Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 52

The tourists would flood in, looking surprised to find such a lovely place, and Polly would happily listen to the jingle of the till. When she carried the takings over to the other shop, Mrs Manse would grunt at her, but Polly soon learned that if she made the older woman a cup of tea, she had absolutely no objection to listening to the gossip second hand, making occasional tutting noises. Polly wouldn’t in a million years have called it a friendship, but it was definitely well en route to a thaw.
And every night she would fall into bed with the sunset, exhausted from hard work, getting browner and feeling better and stronger every day, her old life receding like the waves on the little sandy beach just round from the old lighthouse, where she and Muriel occasionally escaped for a much-needed sit-down and natter.
And now Chris was coming, bringing that old life to Polbearne.
Polly looked carefully at the sofa – her treasured sofa – and pulled it out and made it up into a bed, feeling apprehensive.
He’d called to say when he was getting here and she realised, without even needing to glance at her tidal chart any more, that the causeway would be under water then. She told him this and he said, well, it was too late, he had set off now, and she’d sighed and said all right, she’d figure something out.
Down on the harbour Tarnie was nowhere to be found, but Jayden was unfurling nets, in the most unenthusiastic way possible, and jumped up when she offered him some extra buns to take her over the causeway and pick up Chris.
It was a fine afternoon, just starting to turn to pink on the distant horizon, when they set off across the water, which had washed steadily over the cobbles of the causeway until every stone disappeared and they were an island once more. The seabirds were calling and the mainland seemed very far away, and Polly sat in the back of the boat – she clambered aboard with ease nowadays; she was as comfortable with getting on to a boat as she would be getting in a car – and grinned as Jayden gunned the little engine.
‘You are the Formula 1 of tiny little boats,’ she said, and he smiled appreciatively.
‘You’re the second run I’ve done today,’ he said. ‘I’m starting up the taxi service again.’
In the summer, the fishing crews ran the tender as an unofficial taxi cab to ferry stranded daytrippers back to their mainland campsites and hotels after they’d been tempted to stay too long at the Mount Inn. The set price was as much as they could get away with, with the only stipulation being that all cash thus fleeced was then put behind the bar and the rounds shared.
‘You’re basically pirates,’ Polly had said when she had learned of it, and they had all grinned and nodded in agreement.
‘Been busy?’ said Polly. There weren’t many incomers yet, and the locals knew the tide times like the back of their hands.
‘Aye,’ said Jayden. ‘I took Tarnie back to see his —’
Polly wasn’t really concentrating. In fact, there was every chance that if Jayden hadn’t cut himself off very obviously and blushed like a demon, he’d have got away with it.
He could have said ‘new boat’ or ‘allotment’ or literally anything that came into his head, but Jayden’s head could be a large, cloudy expanse sometimes, and instead he stood there, bright pink, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck and his mouth agape like a fish.
Polly didn’t notice at first. Then she idly traced the conversation backwards and sat up, swallowing hard.
‘His what, Jayden?’ she said, trying to make her voice sound calm and unconcerned. Inside, her heart had started to race.
‘Er, his nothing,’ said Jayden, hopeful that she might leave him alone.
‘No, not nothing, Jayden,’ said Polly in a prim voice. She looked at him straight on, but he could barely meet her gaze.
There was a long silence. Polly wasn’t going to break it.
‘Um,’ said Jayden eventually as they drew closer to the mainland. Polly could already see Chris’s mum’s little white Polo in the car park.
‘Yes?’
‘Um… his wife.’ He muttered the last words in a rush, his eyes fixed on the bottom of the boat.
‘His…’ Polly had to make absolutely sure. ‘Jayden, did you just say “his wife”?’
Jayden nodded his head guiltily.
‘Tarnie’s married?’
‘Aye.’
‘And you knew this?’
More staring at the floor.
‘Aye.’
Polly felt the blood rush to her head and realised her hands were shaking. Well, she supposed this explained why they hadn’t progressed much beyond the occasional drink. Something else occurred to her.
‘And… can I assume that everyone in town knows this?’
Jayden shrugged.
Polly swore, loudly, and threw a pebble that was lying in the boat into the water.
‘Oh for crying out loud. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Not my business,’ mumbled Jayden.
Polly thought furiously. She hadn’t asked… well, it had never occurred to her that she needed to, and he didn’t wear a ring – mind you, that would be dangerous in his job anyway.
She always used to double-check with those flashy chancers she and Kerensa came across in bars in Plymouth in their younger days: the naval officers on shore leave looking for a bit of fun; the businessmen in town. But of course recently it had never mattered to her; she and Chris had been together for so long. It was always Kerensa doing all the heavy lifting; Polly gave off an ‘I’m taken’ vibe, and it had worked just fine… And now she’d made the most amateur, rookie mistake of all. She felt unbelievably stupid.
‘Oh bloody hell,’ she said. ‘BLOODY hell. I can’t believe nobody told me. Why didn’t Mrs Manse tell me?’ She answered her own question. ‘Because she doesn’t like me. Why didn’t Huckle tell me?’
‘That weird American?’ said Jayden. ‘Why would he know?’
‘What’s she like?’ said Polly. ‘Oh God, tell me they don’t have children.’
Jayden shook his head.
‘She doesn’t like the fishing,’ he said. ‘She lets him work the season, keeps house back in Looe. He comes and goes.’
‘FRIG,’ said Polly. ‘He must have thought I was easy pickings.’
Jayden looked heartbroken.