole and water was lapping at her; that she was being pulled under the water. Then, suddenly, she heard a bang and a scream.
Completely disorientated, she sat bolt upright, her heart thudding in her chest. Where was she? What was that? Where was Chris? Oh GOD, someone had broken in. News had got around of the lone female moving into town, into a house that wasn’t even vaguely secure. It was a posse. It was a crazy town where they sacrificed people. It was…
Gradually she got a grip on herself for long enough to check her phone. She cursed when she saw it: 2.30, the very dead of night. It was completely freezing in the flat, and pitch dark: the harbour street lights were few and far between, and beyond was just complete blackness. Suddenly, bright light flooded in underneath the bedroom door and she nearly screamed herself before realising that it must be the beam from the lighthouse on the point coming through the front windows. She realised she was trembling and gathered the duvet around her. She didn’t have a bedside light yet. She was going to have to fumble across the room in the dark. Or maybe wait till the lighthouse beam swept past again. She strained her ears but could hear nothing. It must have been a bad dream. A bad dream, that was all, something to do with the lighthouse…
This time when the scream came it sounded even closer.
‘OhSHITohSHITohSHITohSHIT,’ said Polly to herself, fighting a desire to stick her head underneath the duvet. Her heart was pounding like it wanted to leap out of her chest. It occurred to her that a gang of bloodthirsty pitchfork-wielding locals would be unlikely to scream at her, but that didn’t really help. What was it that the fishermen had said about ghosts?
‘He… hello…’ she called out tentatively into the dark. There was a kind of whimpering noise.
Oh God. Maybe there’d been an accident outside. Maybe someone – a child? – had been thrown from a car. Grasping her phone, she waited till the lighthouse swept its beam over her once again, then scuttled across the room to the main light switch. Flicking it on, she felt a tiny bit calmer, but only till the next yelp hit her ears.
‘All right, all right, I’m coming,’ she said, pulling on another jumper. Why hadn’t she brought a torch? Because the more she thought about it, the more sure she was that the noise was coming from downstairs. From the dark and dusty abandoned shop below. She wondered where the entrance was, then remembered a doorway leading off the stairs. It would be locked, though… She should probably phone the police right away. Yes, that was what she would do.
The cry that came was so lonesome and desolate, she steeled herself and headed down the stairs towards the door. Lance had given her a huge bunch of keys – when she’d asked why she needed so many, he’d shrugged and said he didn’t know, he was only a trainee – and she fumbled with them as she went.
Sure enough, the second Yale worked. She shook the warped old door hard and it popped open. She let it swing into the room beyond, holding her breath. She realised she was shaking.
‘Hello?’
No reply, but there was movement.
‘Hello?’ she said again. She glanced to the right. There was light coming in through one of the broken panes in the shop door. As she let her eyes adjust to the gloom, it occurred to her that it might be a cat or a dog – or a troll or a zombie, her subconscious added. She told her subconscious to shut it.
‘Hello!’
She hoped it wasn’t something that would bite her. On the other hand, she couldn’t wait for the police – she guessed there wasn’t a police station anywhere near here – whilst there was an animal in pain. She took a deep breath and stepped into the room.
There was the musty, dusty, heavy smell of a neglected space, and large shapes that must be counters and, in the corner, huge ovens. She could hear a funny kind of snuffling noise but there was no more screaming.
‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ she said, peering around the shapes, terrified of what she might find. ‘It’s only me,’ she added, which was obviously a totally stupid thing to say under the circumstances. If it was a gigantic mutant spider with lots of little spider babies, for example, she was going to stomp on them all, so being only me wasn’t exactly any use.
Finally, near the front, just behind a glass cabinet, she felt the snuffling grow closer. Holding her breath, she crouched down.
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Oh dear me.’
Down in the corner was a tiny bird with black and white plumage and a huge yellow and orange beak. As Polly knelt next to it, it let rip with another overwhelming screech. It was a huge noise to come out of such a little creature.
Chapter Six
A positive attitude, Polly discovered, was a lot easier to fake at five o’clock in the afternoon than the early hours of the morning. She’d woken, chilled, then found it hard to get back to sleep, to stop the negative thoughts from creeping back.
