Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 43

He turned her round to him. A little weak sunlight played off the waves uncovering the shiny ancient stones of the causeway.
‘Because otherwise, my darling, how on earth could I bear to go?’
Polly held Neil close to her in the sidecar. Patrick had signed him off, and approved very much of her decision to take him back to the sanctuary. Get a puppy, he had advised. Something bred by evolution for thousands of years to make a good pet. Polly had looked at him with narrowed eyes until he had looked away first. He had also begged her to make him some bread for his freezer in return for the outstanding operation bill, which Polly had explained she couldn’t pay for a little while.
‘It has genuinely done terrible things to my quality of life,’ said Patrick. ‘We took you for granted, Polly.’
Polly shrugged. ‘Life changes,’ she said. ‘These things happen.’
Patrick looked at her. The spark had gone right out of her.
‘It doesn’t always seem fair, though.’
‘That’s because it isn’t,’ said Polly, dully. ‘It’s not meant to be. No one promised anything.’
She glanced down at Neil, who was absent-mindedly trying to eat some gauze he’d found on Patrick’s desk. It had unrolled, and he was chasing it.
‘He’ll be okay,’ said Patrick, reading her thoughts. ‘He’ll be fine. It will be fine.’
‘How many times does he have to fly back before I can keep him?’ asked Polly suddenly.
Patrick sighed. ‘Polly…’
‘I mean it. How many times?’
‘It doesn’t work like that,’ said Patrick. ‘You have to let him go. The more time he spends with other puffins, the more his natural instincts will come to the fore. He’s not a cuddly toy. You’re not in a Disney film.’
‘I am, actually,’ said Polly. ‘I’m in that bit in Fantasia where it all goes horribly wrong for Mickey Mouse and he starts to drown and all those mops keep hitting him.’
‘Now don’t think like that,’ said Patrick. ‘Animals are only ever our guests. We are absolutely so lucky to have them, and they stay with us for a time and make our lives better, and then it’s over.’
Polly nodded. But she didn’t believe him.
The same cheery Kiwi girl they’d met before was still working at the puffin sanctuary up on the north coast, standing square in her khaki shorts, curly hair pulled back in an unflattering pigtail.
‘Hello,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Did you find another one?’
‘No, it’s the same one,’ said Polly stiffly. She’d been worried that Neil would get anxious being back here again, but he was dozing peacefully in his box.
‘Oh yeah!’ said the girl. ‘I remember you now! Homing puffin. Amazing.’
She picked Neil up out of his box. He regarded her sleepily.
‘You’ve been in the wars, young man,’ she said, looking at his scars. ‘What happened?’
‘Attacked by a cat,’ said Polly.
The girl nodded.
‘Yeah, you have to watch for that. That’s why he’ll be best back at sea.’
Polly nodded numbly. It’s not for ever, she told herself. It’s not for ever.
‘Hey, you,’ she said to the little bird, bringing her nose up close to his beak. ‘It’s time to go on your holidays, okay?’
Neil eeped and looked around him with interest. There were very few puffins on Mount Polbearne; the seagulls had pretty much staked out their territory. He glanced back at Polly with a puzzled look.
I will see him again, thought Polly. She had to think this. I will see him again. Because otherwise I cannot cope.
She kissed him very briefly, and then the Kiwi girl put him down on the rocks, next to some little pools where puffins were already congregating. The noise of the birds filled the air; there was guano spattered against the rocks. They seemed, undeniably, to be having the most wonderful time together. Nearby, excited children in cagoules had gathered to watch them being fed a huge meal of fish. Other flocks tore across the sky in groups, tumbling and wheeling in their freedom; dancing on the gusts of wind.
It was Huckle who bent down quickly, checking that Neil still had his Huckle Honey tag from a long time ago, and buried his face in the little bird’s feathers.
It was Huckle who watched him on his way, taking one tentative, slightly wobbly step, then another, then standing on the side of the rock pool like a child on his first day of school, shooting sideways glances at the other puffins, inching steadily closer to them whilst attempting to appear nonchalant. It was Huckle who, completely without embarrassment, blew him a kiss.
‘Go, sweet baby,’ he said. ‘On you go.’
Polly, by contrast, felt frozen. She couldn’t move. She flashed back to Neil playing all by himself, so lonely by the rock pool outside the lighthouse, and damped the feeling down immediately. He would come back. She gripped on to Huckle’s hand so tightly he almost yelped. But instead, he just squeezed back.
‘Well, if we’re going to do it, we should do it all at once,’ Huckle had said, which had made a ton of sense when they were discussing it in the lighthouse by candlelight, all cosy and cuddling and getting ready for bed, but absolutely bloody none when they were actually standing at the railway station three days later.
Polly had insisted on getting the cab to the station with him; there was a bus that would take her back. Well, there was one bus a day. She didn’t know when it was, but she really didn’t care. As long as Huckle was on Cornish soil she had to be with him.
‘What are you doing to my phone?’ he protested, as she fiddled with the buttons.
‘I’m putting in a Google alert for Mount Polbearne,’ she said. ‘So you can see what we’re up to.’
He laughed. ‘But nothing is what we’re up to,’ he said. ‘That’s why we like it here.’
Polly looked at him.
‘It’s just a reminder,’ she said. ‘The last time you went, I really did think I would never see you again.’
‘I know,’ said Huckle, taking back his phone, and tossing his kitbag over his shoulder. It had been his father’s in Vietnam, and he had never used anything else. ‘But this time you know you will. It’s just a job. A hard, boring job, and then I will be back again with big bunches of cash and be a kept man who dabbles in honey.’