Little Beach Street Bakery Read online

  ‘Hello?’ she said cheekily into the phone, much more confidently than she felt. ‘How are YOU doing?’

  ‘Not so good,’ came a voice, dourly.

  ‘Chris?’

  ‘Well, yes, who did you think it would be?’ He sounded low, defensive.

  ‘Um, no, of course. Hello! How are you doing?’

  Polly’s new, hard-won happiness suddenly dropped away and she felt her leg twisting round on its ankle with awkwardness. After everything they’d been through, everything she’d tried… She remembered what Kerensa had said about everyone being worried about him.

  ‘Hey. Are you okay?’ she said.

  ‘Well I hear you are,’ Chris said heavily.

  Polly looked round the little bakery. Its windows were still cracked. But it had character.

  ‘Um, you know, it’s been a struggle,’ she said quickly. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘What do you think I’m up to? I’m living at my mum’s trying to get my life back together.’

  ‘Is she well?’ asked Polly. Chris’s mum had always liked her, but her face had taken on a drawn, hunted look as things had started to go wrong.

  She felt Chris scowl down the telephone.

  ‘She says she’s getting fed up with me. Like you did.’

  ‘Chris,’ said Polly, trying her best not to get riled, ‘I didn’t get fed up with you. Things went wrong, remember?’

  There was a long pause.

  ‘Yeah, of course I remember,’ he said. He sounded bitter.

  Polly bit her lip.

  ‘So, I thought I’d maybe come and see you, yeah?’ he continued defensively, as if he expected her to say no.

  She thought about the little flat, and everything that was going on, and how she was waiting to hear from Tarnie. This wasn’t ideal timing. But of course she had to see him; of course she did.

  ‘Well?’ he said, when she didn’t reply immediately. ‘What’s up, moved on?’

  Polly knew it was Chris’s insecurities coming out in the harsh words.

  ‘Um, well, no, you know… Of course you should come. Please. Do.’

  ‘Kerensa says you’re out in the sticks on some crazy island.’

  ‘Does she?’

  ‘I could do with a bit of piece and quiet. My mum’s doing my head in.’

  Polly felt frustrated. She couldn’t help it. She was finally moving on, getting past it; she had barely thought about Chris, if she was absolutely honest with herself, had buried the sting and the hurt and got on with other things. But that wasn’t fair on Chris.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Come whenever you like.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  The speed with which the Little Beach Street Bakery (so called to differentiate it from Mrs Manse’s establishment, even though that was only larger by about three square feet) took off surprised everyone, not least Polly.

  She experimented every day with different flavours, and soon learned what worked well. Chorizo was a massive hit, even if she had to order it from the mainland and nobody knew what it was; corn fritters likewise. Anything that looked even vaguely like pizza would sell out before ten o’clock in the morning.

  Polly was thinking that she was going to need an assistant pretty soon, as the tourists started to flock across the causeway, but the long hours on her feet were offset by the joy she felt at two o’clock when all the stock was sold and she could clean up. On a couple of occasions, trying to avoid everyone in the village knowing their business, she hopped upstairs to be with Tarnie, who was also free in the afternoons, and they grabbed some time together, the sun streaming through the windows, the air full of the smell of salt. But they didn’t seem to be a couple as such, she noticed: they didn’t go out for dinner – where would they go? They sometimes joined the others in the pub, but they couldn’t quite handle the ribbing and would seat themselves apart.

  Nevertheless, Polly felt good. She felt the gradual stirring of her body back to life as the days grew warmer and warmer and the summer became beautifully, properly hot and the little town came to life. She would wake every morning with the sun’s first pink rays, to knead and grow the bread, to try new things, to savour the smells, to put on the coffee, to greet her new friends, and catch up on village gossip. Everyone quickly got into the habit of stopping by, especially when she bought paper cups for the good coffee machine and started selling that too. Patrick would drop in to complain about mangy cats; Muriel would appear declaring that her feet were killing her; Andy from the pub would amble over just before lunchtime to pick up rolls for his barbecues, and Huckle would drop off his honey.

