Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 17

Polly smiled. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Lance.’
Lance looked over his large stomach to stare at his shoes.
‘Yeah, well. After I lost them SO much money on that bloody lighthouse.’
Polly tried to hide her smirk, but couldn’t. At one stage there had been a plan to build a bridge from Mount Polbearne to the mainland and Lance had confidently expected to make a fortune selling properties on the island, particularly the lighthouse. In the end, the council had listened to the islanders and voted against the bridge, after which Polly had promptly managed to pick up the lighthouse for a song. Lance had not forgiven her.
‘They sent me off to the north! Bloody Derbyshire!’
‘I’ve heard it’s beautiful up there.’
‘I’ll tell you this: it snows all the bloody time.’
Polly smiled again. ‘But you’re back.’
‘Yeah, no one else wanted this beat… I mean…’
The woman he was with had been standing looking the other way, staring out to sea, but now she turned round, and at once Polly realised she knew her. She could only gasp.
‘Selina.’
Chapter Six
‘So, you’ve decided to go back?’
‘Well I can’t seem to go forwards.’
‘What are you hoping to find there?’
‘I’m hoping to understand.’
‘And what if you can’t understand?’
Selina twisted her wedding ring round and round her finger.
‘I don’t know.’
Polly was completely shocked to see Tarnie’s wife. Or rather, of course, his widow. She had only met Selina twice before, once in Polbearne, and once at the funeral. Since then she hadn’t seen her at all, had heard she’d gone back to her parents and hadn’t been the least bit surprised that she hadn’t wanted to see hide nor hair of Mount Polbearne again.
‘Hi,’ said Selina, but she clearly didn’t really remember Polly. Well why would she? thought Polly. She was only the woman who’d secretly slept with her husband (she hadn’t realised Tarnie was married; he didn’t wear a ring) then met her briefly just after her husband had died at sea.
‘Hi,’ said Polly. ‘Um, I run the bakery.’
‘Right,’ said Selina without interest.
‘It’s the best bakery in the south-west,’ said Lance. ‘And I should know. I’ve tried them all.’
He patted his stomach cheerfully.
‘Can you get us a couple of fruit slices? And a loaf of that olive bread to take away? I love that stuff.’
‘Sorry,’ said Polly, indicating Jayden mopping up inside. ‘We’re done for the day. We’re shut.’
‘Yes, but you’re not shut to me,’ said Lance. ‘I let you steal a lighthouse off me.’
Polly smiled. ‘I know that. But when we’re out of food, we’re out of food.’
Lance looked crestfallen. Polly thought of the little olive loaf she’d been keeping back for Huckle’s supper.
‘Oh all right then,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Funny you should ask,’ grunted Lance. ‘Selina…’ He struggled for her surname for a second.
‘Tarnforth,’ said Polly, without thinking. Selina gave her a surprised look.
‘Uh, aye,’ said Lance. ‘Selina’s looking at the flat above your bakery.’
Polly made them all a cup of tea – it really was getting chilly outside, nothing like the lovely weekend – and rustled up the olive loaf, which she served with the incredibly expensive French salted butter she got sent over occasionally as a very special treat. Poor old Huckle would have to make do with the chippy.
She tried to keep her tone light.
‘So, you’re thinking of moving here?’ she said.
Selina was still pretty, but very thin and drawn, and there were hollows under her eyes. She nodded.
‘My parents thought I should have a fresh start, you know? Well, lots of people did. So I moved away, got a new job, gave up teaching – not much use when you’re bursting into tears in front of your class every ten minutes. They were very generous with compassionate leave, but there came a point when even they were just like “Come on.”’
Polly tutted sympathetically. It must be bloody awful to have something so bad happen to you, then everyone whispering about it all the time afterwards.
‘And I was SO sick of being the tragic widow of the town. Everywhere I went, everyone lowered their voices and put on their best, kind, speaking-to-an-idiot-child tone and tilted their heads and were so, so nice to me.’ She grimaced. ‘Drove me nuts.’
‘So you moved somewhere new?’
‘Yup,’ said Selina. ‘Went up to Manchester. Great town.’
‘You liked it?’
Selina gave Lance a look that suggested he should be somewhere else. Being a terrible estate agent but a pretty decent human being, Lance took the hint and took out his smartphone and started fiddling with it.
Selina shrugged. ‘Went out a lot. Hung out with people too young for me. Who didn’t know anything about me. Did the city thing. Casual sex, you know.’
Lance was still looking at his phone, but his ears went bright pink.
‘Mmm,’ said Polly, pouring more tea. ‘Did it help?’
‘Not as much as you’d think,’ said Selina, frowning. ‘And I had my doubts from the outset, to be honest.’
Polly nodded. Selina let out a great sigh.
‘And I have to… my therapist thinks this too. Because I have a therapist now. How wonderful is that? I always hoped I’d have a therapist.’
‘Lots of people have therapy,’ said Polly mildly.
‘Lots of people have scabies,’ said Selina. ‘Didn’t want that either.’
Lance stiffened. ‘You have scabies? Only, the lease…’
‘It’s a figure of speech,’ said Selina. She was sharper, more brittle, thought Polly, than the last time she’d seen her.
‘So, my therapist…’
Polly had a sudden flashback to the couples’ therapist she had insisted Chris go with her to at one dark stage towards the end of their relationship. It had been incredibly painful. Chris had sneered at the expensive cars parked outside the practice, its smart reception, the well-dressed therapist with her trendy glasses. He’d sneered at Polly too, for wanting the therapist to like her, for answering questions helpfully.