Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 37

‘Oh yeah,’ said Kerensa. ‘I thought she said it was an accident, those stairs.’
Polly shook her head.
‘Nothing is ever an accident with Dahlia.’
‘True.’
‘So,’ said Reuben, indicating to the sous chef, who brought over four perfect plates of fresh lobster ceviche, ‘let us eat, drink, be merry and forget our troubles.’
Huckle looked slightly embarrassed.
‘Okay, or let’s drink to Huckle, who doesn’t have any troubles.’
‘Meanwhile,’ said Kerensa, ‘I have to go out to work and stop buying handbags while having a sex toy trapped in the sitting room who doesn’t know how to use a bus pass.’
‘I will totally invent a better bus pass,’ said Reuben darkly.
Polly raised her glass.
‘Oh lord. To all of us.’
Polly had never eaten ceviche before. It was kind of raw lobster with lime and chillis and some sort of salad cream stuff, and it was the most incredibly delicious thing she thought she’d ever tasted. The sous chef rushed to top up their glasses with an ice-cold Chablis, and Polly felt herself getting slightly fuzzy in the hot sun. It really didn’t feel like anything could ever go wrong, even though things were patently going horribly wrong. They toasted one another again, and when Kerensa asked what she was going to do about the bakery, Polly just shrugged and took another slug of wine. As the afternoon grew hotter, they all tore into the sea, its delicious freshness an absolute balm. Polly lay in the bouncy, salty water and stared at the sky. As usual there were some pesky seagulls circling overhead; even being rich couldn’t keep them out. Although of course Reuben wasn’t rich any more. Nobody was.
Reuben and Kerensa already appeared to be getting slightly amorous in the water, which Polly absolutely had no interest in witnessing. Instead she let the waves take her where they would, drifting down to the edge of the bay, just underneath the house, which was a big futuristic cube with a round balcony at the front, designed to make you think of the Starship Enterprise. Or, as Reuben had said, Tony Stark’s house, seeing as he and Tony Stark had so much in common.
She was a long way away from the others now. Huckle liked to go for it when he was swimming. It seemed like a natural element for him; he could move his powerful shoulders and cut through the water with ease. Generally Polly didn’t really like putting her head under the water, and she was always a bit worried that something would bite her toes. But today, hazily bobbing up and down, she felt like it didn’t matter quite so much any more; that she was perfectly content as she was, at one with the water, happy and free. Getting lots of sleep had helped. A couple of glasses of fizz, too. She reflected on her friends’ terrible news. It would, she knew, be a shock for them. But on the other hand, Kerensa had always done well at her job, and was used to working for whatever she had. And Reuben had started out doing computer things in his garage; there was no reason why he couldn’t go back to that. He liked showing off his money, but he wasn’t obsessed with it. And they genuinely did love each other, she knew. Thank God Reuben hadn’t married one of the beautiful popsies that used to hang around trying to catch his eye and his credit card. Chances were she’d have disappeared faster than the ice in the champagne bucket. Or, Polly thought, maybe just hung around for the oligarch. Perhaps popsies came with the territory, like built-in washing machines and centralised vacuum cleaner systems and surround-sound stereos.
She looked up at the house, squinting in the sun. There were vans and lorries parked up there, and men were carrying stuff out of the house. Even from down here she could make out a full-sized sculpture of a naked Reuben and Kerensa who were… Oh God. Giggling, Polly realised she was slightly more drunk than she’d thought, and quickly checked she could touch the seabed with her foot. She could. Good.
It felt nosy watching the removal men, and sad, too, to see them bundling up all the fun that Reuben and Kerensa had had. And confusing: how on earth where they going to sell all those hideous naked portraits of Kerensa?
Suddenly Huckle was right behind her; he’d swum up quickly, under the water, his powerful arms grabbing her so she squealed. He didn’t pull her under, though; he drew her close to him and gave her a cuddle.
‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Whatcha doin’?’
‘Being nosy,’ said Polly, indicating up the hill. ‘Look at all that stuff they have.’
‘Ah, it’s only stuff,’ said Huckle. ‘They’re practically having sex with each other over there.’
‘They really are disgusting,’ grumbled Polly. ‘Well, I’ll have to keep watching the removals men. Only place I can put my eyes.’
‘You know what I see?’ said Huckle, floating gently behind her.
‘What?’ said Polly, looking at him. ‘Wow. You look like an aftershave advert. And a classy one too, not one of those tacky Mark Wright ones.’
Huckle pointed.
‘What am I looking at?’
‘You’re looking at a nine-foot standard lamp with a picture of a dog on it,’ said Polly. ‘It’s gross. All of their stuff is gross. I just didn’t notice before because the view was so nice.’
Huckle shook his head.
‘No.’
‘You’re looking at a ninety-six-inch cinema-size curved 3D television screen, the one in the upstairs lounge that Reuben can never find the remote for and Kerensa only watches Homes Under the Hammer on.’
‘Not that either.’
Polly squinted.
‘Okay. I give up.’
‘What are they putting all that hideous tat into?’
‘Hideous expensive tat, I think you meant to say.’
Huckle smiled. ‘I know. Amazing, all that money and they… What’s the British term?’
‘I believe it’s spunked,’ said Polly gravely.
‘They spunked it all on that.’
‘Well, and lots of charity. And extraordinary hospitality for their friends,’ pointed out Polly.
‘Yeah,’ said Huckle.
They watched as two men brought out what appeared to be a solid gold grandfather clock in the shape of a dragon, with two flashing rubies for eyes.
‘Anyway, never mind about that now. One last time.’
He took her head between his great hands, and pointed it in the direction of the clifftop.