by Jenny Colgan
She came and lay next to Huckle and helped him blow the ping-pong ball about, which drove Neil bananas. He’d eep and hop and get so cross they’d stop playing, whereupon he’d flutter down and push the ball straight toward them until they agreed to play with him again.
She cuddled up against Huckle’s warm body on the rug, relishing the incredibly unusual feeling of having nothing—absolutely nothing, apart from the morning run—planned for the rest of the week. It was too snowy to go out; there was no need to take any exercise, or organize or arrange anything. It was just hours of clear nothingness ahead, with little more to do than make love, watch films, eat Quality Street and drink fizz. That would do.
Chapter Forty-One
Early on New Year’s Eve, after Polly had done her rounds and was crawling back into bed, the phone rang deep in the bowels of the lighthouse.
“Kill them,” said Huckle. “Whoever it is. Seriously. I’m not answering the phone.”
They let it ring out. It went on for ages and ages. Huckle groaned.
“No,” he said. “No. Everything is exactly how I wanted it.”
Polly checked her phone, but as usual she couldn’t get a signal.
“It will be a sales call,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ve spoken to Mum today. Let’s just ignore them and they’ll go away.”
The ringing stopped as she smiled sleepily and cuddled up to Huckle even more closely. “See,” she said.
“You have magic powers,” said Huckle, leaning in to kiss her. The phone started again. It sounded oddly more insistent than before.
“Go away!” said Huckle.
Polly made a groaning noise. “Oh God, I’d better answer it.”
“If it’s Reuben or Kerensa, can you tell them we’re out of their ridiculous lives now? Please?”
“Why am I going downstairs anyway?” said Polly, wincing as the freezing air on the stairwell hit her.
“Because you’ll enjoy it so much more when you come back into the warm,” said Huckle. “I’ll build us a nest.”
Polly smiled and inched her way downstairs to pick up the heavy black Bakelite phone.
“Polly!”
“No,” said Polly.
“What do you mean, no?” said Reuben, offended.
“Whatever it is,” said Polly, “I’m not doing it. I’m kind of on holiday, which also includes feeding everyone in town. So. No.”
“Maybe I’m not calling you to get you to do anything for me.”
“Okay, so what is it?” said Polly.
“Ah,” said Reuben.
“NO!” said Polly. “Absolutely not. No. I’m not doing it.”
There was a pause.
“Polls . . .”
“No!”
“Because the thing is,” said Reuben, “you know I agreed to pay for you to cater Christmas? Well actually, technically speaking, Christmas morning and that box day thing you have after Christmas . . .”
“Christmas morning when you were at the hospital because your wife was giving birth and I was driving your mother-in-law?”
“Yeah,” said Reuben. “You see, you weren’t technically there.”
“That wasn’t my fault!” said Polly. “That was your baby decided to come early!”
“Yeah, nevertheless . . .” said Reuben.
“NO!”
“Because, you know, that puffin sanctuary is looking mighty hard up . . .”
It was absolutely freezing downstairs in the little office. Ice patterns had formed on the windows. Huckle had cleared the path down the stone steps to the harbor every morning, but the snow was still piling up. It was unusual for quite so much to lie on the island; normally the wind and the salt in the air cleared it quickly. But this year they were totally inundated.
Polly thought with some sadness about the Back to the Future triple bill they’d had scheduled for that afternoon. And then she thought of all the puffins that would be absolutely decimated if left to their own devices in Cornish waters. She sighed.
“What do you need?”
“I’ve got all the ingredients here,” said Reuben. “Just come over. Say hi to everyone. Herschel is dying to see you.”
“Is that how it’s going to go?” said Polly. “You’re going to use the baby to guilt me every time you want a sandwich until the end of time?”
“He is your only godson.”
Huckle crept down behind her with the duvet pulled around him.
“Work?” he said crossly.
“Bring Huckle,” said Reuben authoritatively down the phone.
“No!” said Huckle, but it was too late. Reuben had already hung up.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” said Polly. “Seriously. I don’t think being friends with those two is remotely good for us. And I don’t even know if we can get there.”
Huckle glanced out of the window.
“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue,” he said.
A tiny dot in the sky grew larger and larger and eventually came into focus, the noise growing louder and louder.
“He sent the helicopter?” said Polly. “This is utterly ridiculous. Honestly. For a few pastries!”
“The best pastries,” said Huckle, and Polly rolled her eyes.
The helicopter touched down carefully on the harbor front, which Polly was sure was entirely illegal. The snow had stopped, and it was a bright, freezing, crunchy day; a beautiful day in fact. Which didn’t change the fact that she didn’t want to be out in it at all.
The pilot beckoned to them to hurry up, and Polly pulled on a coat and grabbed her bag. Neil hopped up to the helicopter to have a look at it—he obviously thought it was a really big puffin—and Polly let him come inside. Huckle looked grumpy, then followed her out of the house.
“This is annoying,” he said. “Because obviously Reuben is being a total pain in the arse, but I’ve always really wanted to go in a helicopter.”
“Me too,” said Polly. They grinned at each other as the pilot gave them both a set of headphones and strapped them in, then off they went.
