Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 74

The force of him took her by surprise; she had, she realised, expected his kiss to be gentle, tentative, as laid-back as the rest of him, but instead he kissed her fiercely, hungrily, like he was the drowning man, and she his only hope of rescue.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Polly didn’t know how long the kiss lasted. She didn’t know where she was or what she was doing, only that her whole body jumped as if she’d been given an electric shock as soon as their lips met; that instantly, without even thinking about it, she was responding to him, her whole being concentrated on their mouths and their hands and her desperate, sudden urge to press herself to him, to be close to him, to be under his shirt and against his skin, burying her face in his chest and breathing in the heady sweet scent of him. She felt greedy, abandoned, completely oblivious to the other people there.
Then she heard someone call her name.
‘Wow, Polly, go.’
It was one of the fishermen, the one who played the guitar; she wasn’t sure of his name. He was drunk and shouting and suddenly she realised what she was doing, and when, and in what circumstances. It was wrong. She pulled back, horrified.
‘What?’ said Huckle, half drunk on lust. His hair was tumbling across his forehead, his eyes were glazed.
She stared at him. He looked gorgeous. But still…
‘I… I can’t,’ she said. ‘Not… No.’
Huckle’s eyes flashed.
‘I see,’ he said. He should have guessed: she still had a thing for Tarnie.
Polly wanted to explain to him that the circumstances were wrong – and not just wrong, but publicly wrong, in front of everyone. But his face had already shut up like a stone.
‘I mean… I just mean, not here.’
‘No,’ said Huckle. ‘Of course not, ma’am.’
He glanced at his watch.
‘It’s getting pretty late. Or pretty early. One or the other. I think I’d better be heading back…’
Polly nodded miserably. She didn’t want him to go, but it didn’t seem appropriate… not at all.
‘Me too,’ she said.
Across the beach, people were sprawled round the bonfire; chatting, sleeping, making out.
‘Um… can I… see you later?’
‘It’s a small part of the world,’ said Huckle, his eyes fixed on the glittering sea.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Polly.
Huckle shrugged. She looked at him, desperate for his gentle smile once more, or his open laugh, but of course it did not come. He had turned into a statue. She looked at him once more, then turned round and headed off back down the beach.
‘Shit,’ said Huckle to himself as she walked away. ‘Shit shit shit.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Polly stumbled back across the beach, a huge lump in her throat. She couldn’t make out anyone’s face; everything was a blur. Somebody else shouted her name, but she couldn’t or didn’t want to see who it was. She headed back to the dance floor to find her shoes and maybe her bag, but she couldn’t seem to see Kerensa anywhere. She wasn’t in the water, or in any of the beautiful white wooden cabanas Reuben had set up everywhere for groups of people to talk quietly in.
She found her eventually, behind the café area – basically where the bins were. She spotted the fuchsia dress before she took in what else was going on.
‘Kerensa!’ she shouted. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
When she peered a bit closer, she realised that Kerensa was trapped in a massive teenage clinch. With one of the surf instructor types, Polly thought; must be. Then she blinked again and realised that —
‘Oh for crying out loud,’ she said, feeling that her own dramas never quite took precedence over Kerensa’s.
Kerensa came up for air. Her face was puce and her dress was completely open at the front. She looked overheated and roundly overexcited.
‘Oh, hi,’ said Reuben.
‘What are you two doing? You hate each other!’
‘I’m really good at kissing,’ said Reuben. ‘And all that stuff.’
Polly looked at Kerensa in consternation.
‘Er, he is,’ confirmed Kerensa apologetically. Her lipstick was all kissed off. She looked completely wanton.
Polly rolled her eyes.
‘Seriously?’
They both looked at her.
‘Er…’ she rubbed her neck. ‘I was just going to go.’
‘Okay,’ said Kerensa. She didn’t move.
‘I was going to go home… with you.’
Kerensa frowned. Reuben put a proprietorial hand on her thigh.
‘I’m not going home yet,’ explained Kerensa. ‘I’m going to have sex with Reuben.’
‘Oh God, you two are both as bad as each other.’ Polly was trying really hard not to cry.
‘Can Huckle not take you home?’
She immediately choked up.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she managed eventually. ‘I can catch the coach.’
‘Good,’ said Reuben, turning to Kerensa. ‘Come with me to my giant bedroom. I have, like, the most enormous…’
‘OKAY, see you later,’ said Polly.
‘… bed,’ said Reuben.
Polly tramped back over to where she’d left Neil eating sandwich leftovers. He was sitting in a rock pool looking guilty.
‘Neil,’ she said in dismay, looking at the mess next to him. ‘Were you sick?’
Neil eeped and hopped into her arms.
‘Oh Christ, I can’t even look after my own bloody puffin. Don’t eat until you’re sick, my love.’
‘Eep,’ said Neil.
Cradling him, she followed the groups of people making their weary way towards the waiting buses. She found a double seat near the back, made sure Neil was comfortable in his rucksack, emptied the sand out of her shoes and almost immediately, before she had time to think, fell fast asleep.
The next day, Sunday, was miserable. Polly slept till eleven, then woke and remembered Huckle. What had she been thinking? Why couldn’t she have waited, gone somewhere Tarnie’s mum and dad weren’t, for example? And couldn’t he understand why? She pictured the stony look on his face, and remembered again how closed he had been when she had met him, how it had taken a while to get to the sweet boy underneath. She sighed. She would ring him. No, she would ring Kerensa and ask her what to do.