  The tourists would flood in, looking surprised to find such a lovely place, and Polly would happily listen to the jingle of the till. When she carried the takings over to the other shop, Mrs Manse would grunt at her, but Polly soon learned that if she made the older woman a cup of tea, she had absolutely no objection to listening to the gossip second hand, making occasional tutting noises. Polly wouldn’t in a million years have called it a friendship, but it was definitely well en route to a thaw.

  And every night she would fall into bed with the sunset, exhausted from hard work, getting browner and feeling better and stronger every day, her old life receding like the waves on the little sandy beach just round from the old lighthouse, where she and Muriel occasionally escaped for a much-needed sit-down and natter.

  And now Chris was coming, bringing that old life to Polbearne.

  Polly looked carefully at the sofa – her treasured sofa – and pulled it out and made it up into a bed, feeling apprehensive.

  He’d called to say when he was getting here and she realised, without even needing to glance at her tidal chart any more, that the causeway would be under water then. She told him this and he said, well, it was too late, he had set off now, and she’d sighed and said all right, she’d figure something out.

  Down on the harbour Tarnie was nowhere to be found, but Jayden was unfurling nets, in the most unenthusiastic way possible, and jumped up when she offered him some extra buns to take her over the causeway and pick up Chris.

  It was a fine afternoon, just starting to turn to pink on the distant horizon, when they set off across the water, which had washed steadily over the cobbles of the causeway until every stone disappeared and they were an island once more. The seabirds were calling and the mainland seemed very far away, and Polly sat in the back of the boat – she clambered aboard with ease nowadays; she was as comfortable with getting on to a boat as she would be getting in a car – and grinned as Jayden gunned the little engine.

  ‘You are the Formula 1 of tiny little boats,’ she said, and he smiled appreciatively.

  ‘You’re the second run I’ve done today,’ he said. ‘I’m starting up the taxi service again.’

  In the summer, the fishing crews ran the tender as an unofficial taxi cab to ferry stranded daytrippers back to their mainland campsites and hotels after they’d been tempted to stay too long at the Mount Inn. The set price was as much as they could get away with, with the only stipulation being that all cash thus fleeced was then put behind the bar and the rounds shared.

  ‘You’re basically pirates,’ Polly had said when she had learned of it, and they had all grinned and nodded in agreement.

  ‘Been busy?’ said Polly. There weren’t many incomers yet, and the locals knew the tide times like the back of their hands.

  ‘Aye,’ said Jayden. ‘I took Tarnie back to see his —’

  Polly wasn’t really concentrating. In fact, there was every chance that if Jayden hadn’t cut himself off very obviously and blushed like a demon, he’d have got away with it.

  He could have said ‘new boat’ or ‘allotment’ or literally anything that came into his head, but Jayden’s head could be a large, cloudy expanse sometimes, and instead he stood there, bright pink, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck and his mouth agape like a fish.

  Polly didn’t notice at first. Then she idly traced the conversation backw
ards and sat up, swallowing hard.

  ‘His what, Jayden?’ she said, trying to make her voice sound calm and unconcerned. Inside, her heart had started to race.

  ‘Er, his nothing,’ said Jayden, hopeful that she might leave him alone.

  ‘No, not nothing, Jayden,’ said Polly in a prim voice. She looked at him straight on, but he could barely meet her gaze.

  There was a long silence. Polly wasn’t going to break it.

  ‘Um,’ said Jayden eventually as they drew closer to the mainland. Polly could already see Chris’s mum’s little white Polo in the car park.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Um… his wife.’ He muttered the last words in a rush, his eyes fixed on the bottom of the boat.

  ‘His…’ Polly had to make absolutely sure. ‘Jayden, did you just say “his wife”?’

  Jayden nodded his head guiltily.

  ‘Tarnie’s married?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘And you knew this?’

  More staring at the floor.

  ‘Aye.’

  Polly felt the blood rush to her head and realised her hands were shaking. Well, she supposed this explained why they hadn’t progressed much beyond the occasional drink. Something else occurred to her.

