Little Beach Street Bakery Read online

  The coach they were on was quiet, nobody quite sure what to expect. Polly sat next to Kerensa and in front of Patrick and his wife.

  ‘You’re not bringing the bird?’ Kerensa had asked back at the flat after the service.

  ‘Um,’ Polly had replied. Secretly she wanted Neil there for comfort. Also, Tarnie had liked him a lot. They had compromised on not for the service, but yes for the wake. Kerensa had changed into a sun dress but Polly decided not to; it felt disrespectful.

  ‘No,’ said Kerensa. ‘It’s disrespectful not to go and have an amazing time. He would have liked that.’

  ‘I think he’d have liked to still have been here,’ said Polly.

  ‘Yes, having a good time at a fantastic party thrown by an idiot,’ said Kerensa, looking in the mirror while putting on more lipstick.

  Polly hugged her.

  ‘Thank you for all your support,’ she said.

  ‘What support?’ said Kerensa. ‘I thought you were a total moron coming out here. I thought you’d be back in ten days, crying, with your grey sofa. In fact…’

  ‘What?’ said Polly.

  Kerensa fiddled with her phone, then showed it to Polly.

  ‘What is that?’ she said, looking at the picture of a nice house.

  ‘It’s a house,’ said Kerensa. ‘In the…’ She cleared her throat before she could bear to say the word. ‘In the suburbs.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I was thinking about buying it, you idiot. For when you came back. So you’d stop being so bloody stubborn and come and live with me. I’ve missed you, you doof.’

  Polly flung her arms around her again.

  ‘I love you,’ she said.

  ‘I know,’ said Kerensa, hugging her back. ‘But even with everything that’s happened, I still think you’re happier here.’

  Polly started to well up again. ‘Oh God…’

  ‘It’s true, though, isn’t it?’ said Kerensa. ‘It’s like you’re really living, for the first time in years.’

  They clutched each other in front of the mirror, and for a second they were teenagers again, sneaking out of Polly’s tiny bedroom clutching bottles of alcoholic ginger beer.

  ‘Let’s go get ’em,’ said Kerensa. ‘Don’t let me get super-pissed, I don’t want that weird American midget pawing at me.’

  ‘And don’t let me get super-pissed and accidentally say something awful to Selina,’ said Polly.

  Kerensa gave her a look. ‘What about pawing tall, hunky blond Americans?’

  Polly rolled her eyes. ‘I cannot imagine him getting super-pissed enough to even think about me.’

  Kerensa smiled. ‘Anyway, are you bringing that bird or not?’

  Neil eeped at them.

  ‘Of course I am. He’s already wearing his bow tie,’ said Polly.

  Now it was Kerensa’s turn to roll her eyes.

  The coaches – there were three of them – wound round the warm golden hills and headed towards evening. Singing could be clearly heard emerging from at least one of them, which indicated that several of the men had come out of the service and headed straight to the pub. Patrick was fascinated by Neil’s story, even if he was in agreement with Kerensa that he probably oughtn’t to be wearing a bow tie.

  ‘It’s smart,’ said Polly. ‘He can wear it to greet his host, then I’ll take it off so he can play.’

  Patrick smiled. ‘Excellent. I think everyone is going to need cheering up.’

  The secret turn-off to Reuben’s beach was less secret tonight; it was lit up with lanterns, beaming in the narrow little road. Two large men wearing headpieces stood at the entrance with high-beam torches and unfriendly expressions. They glanced over the coach and had a word with the driver, then waved them in.

  The long lane down to the beach was entirely lit up with braziers either side, giving the early evening a cheery, exciting glow. Already Polly could hear the sound of distant drumming. She looked nervously at Kerensa, who was already wearing her ‘desperately unimpressed’ look.

  ‘Come on,’ Polly said. ‘This is going to be something special. I think you’re right; for Tarnie’s sake we just have to go with it. You don’t have to talk to him.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Kerensa. ‘Cor. I reckon he’s spent a FORTUNE on this.’