They held hands as the helicopter lurched sideways and they circled the lighthouse once; it was odd to see it veer away below them at an angle that felt quite close to being in the sea, which was beating up against the rocks with white-crested waves. There were very few fishing boats out today; even the men were taking a little time off to reconnect with their families at Christmas.
Mount Polbearne from above, under its mantle of snow, looked like a postcard, the little rambling cottages and streets jammed up against each other, tumbling over one another, all the way down the cobbles to the busy harbor, and Polly snapped some pictures on her phone.
She could see Muriel’s shop, still resolutely open when the rest of the world was taking a break. She saw Patrick out walking one of the stray dogs he seemed to collect around him at all times—he couldn’t bear to let an animal go to the pound or anywhere it might be put down, so often had the most motley collection of fleabags around his heels. She saw two of the toddlers of the town, done up like little Michelin men in their winter zip-up outfits, tumbling and playing with stones on the beach, whilst their parents clutched their arms tightly around themselves and—from the look of it—shot evil glances at the door of the Little Beach Street Bakery for being shut when they clearly needed hot chocolate now more than ever.
Then the helicopter turned and flew over the sea—Mount Polbearne was a proper island this morning, cut off completely, its own little world, and Polly felt, as she often did, a little pang for leaving it, even if it was only for the day.
“I’ve had worse commutes,” she told Huckle, who smiled back, enjoying the trip as much as she was.
They flew over the mainland of Cornwall, its rocky crags giving way to fertile fields, now all laid out in white stripes and white hedges; tangles of woodland as old as the legends of the land King Arthur once strode through silent under their blanket of snow; creatures deep in the undergrowth below. An owl searching for field
mice glanced up at them as they passed above. The few cars on the roads looked like toys; horses turned out loose in their fields started a little at the noise of the helicopter, which made Polly feel guilty.
Away from the coastal towns, it felt like the beautiful county was spread out below for them alone; almost no people, just the soft, silent countryside they had both taken so much to their hearts, and Huckle squeezed her hand tightly, and she returned it, as the sound of a church bell reached them through the roar, and then the northern tip of the county came into view on the horizon and the helicopter turned toward the great house on the top of the cliff, Reuben’s mansion, with its huge H painted on the ground. Reuben, Kerensa and the baby were out front, waving furiously.
“Okay, ready to go,” said Polly as they landed and thanked the pilot. Neil hopped around with a confused look on his face. Probably slightly noisier flying than he’d been used to.
Reuben and Kerensa looked utterly delighted; Kerensa far better than any woman who’d given birth less than a week ago had the right to. Baby Herschel-Lowin was sleeping happily in his father’s arms. Rhonda and Merv also came out to greet them. This felt odd; Polly had expected to be hustled into the kitchen to start getting on with things.
“What’s up?” she said.
Everyone was beaming at them in a slightly peculiar way, especially Kerensa. She and Reuben exchanged glances. Reuben’s staff were also lined up out front in a weird, presidential visit kind of a way.
“So anyway,” said Kerensa, “I was trying to . . . we were trying to find a way to say thank you. For your support. For everything you’ve done for us over the years. To give you a Christmas present.”
“I should say now,” said Reuben, “that this was mostly a way for Kerensa to keep shopping when she was all miserable about being pregnant.”
“Shut up,” said Kerensa, beaming happily at him.
“What’s going on?” said Polly, feeling nervous.
Kerensa came up and took both their hands.
“Look,” she said. “You absolutely don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“Do what?” said Polly with suspicion. Kerensa beamed and pulled her inside.
The house had once again been totally transformed. White orchids and lilies lined the entrance hall, their heavy scent hanging amongst the smell of cranberries and oranges that had filled the house throughout the Christmas season. There were runs of flowers up and down the circular banister. And ahead were rows of white seats with bows on the back, laid out in front of the huge conservatory . . .
There was a long silence.
“Oh,” said Polly, in deep shock. It couldn’t be. They couldn’t possibly mean . . .
Kerensa looked at her.
“Because you see,” she said, so excited she could barely get the words out. “Well. I wanted to thank you. For. You know. Everything. And so did lots of other people. And I know you were busy and didn’t want fuss and don’t like buying stuff and don’t have any money . . .”
“Thanks,” said Polly.
“And so I thought . . . when everything was really tough . . . I thought, why don’t we do it for you! Then you’ll be all married and you can just get on with your lives.”
“I can’t get married!” said Polly. “I need to lose half a stone and get everything arranged and grow my nails and . . .” She petered out.
“Of course you don’t have to,” said Kerensa, looking slightly concerned. “I mean, there’s a few people coming, but we can just have like a New Year’s party.”
“What do you mean, a few people?” said Polly, feeling panicky.
“Well. Obviously all our old crowd from school . . . and your college crowd . . . and your mum . . . and . . . Well, I wasn’t sure who to ask from the village, so I just invited everyone.”
“Everyone?”
“Well, yeah.”
“You invited every single person in the entire village?”
“They won’t all come,” said Kerensa uncertainly.
