Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery

by Jenny Colgan

  ‘Could you stop being so American for just a second?’ said Patrick, moving Neil swiftly back to the consulting table and listening to his heartbeat with a very small stethoscope. Huckle stood behind Polly and draped his huge arms around her, resting his great blond head on her little one. She held tightly on to his arms, trembling as she watched Patrick.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Patrick.

  ‘You smell amazing,’ whispered Huckle in her ear, to try and make her laugh, though right at this moment it wasn’t working.

  All three of them watched as Neil blinked once… twice, then opened his eyes and tried to wobble up.

  ‘Neil!’ breathed Polly. She broke the circle of Huckle’s arms and knelt down beside the operating table. ‘Neil. Are you okay?’

  Neil tried a very faint attempt at an eep. To Polly it was the sweetest sound she had ever heard. She stretched out a finger to scratch the feathers behind his ear and, just like he always did, he tried to move his neck to rub himself against her.

  Polly’s eyes filled with tears again.

  ‘Oh my God. Oh my God, he’s going to be all right.’

  She turned to Patrick, who was filling in a form.

  ‘Thank you!’ she said. ‘Thank you!’ She gave him a huge hug.

  ‘Um,’ said Patrick. ‘Have you got puffin sick on your trousers?’

  ‘Uh, yeah,’ said Polly.

  ‘Now it’s on my trousers.’

  ‘It is,’ said Polly. ‘Sorry about that. Can I hug you instead?’ she asked Huckle.

  ‘Not a chance,’ said Huckle. He bent down next to where Neil was lying, still a little confused, on the table.

  ‘Hey, little fella’,’ he said. ‘Hey, you. Good to have you back.’

  Neil eeped again, more strongly this time.

  ‘Yeah, he knows his daddy,’ said Huckle.

  ‘You’re not his daddy,’ said Patrick, shortly.

  ‘Can we take him home?’ said Polly.

  Patrick nodded.

  ‘I’ll write out your prescription for antibiotics… two drops, three times a day. I assume you have no trouble getting him to eat?’

  Polly shook her head.

  ‘And you absolutely have to keep him warm. But after that… I seriously think that the right thing to do is try the sanctuary again. Puffins live for thirty-five years, Polly. Thirty-five years to fly and hunt and flock and reproduce and do everything puffins are meant to do. It’s not too late for Neil.’

  ‘Jeez, he was serious, wasn’t he?’

  Polly was stunned that it was only lunchtime. She felt like a month had passed. Holding Neil in a shoebox Patrick had rustled up for her, she walked carefully down the street to the bakery. She wanted to sleep for a million years, but she couldn’t, of course. She had work to do. Lots of work; she’d missed the entire morning.

  ‘I saw you run past!’ said Jayden, standing in consternation behind the empty counter. ‘All I’ve had this morning are three dozen standard loaves and about fifty people yelling at me because they’re hungry.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Polly. ‘There was an accident.’

  Jayden’s eyes bulged.

  ‘Who? What happened?’

  ‘Neil got attacked,’ said Polly. Jayden’s hand flew to his mouth. ‘By a cat,’ she added. ‘A cat who lives upstairs from the bakery.’

  ‘She’ll have to get rid of it,’ said Huckle, looking worried.

  ‘I don’t think you can just tell people with cats to get rid of them,’ said Polly.

  Huckle shook his head.

  ‘I know, but I’m not comfortable with you down here and that thing upstairs.’

  ‘He needs to be by the oven,’ pointed out Polly, who still hadn’t put Neil down. She hadn’t told Huckle about Selina and Dubose either. ‘And he needs to be near me. We’ll protect him.’

  ‘We will,’ said Jayden, holding up a rolling pin and looking fierce.

  Huckle looked at them and sighed.

  ‘All right,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But be careful.’

  Polly nodded.

  ‘Don’t you have to be somewhere?’

  ‘Not if you need me.’

  ‘No, don’t worry about it,’ said Polly. ‘I’ll be okay. I’ll see you tonight. Go. The bees will be getting cross. And that’s no good. Cross bees.’

  ‘They were looking pretty annoyed,’ mused Huckle.

  ‘Well definitely go then. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Are you sure? You look incredibly pale.’

  ‘That’s because I am strawberry blonde,’ said Polly valiantly.

  Huckle looked at her for a long moment, then caressed her cheek.

  ‘Okay, darling. Take it easy. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ said Jayden when Huckle had gone. ‘Let me make you some tea.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Polly, as he disappeared into the back of the shop. ‘Also, can you get those spare kitchen trousers out? I think I need to change.’

  She looked down at Neil, who was eeping piteously to himself.

  ‘Oh what am I going to do with you?’ she said, popping the box on top of the oven, which was pleasingly toasty to the touch but not too hot through its great ancient cast-iron walls.

  The bell tinged. She looked up, for a moment not really focused on who was coming through the door. There was a pause, and a loud sniff.