  Someone with luminous paddles directed the coaches in and parked them up, and everyone descended nervously in ones and twos.

  ‘This way, this way!’ shouted a bossy woman in a high-vis jacket, indicating the pathway brightly lit by candles across the dunes. They followed it, some of the women stumbling already in their heels. Polly took her sandals off. The sand was still warm beneath her toes from the heat of the day. It felt delicious.

  Over the last dune, where the beach became visible, everybody stopped and stared.

  ‘Oh my,’ said Kerensa.

  The entire beach was strung, somehow, with bright white lanterns. The little café had had a huge covered bar attached to the side of it. There were lines of black-and-white-clad waiting staff standing with large trays of drinks, and already the beach was full of the most glamorous, beautiful-looking people – obviously friends of Reuben – in chic outfits, chatting animatedly and starting to dance. There was a huge DJ stage set up, but at this point a band was playing some sensuous reggae. The most amazing barbecue smells hung heavy in the air; the atmosphere was stupendous.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said one of the Polbearne lot, a little intimidated. This was a far cry from their normal world of the pub and the sea.

  ‘Well, this is what I call a send-off,’ said someone else, but they still didn’t move.

  Finally, the waiters stepped forward to serve them all with champagne. Reuben picked up two flutes himself and brought them over to Polly and Kerensa. The two stunningly lovely girls he’d been talking to looked instantly pouty.

  ‘Hi. Welcome to my brilliant wake for Tarnie. It’s very kind of me to do it,’ he said, presenting them with their glasses.

  ‘Do you buy yourself attention like this often?’ said Kerensa.

  ‘Stop being rude,’ ordered Polly. She gave Reuben a hug and a kiss. ‘You were a hero, a true hero, and this will be the best send-off ever. His family will never forget it.’

  ‘I know,’ said Reuben.

  There were boys still out on the surf, where the tide was high, but when they finished they would come in, strip off, have a beer. The barbecue turned out to be a pit in which whole pigs, rubbed with spices, were being roasted and expertly crisped into rolls. On the other side was a massive bonfire, crackling up to the sky, to keep them warm later in the evening. There were pictures of Tarnie up in the covered bar. Polly paused in front of one of them, a candid shot of him mending a net. It had been taken at exactly the same angle as how she used to see him from the flat; it was like she was looking out of her window.

  The entire beach was lit up, but the most astonishing backdrop of all was the sky, bestowing a bright pink and purple sunset as if ordered in especially. Polly wouldn’t put much past Reuben.

  Waiters circulated with sushi and other hors d’oeuvres, but as soon as the band had a break and the DJ started up with ‘Get Lucky’, Polly and Kerensa realised what they wanted to do.

  Dancing was their escape, a way to deal with all their pent-up emotion. They danced as the sun went down, watching the boys mess about in the water; watching Muriel from the minimart drink too much too fast in excitement at being out before collapsing in a chair with a kindly-brought cup of tea; watching Archie and his wife standing shyly to the side, slightly overcome and very close to one another; watching John’s children charging about shrieking and laughing, chasing each other with water pistols that seemed to have been conjured from nowhere.

  They talked and laughed and made a million new friends, and danced with boys or with each other or on their own. Polly felt her shoulders free up, her cheeks ache with laughter in the midst of such sadness, her feet bare, her black dress floating out around her. It felt as i
f everyone there – those who had cheated death, who had cheated the calamity in their community – was intent on celebrating life and happiness and the sheer beauty around them, and it made Polly dance and twirl even faster.

  Huckle sipped his beer slowly, watching her. The party was full of beautiful young things – Reuben’s usual rent-a-mob of trust-fund hanger-ons, models and semi-professionals – but he wasn’t interested in any of them, even though he could tell from the looks and the flirtatious chat and dancing from some of the girls that they would like to turn the evening into something more. Huckle was six foot two, blond and blue-eyed; finding girls had never been a problem for him. Finding a girl who wouldn’t break his heart, on the other hand…

  He thought back to Polly, pounding up the jetty the day Tarnie had not come home, and took another slow swig of his beer.

