Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 56

‘Watch the rivets,’ he said, somewhat hoarsely.
Later, Neil played for hours in the terrible soapy mess they left on the bathroom floor.
Huckle dozed, woke, glanced at his watch. It was early in England; she wouldn’t be awake yet. He wanted time for a long chat; to tell her how much he missed her whilst also breaking it to her that he would be a little while yet. He wished he hadn’t pushed her to take Neil to the sanctuary. He knew she thought the little puffin would come back any moment. Huckle didn’t.
Last year Neil had been a baby, making his way home to the person he thought was his mummy. This year he was a teenager; he no longer had any of the soft, ticklish brown puffling feathers Polly had loved rubbing. Huckle reckoned that girl – or other boy – puffins were going to be a much more interesting proposition. He wished Polly had a little company, particularly now Kerensa had gone back to work full time.
Hours later, with dawn slowly beginning to light the sky, and the men up and stirring in the yard, Huckle hauled himself painfully out of bed, washed his face in the little stand-alone sink, brushed his teeth, shrugged himself into his dungarees and padded downstairs in search of the strongest coffee available before he headed out to work. He had to leave all thoughts of Mount Polbearne far, far behind him. It would be a long time before he was going home.
Chapter Fifteen
It didn’t take long for Nan the Van to become a massive source of interest to the local community. There were not many vehicles on Mount Polbearne, and even less for children to do. Someone had suggested putting a swing park in the grounds of the ruined church at the top of the town, but this had been vetoed on the grounds of the whole World Heritage Site thing getting in the way. It was disappointing, but they did, everyone realised, have a point, in terms of what a see-saw might look like on the ancient silhouette of the proud tidal island community.
So coming to see the van became quite the outing, and Polly found herself most days trying to prise a child off the terribly tempting metal step to the cab, and considering a ‘Do Not Climb’ sign. Of course everyone being local and friends of hers, they didn’t consider for a moment that she might not be in the mood to have their children climbing all over her van, and Polly couldn’t possibly risk turning into Mrs Manse and telling them not to. So she just tried not to wince too much when they scuffed it.
She got Reuben round the first time she attempted to fire up the oven. He was furious she hadn’t taken him with her when she went to buy the van.
‘I’d have got it down for you,’ he said crossly. ‘You know I am totally the best at business and all of that. You were very dumb, Polly. That cost you a lot of money.’
Polly nodded.
‘So what did you get it for?’
‘Oh, better than half price,’ said Polly airily. Reuben was silent for two seconds, which was about the maximum time Polly had ever known him silent.
‘Huh,’ he said. ‘Well, I could totally have done better than that.’
He could have, too. Polly dreaded to think about poor Evan, left in his tatty little house, playing his computer, with two pounds fifty from Reuben counted out in coppers in his pocket.
‘I know,’ she said, then turned to him with her most appealing look. ‘But I thought you’d probably be best at lighting the oven.’
She had borrowed the fire extinguisher – the really big one, for if the lighthouse got bombed by a foreign power or a plane crashed into it – just for safety. It had taken her half an hour to lug it down the stairs.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I think I’m ready.’
In fact she was more than ready. Selina had wandered over early that morning, pretending to be passing but actually hoping to be invited in, which she was, and found Poll, unable to help herself, making up a large batch of fresh salty ciabatta, and a dark round campagnarde loaf. And thirty-two buns. And a Swiss roll.
‘Are you having a party?’ asked Selina, who rolled up her sleeves happily and joined in.
‘No,’ said Polly. ‘It’s really just a rehearsal. A practice. I got slightly carried away, I think.’
‘You think?’ said Selina. ‘Maybe if five thousand people turn up to hear Jesus speaking…’
Polly sighed. ‘I know. I’ve missed it.’
Selina stayed and chatted until Reuben turned up and they went down with the fire extinguisher.
‘Who are you?’ said Reuben rudely.
‘This is Selina,’ said Polly carefully. ‘She was married to Tarnie, the fisherman.’
‘You had a lovely party for him last year,’ added Selina. ‘It was really appreciated.’
‘Oh yes!’ said Reuben. ‘I remember you! You look a bit hot for a fisherman’s wife.’
‘REUBEN,’ said Polly. ‘Don’t be Reuben-y.’
‘I’m making a perfectly reasonable observation. He looked like a hairy stick. She looks hot.’
Polly’s hand flew to her mouth. But to her utter amazement, Selina burst into giggles.
‘He did!’ she laughed. ‘He did look like a hairy stick.’
Now Polly felt insulted on Tarnie’s behalf.
‘I thought he was nice-looking,’ she said. ‘Lovely blue eyes.’
‘Yes, but you know. Quite a lot of hair. On a stick.’ Selina was still laughing. ‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘Nobody has been rude about him for SO LONG.’
‘See!’ said Reuben. ‘Polly thinks she knows what I should say.’
‘I don’t!’ said Polly. ‘I mean, on balance, yes, I would probably err on the side of being polite about somebody who only died a year ago.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Selina. ‘I’m not in the least bit offended. I’m cheered up, in fact. Are you going to light the oven in the van? I’ve made tons of stuff.’
Selina’s part in the process had in fact been confined to a bit of dough-rolling, but Polly didn’t mention this.
‘I certainly am,’ said Reuben. ‘Stand well back.’
He stoked up the wood-burner, which was enhanced and super-heated by gas flames at the back and sides. It really was a state-of-the-art piece of equipment: it heated quickly, but still gave a fantastic, wood-smoked flavour to everything. A chimney with a little point came out of the top of the van, and they kept the side counter propped open for extra ventilation.