  ‘And… can I assume that everyone in town knows this?’

  Jayden shrugged.

  Polly swore, loudly, and threw a pebble that was lying in the boat into the water.

  ‘Oh for crying out loud. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Not my business,’ mumbled Jayden.

  Polly thought furiously. She hadn’t asked… well, it had never occurred to her that she needed to, and he didn’t wear a ring – mind you, that would be dangerous in his job anyway.

  She always used to double-check with those flashy chancers she and Kerensa came across in bars in Plymouth in their younger days: the naval officers on shore leave looking for a bit of fun; the businessmen in town. But of course recently it had never mattered to her; she and Chris had been together for so long. It was always Kerensa doing all the heavy lifting; Polly gave off an ‘I’m taken’ vibe, and it had worked just fine… And now she’d made the most amateur, rookie mistake of all. She felt unbelievably stupid.

  ‘Oh bloody hell,’ she said. ‘BLOODY hell. I can’t believe nobody told me. Why didn’t Mrs Manse tell me?’ She answered her own question. ‘Because she doesn’t like me. Why didn’t Huckle tell me?’

  ‘That weird American?’ said Jayden. ‘Why would he know?’

  ‘What’s she like?’ said Polly. ‘Oh God, tell me they don’t have children.’

  Jayden shook his head.

  ‘She doesn’t like the fishing,’ he said. ‘She lets him work the season, keeps house back in Looe. He comes and goes.’

  ‘FRIG,’ said Polly. ‘He must have thought I was easy pickings.’

  Jayden looked heartbroken.

  ‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘I think you’re nice.’

  ‘Thank you, Jayden,’ said Polly.

  They were coming in to the jetty and Polly hadn’t discovered half of what she needed to know.

  ‘So does he do this every summer?’ she demanded. ‘Find a newbie and go for it? Am I just this year’s model? Oh God, that island. He probably goes there all the time.’

  Anyone less like a practised seducer than Tarnie she would have found hard to imagine. But then again, maybe that was his special skill. Making himself seem all rough and unsure, whilst knowing what he was doing the entire time.

  Jayden shook his head firmly.

  ‘Neh,’ he said. ‘He’s scared stiff of Selina. I’ve never seen him do this before, honest.’

  Polly glared at him.

  ‘It’s true,’ he said.

  As the boat approached, Chris got out of the car, the breeze slapping spray against his forehead.

  ‘This your boyfriend?’ said Jayden.

  ‘Not quite,’ said Polly. ‘Good God, you’re all sex maniacs.’

  She hauled herself up on to the jetty, furious but knowing she had to put it behind her for now, block it out of her head. It briefly occurred to her that if she had been tempted to feel a little bit smug when meeting Chris, that had now been well and truly kicked to the kerb.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Polly studied her ex, trying to ignore the ferment inside her. He looked different. Only three months apart, but it seemed longer. He didn’t look quite as pale and pasty as he had when the business was going under. His hair needed cutting, but it rather suited him a little longer. He had regained all the weight he had lost, and added a bit more, and the bags under his eyes appeared to be there for good. He was wearing an old checked shirt and jeans that looked slightly too small for him.

  ‘Hey,’ he said warily.

  Chris for his part was struck by the change in Polly. She seemed distracted; rangier. Her skin had taken on a flattering light tan from being outside; her strawberry-blonde hair was casually pulled up in a ponytail, as if she didn’t care who saw her. Fronds tumbled round her face; the effect was pretty. She too was in old jeans, and a red T-shirt with powdery stuff on it; he assumed it must be flour. She looked younger than she had done; less strained. He felt a guilty stab, suddenly; he had had a lot to do with that.

  ‘Hey,’ she said. They looked at each other awkwardly, not sure what the right form of greeting was after so long apart. Then she said, ‘Come here, you’ and opened her arms, and he gave her a tentative hug. Polly noticed immediately the familiar smell of him; to Chris, Polly smelled different – there was a scent of baking, a hint of salt water.

  ‘Wow,’ he said finally. ‘You look really good.’