  Polly couldn’t have said how late it was, but the stars had changed position. The party wasn’t slowing down, though; if anything, it was getting more hectic, the bar serving faster, the food still circling, more and more people dancing, including a hugely successful boy band who’d been playing St Ives and had dropped in on their way back to London.

  Suddenly the DJ turned off his set and Reuben stood up to take the mike. There was mass cheering, and some of the girls jostled their way to the front to make sure he could see them there being supportive.

  ‘So, yeah, I know, greatest party of all time, right?’ he said nonchalantly.

  ‘Seriously, he’s like Kanye West without the humble, modest side,’ sniffed Kerensa, who’d sidled up. Her skin was shining from the dancing and her make-up had run a little, but it made her look rather endearing, Polly thought, younger and less carefully put together.

  ‘But we’re here to honour our brother Tarnie – and all our brothers who did come home.’

  ‘Thanks, Reuben!’ shouted one of the girls. Reuben smirked.

  Kerensa tutted. ‘Seriously.’

  ‘He did do an amazing thing,’ said Polly.

  ‘It’ll be even more amazing when people stop going on about it.’

  ‘So, anyway…’

  A fisherman from one of the other boats stood up.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ said Kerensa, who, Polly suddenly realised, was drunker than she’d thought. ‘He’s going to sing “My Way” or something.’

  The fisherman walked up to the mike, looking out nervously at the crowd of people. Everyone cheered. The rest of the fishermen went and stood beside him. Jayden was there in his wheelchair, looking thin and anxious, but also incredibly pleased to be there.

  ‘Um,’ said the man. ‘I just want to say thanks. To Reuben. But to each and every boat that went out looking for us.’

  A huge cheer went up.

  ‘To the tireless emergency services.’

  A clutch of very drunk ambulance drivers waved merrily.

  ‘To everyone who…’ His voice cracked a little and he raised his glass. ‘To everyone who never gave up on us.’

  ‘To everyone who never gave up,’ chorused the partygoers.

  Jayden was now pushed forward, and coughed anxiously. Apart from the distant waves, there was total silence.

  ‘And to say goodbye to our boy, these are a few words,’ he said, fumbling with a piece of paper, ‘from Robert Burns. He’s a poet.’

  He put his hand up in the direction of the sea.

  An honest man here lies at rest

  As e’er God with his image blest;

  The friend of man, the friend of truth,

  The friend of age, and guide of youth;

  Few hearts like his, with virtue warm’d,

  Few heads with knowledge so informed;

  If there’s another world, he lives in bliss;

  If there is none, he made the best of this.

  Next one of the fishermen struck a chord on his guitar, and the rest of them came forward. Polly didn’t recognise the song, but everyone else obviously did, as they all joined in.

  I wish I was a fisherman,

  Tumbling on the seas

  Far away from dry land

  And its bitter memories

  Casting out my sweet line

  With abandonment and love

  No ceiling bearing down on me

  ’Cept the starry sky above

  With light in my head

  You in my arms

  Woohoo!

  She felt Kerensa take her hand as the fishermen, strong and low, sang a further two verses, with everyone joining in lustily on the last lines. Just as they finished, a tiny piercing light shot across the horizon.

  ‘Look,’ said Polly, astonished that it was so late and the party had gone on for so long. ‘It’s dawn.’

  As the last notes of the guitar died away, the fishermen followed someone who appeared to be organising everything, who waved them all off the stage down towards the water’s edge, where there were sixteen Chinese lanterns – the number of men back home from the sea – and one larger one. Two men helped Jayden out of his wheelchair as the orange lanterns were lit, and the fishermen lifted them and let them sail high, high into the breaking dawn, lighting up the last stars in the sky.