  ‘What the fuck is that stink?’ came a loud, grating voice. ‘Jesus.’

  Polly blinked.

  ‘Bloody hell, this place reeks.’

  Polly’s heart plummeted.

  ‘Hello, Malcolm,’ she said glumly.

  ‘Seriously, what the hell is that smell?’

  ‘Um. A bird threw up on me,’ said Polly quietly.

  Malcolm was so horrified he just stared straight ahead.

  ‘A what?’

  Polly prayed that Neil would stay quiet.

  ‘A bird,’ she said. ‘I was just about to change.’

  ‘You came into a place where you handle and prepare food with vomit on you?’ said Malcolm. As if in answer to his question, Neil coughed and vomited again.

  Malcolm was not a handsome man, and anger made a deep purple flush spread right over his face, from his thick creased neck upwards. As Polly stared at him, helpless, he took out his phone.

  ‘Hello, Mum. Look. That girl. The one who’s running the bakery… No, not that one, the snotty one.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Yeah, well I’ve found the place completely empty, no bread, no cakes or nothing, AND she’s brought that damned bird in again… Yes, I did tell her. Yes, she’s had a warning. And wait till you hear this.’

  Polly stood dully waiting for it to end as Malcolm told his mother about the spew. There was another long silence, but she could hear Janet chattering away in horrified tones on the other end. She wasn’t the least bit surprised when Malcolm finally hung up and turned to her, full of righteous aggression.

  ‘My mother agrees with me, obviously,’ he said.

  He drew himself up to his full height, which was about five foot six, and made the most of his Alan Sugar moment.

  ‘I am sure you will understand that we have absolutely no choice but to let you go.’

  Chapter Nine

  As if she was sleepwalking, Polly left it all behind.

  Carrying the box, she walked through the shelves filled with flour; past the fridge, where her ugly-looking but delicious-tasting sourdough was mouldering and bubbling over in its pot. Past the fresh sea salt, and the cardamom pods and caraway seeds; the vast sack of raisins, and the fresh and powdered yeast. Past the recipe book Polly had started putting together so Jayden could bake sometimes; past the stupid puffin postcards Huckle had sent her every time he came across one, pinned up on the noticeboard along with the rota; past the government inspection she’d passed with flying colours eight months before; past the freshly laundered and starched white aprons and chef’s trousers.

  Past Jayden standing open-mouthed, a pot
of tea brewing carefully next to him on the countertop. Polly’s world crashed around her as she mutely followed Malcolm to the back door.

  ‘Now, you could consider taking me to an industrial tribunal,’ said Malcolm, so excited by this that spittle came out of his mouth. ‘But I can tell you now, you won’t win. I’ve been in four industrial tribunals, and I’ve never won. You never win. I can tell you that for nothing.’

  Polly didn’t even look at him. She concentrated on holding Neil, who had started to flutter and was obviously distressed by her distress. She couldn’t allow this to happen; couldn’t upset him after his operation.

  ‘Sssh,’ she crooned to the little bird. ‘Sssh.’

  Malcolm shook his head.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ he said. ‘Honestly, I think you’re crazy. I really think you are.’

  They got to the door.

  ‘I’ll pay you to the end of the week,’ said Malcolm. ‘Out of the goodness of my heart. But I don’t want to see you here again.’

  ‘Oh lord,’ said Polly, barely realising she was talking out loud. ‘You are such a pig.’

  As Malcolm spluttered and prepared to retaliate, Polly walked numbly on, past the beautiful grey-painted frontage with its looped italic writing:

  The Little Beach Street Bakery

  Proprietor, Ms P. Waterford

  Established 2014

  That didn’t last long, she found herself thinking. It had all crumbled to dust.

  They had a little gas heater in the cupboard, and Polly found it and switched it on. It wasn’t just Neil who was cold. She fed him the crumbs of some rolls she had sealed up in plastic, and gave him some salt water to drink. He lapped at it dispiritedly, and – she was prepared this time – threw up again, but she rubbed his feathers and there was definitely a spark back in his eye as he started hopping round the room a little bit.

  ‘You’re amazing,’ she said. ‘Fabulous recovery.’

  Huckle came in and saw her face.

  ‘What’s wrong? Isn’t he better?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ said Polly, dissolving. ‘He’s going to be all right, but… I’ve lost everything.’ She burst into tears.

  Huckle took her in his arms.

  ‘Well you’ve still got me and Neil.’

  Polly shook her head.

  ‘Patrick was really cross with me. He says I have to let him live wild, otherwise something else is just going to eat him.’

  Huckle blinked.

  ‘I mean, I can’t be with him every second of the day,’ said Polly. ‘Although I will now, seeing as I have nothing else to do.’

  Huckle stared at her.

  ‘Don’t worry about it now. Everything will be okay.’

  ‘But I’m going to be thirty-three years old! And I have nothing!’

