Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 88

‘To my friend Reuben, the best, the most heroic yutz I ever met in my life, and his wife, who is of course far too good for him,’ and the entire room exploded into clapping and cheering, from relief more than anything else.
‘Now, Reuben’s early life was somewhat challenging,’ said a short elderly man dressed as Luke Skywalker and looking not very happy about it, as he got to his feet brandishing a sheaf of notes as thick as a telephone directory. The room collectively groaned. Huckle was glad that Reuben’s face wasn’t visible, as he grabbed a plateful of wedding cake (there had been nine of them) and another bottle of fizz, and ducked back outside.
He stood for a second, just looking. The sun was setting behind them, and the sky was filled with pink and yellow, a soft, clear light that lit up Polly’s hair, which had come loose from its ridiculous buns and was falling in soft waves over her shoulders. She was standing perfectly still, gazing out to sea with a pensive, faraway look on her face, his ridiculous jerkin resting lightly on the shoulders of her white dress. He wasn’t used to Polly being still; she was always doing something, five things at once sometimes: laughing, eating, baking, clearing up, taking money… She was normally a ball of energy. To see her so soft and still like this… His heart simply leapt in his chest.
‘Hey,’ he said, very quietly. She turned her head and smiled at him, as the huge waves crashed on the surf.
The hotel they were both staying in was oddly bare; fashionable, Polly supposed. It had wooden floors and clapboard walls and pale colours everywhere. They’d got there hours before the rest of the party, as a massive disco band had arrived at the mansion and was forcing everyone to dance.
‘It was starting to look less like fun and more like a marathon of endurance,’ observed Huckle gently.
‘Oh, you know Reuben,’ said Polly. ‘No top he can’t go over.’
Huckle smiled. ‘Quite.’
‘Oh, I brought you this.’
She pulled out a pot of his honey.
‘Ha!’ he said, looking at it, marvelling. He had put that side of his life away so completely, it barely felt like his at all.
He looked back at Polly.
‘Well, I am hungry,’ he said simply.
Polly, emboldened by the champagne, and the long wait, and the desire to finally seize the moment – to seize something for herself – pulled off the top of the white costume she was wearing in one movement. Underneath, she had nothing on.
‘God,’ breathed Huckle. ‘Look at you.’
Polly’s skin, usually so fair, had taken on a golden hue, freckles popping up in the sunshine, and her strawberry-blonde hair had lighter streaks in it.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said, as the dying rays of the sun caught her hair through the dormer windows. ‘So beautiful.’
Polly knew she wasn’t, not really. But here, in this room, in this light, with this man, she felt like she was. And that was enough. She drew closer to him – at last! at last! her nerves were screaming – but even though she was trembling, she was also patient. She was going to take her time; enjoy every second. His huge broad chest, once she got his shirt off, was brown, with light golden hair across it. She wanted to bury herself in it. He picked her up and sat her on his lap as if she weighed nothing at all, and before he kissed her again, he buried his face in her hair.
‘Oh God,’ he groaned. ‘I want you so much.’
Polly looked up at him and smiled.
‘That,’ she said, ‘is useful.’
Huckle laughed his slow, lazy laugh. Then he picked up the honey, dipped his fingers into it and, with long, languid strokes, rubbed it into her small breasts. Polly giggled.
‘That is going to be so sticky,’ she said.
‘I’ll get it all off,’ promised Huckle.
Then the time for laughing was over, and everything became suddenly more serious, more intense, as they lost themselves utterly, body and soul, in one another, until neither could tell where one began and the other ended.
‘Were those… fireworks?’ said Huckle, finally.
‘Yes,’ said Polly, her eyes full of stars. Then she focused again on the room.
‘Oh God, they actually are fireworks, aren’t they?’
‘Either that or we’re under advanced military attack.’
Outside the window, sure enough, was the single most enormous fireworks display Polly had ever seen. The sky was filled with furious explosions and enormous noises. A great red glittering heart was flickering and puttering over the sea. Polly and Huckle looked at each other and burst out laughing.
‘It’s almost,’ said Huckle, ‘like someone’s trying to tell us something.’
They dressed swiftly and ran down to the beach again, away from where everyone else was being served picnic hampers as the fireworks entered their thirtieth exhausting minute, and lay back in the dunes in each other’s arms, watching the show.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Nobody made it up in time for breakfast the next day, but Polly managed to catch up with Kerensa before she left on her round-the-world safari honeymoon the next evening. There was a huge brunch, but Polly was too excited to eat. She grabbed Kerensa by the door, meaning to apologise, but Kerensa got in there first.
‘God,’ she said. ‘I am SO sorry. I never got to see any of my friends at all, spent the entire time shaking hands with big old white men and posing for photographs. Look! Ow! My face hurts! This must be what it’s like being famous. It totally blows.’
‘But did you have a good time?’ said Polly.
Kerensa nodded madly. ‘I loved every second,’ she said.
‘Where’s Reuben?’
Kerensa looked slightly awkward.
‘Er. He’s just… I mean, the helmet was a bit hot… It’s just a precaution.’
‘What?’
‘He’s a bit dehydrated. They put him on a drip.’
‘He’s in HOSPITAL?’
‘He parties hard,’ said Kerensa defensively.
‘He does!’ said Polly. ‘Oh my. Well, I will see him… very soon.’
‘And where are you going?’ said Kerensa. They went into the dining room of the hotel, which had been laid out with every foodstuff Polly could imagine: bagels, smoked salmon, eggs, croissants, fresh fruit of every kind, a juice squeezer, pancakes and waffles, champagne of course everywhere, hash browns and sausages.