“They will,” said Polly. “Oh my God. Oh. No. Kerensa . . . I mean . . . I mean, it’s a fun idea and . . . I mean, I don’t know how you could possibly want to do this a week after having a baby . . .”
“Because I have the most awesome wife and baby in the world,” said Reuben smugly. “They can do anything.”
“Yeah, right,” said Polly. “But this is just . . . it’s just . . .”
Caterers arrived with a massive ice swan. They all stopped and watched it pass.
“Can’t you marry Jayden and Flora instead? They’re definitely up for it.”
Kerensa’s face fell.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I thought . . . I thought it would be an amazing idea. I thought you guys would be absolutely delighted. You know, to not have to worry about the stress and the cost and everything.”
“Stop talking about how skint we are,” said Polly. “Look, I’m sorry, Kerensa, I know you meant well, but I didn’t . . . I mean, we wouldn’t ever want a big thing . . .”
She paused.
“Are Huckle’s parents here?”
Kerensa didn’t say anything. Polly swore. Then she turned to look at Huckle.
“This is awkward, eh?” she whispered. “Shall we just tell them thanks, and maybe sneak out? Or stay for a bit, possibly . . .”
Huckle looked at her, straight into her eyes.
“Or,” he said quietly, “we could just do it.”
“You knew about this?”
“No,” he said. “But, you know. We’re here now.”
“I’m wearing dungarees! And thermal pants.”
“Ah,” said Kerensa. “I might be able to help you with that.”
“And, you know, WAXING, and my eyebrows need plucking and my hair is a mess and . . .”
Huckle blinked.
“I think you look beautiful,” he said.
And suddenly, for Polly, it felt like all the anxieties, all the frustrations and worries of keeping the bakery running and the lighthouse warm and her friends happy and dealing with her own deep-buried issues . . . it suddenly felt as if everything, every one of those was lifted from her shoulders, everything was taken away and the world seemed a brighter place, as the sun glinted off the snow outside and the huge fire crackled merrily in the grate, and all her fears about marriage, about that step, and what it meant, and what it had meant for her family, seemed to vanish as she looked at the handsome, open, guileless face of the man she absolutely adored . . .
And everything else fell away.
“And I would like to marry you,” he said.
“Are you sure you weren’t in on this?” said Polly suspiciously.
“I promise I wasn’t.” He shook his head. “Although my parents did mention they’d suddenly changed their plans.”
“So you had a hint?”
“Come on!” said Kerensa. “Come with me! I have lots of stuff to show you, all of which you can fit into but I can’t because my tits have exploded into milk-filled HHs and I still appear to look eight months pregnant despite the fact that the baby is officially out and not in any more.”
And she spirited Polly, whose head was in a whirl, upstairs to her room.
Chapter Forty-Two
Polly walked into the room.
“What the hell? What is this?”
Kerensa beamed with happiness.
“I know!” she said.
The dressing room annexe, normally full of Kerensa’s ridiculous collection of shoes and bags that Reuben insisted on buying her, had been completely transformed into a white boudoir. And in every available space a different style of wedding dress was hanging—strapless; lacy; a ridiculous princess number over the door.
“What . . . what is this?” Polly blinked.
“Choose one.”
And there, at a little table at the side, looking slightly concerned but sipping from a flute of champagne nonetheless, was Polly’s mum.
“Mum?” said Polly.
&n
bsp; Doreen stood up and they embraced.
“You knew about this?”
Her mother, who was all done up in a fuchsia suit that had last seen use in about 1987—and still fit—smiled and nodded.
“You have a very good friend in Kerensa.”
“What did you . . . I mean, are we really getting married, or is it a fake one?”
“We posted the banns for you,” said Kerensa. “They’ve been up in the church for six weeks.”
“Why did nobody tell us?”
“We swore everyone to secrecy and threatened them with not being invited. We knew there was absolutely no way you two heathens would be setting foot inside a church anyway. You have to go to the registrar in a couple of days, but apart from that, it’s the real thing, baby.”
Polly shook her head.
“And this is what you were doing all that time?”
Kerensa shrugged. “You know how miserable I was. I hated thinking about the baby; hated thinking about how I’d ruined my life. And I was worried, you know. Worried about you.”
“YOU were worried about ME?” said Polly.
“Yes! You had this fabulous guy standing right there and you were all like, oh, I’m too stressed out to get married, oh, I’m not ready, blah blah blah.”
“But he always knew I loved him,” said Polly.
“He’s a bloke!” said Kerensa. “Blokes don’t know ANYTHING unless you spell it out in foot-high letters and stick it in front of their noses. All he’d have been thinking is “Polly no marry Huckle. Huckle so sad. So so sad. Huckle go marry twenty-year-old.”’
“No he wasn’t,” said Polly.
“‘Huckle so sad and lonely!’”
“She’s right, you know,” said Doreen, and it was to Polly’s great credit that she didn’t immediately turn around and say what on earth would you know about it?
Kerensa beamed.
“My mum’s here too, saying I should have done it like this instead of dressing up like Princess Leia, and it’s actually even more annoying because she has a point.”