  ‘Thank you to the sea,’ said Reuben, speaking simply for once. ‘For delivering our souls home. And look after our brother.’

  Everyone stood watching the floating beacons of light soar higher and higher over the waves. There was reverent silence for a second, then they all burst into a storm of cheering and applause.

  ‘And now: PARTY HARD!’ said Reuben. ‘That’s an order!’

  The DJ whipped immediately into a huge banging summer hit about wishing someone a good morning, and how they had to watch the sun come up, and everybody started dancing again, and hugging each other, and talking about how amazing it all was, especially when the DJ followed it up with ‘Praise You’.

  The young fishermen were suddenly celebrities as far as the London crowd were concerned. Polly passed Jayden in his wheelchair. She hadn’t even had a chance to talk to him; she knew he had a nurse keeping a very strict eye on him – he shouldn’t have been out of hospital at all, but Reuben had pleaded with them to make a special case. He was sitting next to a ravishing girl with dark hair and huge brown eyes who was nodding sympathetically as he described his terrible plight and how brave he’d been in the face of death. She kept putting out her hand and stroking his arm sorrowfully. Polly caught his eye and he gave her a huge wink. She smiled to herself.

  Over in the café, a crack team of chefs were serving up coffee and delicious-smelling bacon rolls along with Buck’s Fizz. Polly helped herself to breakfast and sat on a rock next to Huckle, who was watching the fishermen, surrounded by friends and family, bursting with happiness.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, pleased to see her. Very pleased. ‘Enjoying the party?’

  ‘It’s amazing,’ said Polly. She realised suddenly that she was starving; she hadn’t had much time to eat in the last week or so. ‘Everyone’s having such a good time.’

  Huckle smiled that low, lazy smile.

  ‘Are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh sure,’ he said. ‘I always have a good time.’

  In fact, he didn’t sound happy at all. Polly looked at him. The first rays of the sun were just starting to spread. One touched his hair, turning it golden. She thought about everything she’d learned about him. And how sure she was that it was he who had made Reuben take the boat out again. Reuben of course hadn’t mentioned that.

  ‘Do you?’ she said.

  ‘Well, put it this way,’ he said, looking out to sea. ‘If there’s a more beautiful place to be sad, I don’t know it.’

  She put down her Buck’s Fizz suddenly and turned towards him. His deep blue eyes gazed at her, unreadable as ever.

  Dammit, thought Polly suddenly. I have nothing to lose. She had already staked everything on coming here; on changing her life, on baking the bread. Every risk she had taken had paid off far more than if she’d stayed in Plymouth, living a safe life in a little flat
with a little job and a little mortgage. Every leap into the unknown… well. Her thoughts flitted briefly over Tarnie. Well, almost every leap.

  She shook her head. She was overthinking everything.

  ‘I…’ she said. She realised suddenly that her hands were shaking. Well, she had been up all night, she supposed. Lots of booze, not enough food. Down on the sand, the ambulance boys and girls were all tearing off their clothes and running screaming into the water. Five seconds later, it seemed like everybody was at it. There was a mass of people swimming and splashing. She smiled at the exuberance of it all. Their spot under the palm trees suddenly felt a lot quieter and more secluded, even if it was getting lighter every second.

  ‘I should…’ She half smiled.

  ‘You seem to be talking even slower than I do,’ said Huckle, but she could see a sudden tremble in his mouth, or was she imagining it? She steeled herself.

  ‘I should have liked… I should have liked to try and make you happy,’ she said. It came out in a rush, tailing off to a whisper, but she knew, as she looked up at him under lowered eyelids, that he understood. He took a deep, slow breath. Suddenly what had started on a whim was going to be terribly important for her to hear.

  ‘Polly,’ he said. The soft, treacly way he spoke her name made her feel as if she was setting herself up for disappointment. That he would apologise and explain – as he had done already – that he wasn’t in the market, that Candice had left him too raw, that they’d been through this.