And the flat was cold. As well as the wood-burner, which she wasn’t at all sure how to use, there was an exceedingly dangerous-looking black stove, so she’d turned that on, then, stupidly, gone and checked the meter, which, sure enough, was whizzing round and round at the speed of light. So she’d pulled a sweatshirt on over her pyjamas, wishing she hadn’t put her dressing gown into storage – what was she thinking? – and snuck under the lightweight breathable duvet that had been perfect for a small, modern, centrally heated apartment but wasn’t nearly adequate here, as the wind whistled through the last remaining holes in the roof and she could hear the waves thundering on the shingle below. She thought longingly of the soft fluffy white duvet they’d used for visitors, or, increasingly, on the nights they’d slept apart because of Chris’s tossing and turning.
The strange noises were unnerving. At one point she dropped off and dreamt that she was down a hole and water was lapping at her; that she was being pulled under the water. Then, suddenly, she heard a bang and a scream.
Completely disorientated, she sat bolt upright, her heart thudding in her chest. Where was she? What was that? Where was Chris? Oh GOD, someone had broken in. News had got around of the lone female moving into town, into a house that wasn’t even vaguely secure. It was a posse. It was a crazy town where they sacrificed people. It was…
Gradually she got a grip on herself for long enough to check her phone. She cursed when she saw it: 2.30, the very dead of night. It was completely freezing in the flat, and pitch dark: the harbour street lights were few and far between, and beyond was just complete blackness. Suddenly, bright light flooded in underneath the bedroom door and she nearly screamed herself before realising that it must be the beam from the lighthouse on the point coming through the front windows. She realised she was trembling and gathered the duvet around her. She didn’t have a bedside light yet. She was going to have to fumble across the room in the dark. Or maybe wait till the lighthouse beam swept past again. She strained her ears but could hear nothing. It must have been a bad dream. A bad dream, that was all, something to do with the lighthouse…
This time when the scream came it sounded even closer.
‘OhSHITohSHITohSHITohSHIT,’ said Polly to herself, fighting a desire to stick her head underneath the duvet. Her heart was pounding like it wanted to leap out of her chest. It occurred to her that a gang of bloodthirsty pitchfork-wielding locals would be unlikely to scream at her, but that didn’t really help. What was it that the fishermen had said about ghosts?
‘He… hello…’ she called out tentatively into the dark. There was a kind of whimpering noise.
Oh God. Maybe there’d been an accident outside. Maybe someone – a child? – had been thrown from a car. Grasping her phone, she waited till the lighthouse swept its beam over her once again, then scuttled across the room to the main light switch. Flicking it on, she felt a tiny bit calmer, but only till the next yelp hit her ears.
‘All right, all right, I’m coming,’ she said, pulling on another jumper. Why hadn’t she brought a torch? Because the more she thought about it, the more sure she was that the noise was coming from downstairs. From the dark and dusty abandoned shop below. She wondered where the entrance was, then remembered a doorway leading off the stairs. It would be locked, though… She should probably phone the police right away. Yes, that was what she would do.
The cry that came was so lonesome and desolate, she steeled herself and headed down the stairs towards the door. Lance had given her a huge bunch of keys – when she’d asked why she needed so many, he’d shrugged and said he didn’t know, he was only a trainee – and she fumbled with them as she went.
Sure enough, the second Yale worked. She shook the warped old door hard and it popped open. She let it swing into the room beyond, holding her breath. She realised she was shaking.
‘Hello?’
No reply, but there was movement.
‘Hello?’ she said again. She glanced to the right. There was light coming in through one of the broken panes in the shop door. As she let her eyes adjust to the gloom, it occurred to her that it might be a cat or a dog – or a troll or a zombie, her subconscious added. She told her subconscious to shut it.
‘Hello!’
She hoped it wasn’t something that would bite her. On the other hand, she couldn’t wait for the police – she guessed there wasn’t a police station anywhere near here – whilst there was an animal in pain. She took a deep breath and stepped into the room.
There was the musty, dusty, heavy smell of a neglected space, and large shapes that must be counters and, in the corner, huge ovens. She could hear a funny kind of snuffling noise but there was no more screaming.
‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ she said, peering around the shapes, terrified of what she might find. ‘It’s only me,’ she added, which was obviously a totally stupid thing to say under the circumstances. If it was a gigantic mutant spider with lots of little spider babies, for example, she was going to stomp on them all, so being only me wasn’t exactly any use.
Finally, near the front, just behind a glass cabinet, she felt the snuffling grow closer. Holding her breath, she crouched down.
‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Oh dear me.’
Down in the corner was a tiny bird with black and white plumage and a huge yellow and orange beak. As Polly knelt next to it, it let rip with another overwhelming screech. It was a huge noise to come out of such a little creature.