  ‘That’s totally not true. You have lots of things.’

  ‘And it’s all being taken away from me. It’s a disaster.’

  ‘Hey, sweetie. This isn’t how you are. It won’t last, I promise. You don’t do this.’

  ‘What don’t I do?’ sniffed Polly, as Huckle opened a bottle of wine, poured her a glass, looked carefully at it, then poured in some more.

  ‘You don’t moan. You just roll up your sleeves and get on with things. That’s what you did when you came here. That’s what you did when I went back to the States. You just keep going and everything works out. Because you are magnificent,’ said Huckle.

  ‘But I work and I work and I work, and it just doesn’t. What if this is the end of the road for me, Huckle? I can’t stay here now. What am I going to do? Before I got that job, I was starving to death.’

  ‘Well I’ll take a job,’ said Huckle.

  ‘Yes, in London or New York or Savannah,’ said Polly.

  ‘All the hell holes,’ said Huckle, gravely.

  He put his arms around her.

  ‘Trust yourself,’ he said. ‘Trust that you are talented, and that people like that. Put the hours in. And it will all come good.’

  ‘And then some prick who would eat a deep-fried towel turns up and ruins it all,’ said Polly.

  ‘There’s no point being bitter that there are wankers in the world,’ said Huckle. He sounded funny saying wanker in his thick Southern accent. ‘If there weren’t any wankers, you wouldn’t know how to spot the nice people.’

  He paused for a few seconds.

  ‘Also, you know, you did walk into a catering area covered in bird sick.’

  ‘I was in a state of heavy emotional distress,’ said Polly. ‘But God, I know. I know.’

  She stared out across the sea. The sky was turning a deep purple on the horizon, fading upwards to a light pink. It was utterly beautiful.

  ‘Okay,’ she said to the little puffin, glancing at her watch, trying to be the capable woman Huckle seemed to think she was; trying to do whatever she could. ‘Come on, you, you need to take your antibiotics.’

  She squeezed the right number of drops on to some toast and watched as he cheerfully pecked away at it.

  ‘He’s going to be okay,’ said Huckle. ‘Thank God. Have you heard from that woman and her cat?’

  Polly shook her head.

  ‘No. I think she should keep out of my way. She nearly killed my bird, and she lost me my job.’

  ‘Well I don’t think that’s entirely fair,’ said Huckle.

  ‘And Huckle…’ Polly took a deep breath. ‘Dubose was there.’

  ‘What do you mean, he was there?’

  ‘He was there. In her bed.’

  Huckle’s face turned stony.

  ‘He went after a vulnerable woman?’

  ‘Oh I’m sure it wasn’t like that.’

  They heard feet ascending the lighthouse steps. Polly stared at Huckle.

  ‘Please don’t,’ she said. ‘Please don’t let us have any more trouble today.’

  Huckle looked back at her.

  ‘But he’s got a girlfriend at home!’

  The steps continued upwards. The tread was measured, careful; defeated-sounding.

  ‘Did he… did he cause this?’

  ‘No,’ said Polly. ‘That cat was a menace. I was just a bit… surprised to see him there, that’s all.’

  Huckle looked as close to furious as Polly had ever seen him. Slowly, tentatively, the door handle turned.

  There was silence in the room.

  ‘Is he… is he okay?’ said Dubose. He genuinely did look completely and utterly distraught.

  Huckle shrugged. ‘No thanks to you,’ he said. ‘And Polly lost her job.’

  ‘Oh God, man,’ said Dubose. ‘I had no idea. I am so, so…’

  Huckle shook his head. ‘You never do, do you?’

  ‘Why?’ said Polly quietly. ‘Why were you with Selina? You know she’s gone through something awful.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Dubose. ‘She said to me, “I’ve been through something awful, and I need to do something nice.” That’s all it was.’

  ‘Would Clemmie think that?’ said Huckle, his face still stony.

  ‘Oh here we go again,’ said Dubose. ‘Perfect Huckle with his perfect life and perfect girlfriend, life all sorted.’

  Polly and Huckle shared astonished glances.

  ‘And Dubose the total failure dropout as usual. Selina invited me over, and the fact that she had you in too means she obviously wasn’t as ashamed of me or as bothered by me as you guys are. She was happy to see me, by the way. She didn’t bother asking blah blah Dubose how’s your four-thousand-miles-away girlfriend or yadda yadda Dubose how’s that farm you’re on holiday from? We’re two grown adults.’

  ‘Who nearly killed our puffin.’

  ‘That’s…’ Dubose lifted his hands in consternation. ‘That’s CAT business.’

  He turned on his heel.

  ‘Right, fine. You got me. I’m going.’

  ‘Dubose,’ yelled Huckle down the steps after him. ‘Don’t go. We’ll sort it out.’

  But there was just the noise of Dubose banging around i
n his bedroom.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he shouted up. ‘I’m out of your hair now! No need to keep letting you down.’