  It suddenly struck Polly that she hadn’t made an effort for him coming. In the early days she would have made a big deal about getting done up for him; chosen what to wear carefully and put on lots of make-up. Now she only had a smear of lipstick on. She realised why – partly because it hadn’t occurred to her, and partly because of course she had thought she was dating somebody else – and felt immediately foolish. She tried to banish Tarnie to the back of her mind. She couldn’t think about that just now.

  ‘Er, well,’ she said. ‘Thanks. So do you.’

  There was an uneasy pause, then Jayden coughed and reminded them that when the tide went out again he had to take a really awkward route round the headland, and Polly scampered down into the boat. Chris followed with his overnight bag, rather more clumsily.

  ‘So you’ve got your sea legs, then,’ he said, and Polly just smiled, whilst inside she wanted to die.

  Jayden, obviously mindful of the trouble he’d caused already, was completely silent on the way back, with the result that it felt not unlike being rowed across the Styx by the ferryman. As they rounded the point into the bay, Polly looked at Chris, gratified by the expression on his face as the first rays of sunset hit the little town and made the slate and stone glow golden. The windows glinted, the cobbles shone, and the masts of the boats chimed.

  ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Is this it? It’s really pretty.’

  Polly smiled proudly. ‘I know.’

  ‘But you’re in the middle of bloody nowhere.’

  Behind her, Polly could feel Jayden scowling.

  ‘That depends on where you’re standing,’ she said. ‘A lot of people like it this way.’

  ‘What’s it like in the winter?’

  Polly thought back to the hammering storms and wild loneliness of earlier in the spring.

  ‘Cosy,’ she said quickly.

  Chris looked unconvinced and took out his phone, seeming surprised when he couldn’t get a signal.

  Jayden dropped them off without another word, just a slightly apologetic glance in Polly’s direction, which she didn’t reciprocate. One thing at a time. She didn’t know what she was going to do when she saw Tarnie, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  ‘I thought we might go for a drink,’ she said, wishing suddenly that there wasn’t just the one pub in the entire town. But Tarnie was over
on the mainland anyway and she hadn’t heard from Huckle in weeks.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Chris. ‘Do they do fish and chips? I’d love some proper fish and chips.’

  ‘They certainly do!’ said Polly, glad that, so far at least, he didn’t seem to have come to Mount Polbearne just to give her a hard time.

  They put Chris’s bag upstairs in the flat above the bakery. It had become a lot more cosy and pleasant since she’d started fixing up downstairs; the ovens kept it toasty warm, and it no longer felt damp and dank as it had done. She’d also – Tarnie had driven her – gone to the storage place one Wednesday afternoon and fetched her pictures, books and rugs, all the things Chris had never wanted in his minimalist paradise. There was now a warm red rug on the floor, and rows of books on rough brick and plank shelves, and some abstract landscapes that Chris had said looked like a child had done them, but Polly had liked them for exactly that reason. Cushions were scattered on the impeccable grey sofa. The effect was cluttered, but inviting and cosy.

  ‘Wow,’ said Chris, his face constricting. ‘Ha. This is a bit of a change from the Plymouth flat.’

  Polly gave him a sideways glance.

  ‘I mean, it’s lovely.’

  ‘Tea?’ she said, fetching out her mismatched crockery and the leftover buns from lunchtime.

  Chris nodded, and she laid the table by the big window, where the sunset was now making an enormous pink and purple display, as if showing off just for them.

  ‘So,’ she said gently as she put her cup down.

  Chris stared into his own cup, then out of the window.

  ‘You’re running that bakery downstairs?’ he asked in disbelief.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know it doesn’t look like much, and I’m running it for someone else, but you know…’

  ‘How can you even bake for that many?’

  Polly shrugged. ‘It’s just practice. You know… all those weekends…’

  She didn’t have to finish the sentence. All the weekends he hadn’t come home from work, or insisted that they couldn’t go out as he was too stressed, or was recovering from a dreadful hangover after attempting to drown his sorrows, a technique that rarely worked well, or for long.