by Jenny Colgan
Because she’d been alone before. Because she’d started over before. Because, Kerensa’s help aside, she had had to deal with Tarnie’s death alone too. And that had changed her. She wasn’t as needy as she once had been. Even though she had failed, she knew somewhere deep inside that when you were tested with the worst that could happen, and you didn’t fall apart, then more things were possible than you imagined. Everyone was stronger than they thought they could be, when the worst came to the worst. It was one of the very few good things about confronting the worst.
Huckle came out of the loo looking slightly shamefaced, and cuddled up to her.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I am thinking,’ said Polly, ‘that as long as you come back…’
‘I have a gorgeous naked woman who bakes, a friendly local pub, a motorbike and a lighthouse,’ said Huckle. ‘I am fascinated to know just exactly what you think this world holds that is better than what I have going on right now. Apart from, you know. A fireman’s pole.’
She smiled and cuddled up to him.
‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ she said.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Huckle. ‘Are you going to watch Game of Thrones without me?’
‘No!’ said Polly, horrified. ‘God, I would never do that to you! The betrayal! No, we can watch it together every night. I’ll stay up late and you can watch it on the farm.’
Huckle nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Employers almost never mind that.’
‘No, it’s not that,’ she said. ‘But you know I don’t mean this the way it’s going to sound…’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Huckle.
‘I can do without you,’ said Polly. ‘For a little bit, you know. Just a little bit. In fact, you offering to fund my van… it’s amazing. It’s wonderful. I’m completely thrilled and incredibly grateful.’
‘Excellent,’ said Huckle. ‘I have plans to exploit this for years.’
‘But it’s not just doing without you,’ said Polly. She sat up in bed and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘There’s someone else I’m going to have to do without too, and that’s really going to make it hard.’
Huckle looked at her.
‘Are you sure?’
She nodded, a massive lump in her throat.
‘It’s time. It is time, whilst everything else is changing. I have to do without you… and Neil has to learn to do without us.’
Chapter Twelve
It was a windy, bright morning with a chill in the air. The tide was in and the spray was high as they took a long, meandering walk around the headland and up and down the town, occasionally chucking Neil off things to see how he could manage. He fluttered and bounced cheerfully and seemed, in every respect, totally recovered. Which meant only one thing.
Polly had one hand in Huckle’s pocket, to keep out the chill. He looked at her. She had a bit of a set to her jaw, but apart from that she seemed all right.
‘You seem calmer than I thought you were going to be,’ said Huckle, gently.
Polly nodded. ‘I know.’
Neil perched on her shoulder.
‘That’s because, I don’t care what Patrick says, Neil won’t want to go. He’ll come back. He’ll find his way home. He knows where we live. He knows where his home is. I’m going to do the right thing and take him to the sanctuary, but it won’t make any difference, you know.’
Huckle made a non-committal sound. He thought Polly was in denial. He would miss the little bird too, but Patrick was right: Neil had to go and find his place in the world, and his place was with puffins, not humans. Huckle would be heartbroken to see the little fellow go. But he understood Polly was clinging on to something else, some belief that Neil wouldn’t leave, and he didn’t think it was very helpful.
‘So,’ she said defiantly, ‘I’ve decided not to be that sad.’
‘O-kay,’ said Huckle, grasping her hand more tightly in his pocket. ‘Wow, it is fresh today.’
He looked at her.
‘Are you sure you don’t just want to come to Georgia with me? It’s wonderful this time of year. Big bougainvillea everywhere; all the houses dripping with ivy; warm, fragrant evenings…’
She looked at him.
‘That does sound nice,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you’ll want to come back?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Huckle. ‘But couldn’t I take you anyway?’
‘We’ve been through this,’ said Polly. ‘The more flights you have to pay for, the longer it will take to save up the money. Plus I have to be here to talk to the council and do all that stuff.’
As they were talking, Archie stepped out in front of them.
‘What?’ he shouted. ‘What the hell is this?’ He held up a plastic-wrapped white-bread ham sandwich. ‘Taste it,’ he said, proffering it to Polly. ‘Taste this!’
‘No thank you,’ said Polly.
‘It’s disgusting,’ he said, his face all red. ‘It’s bloody horrible. It’s a disgrace! Two pounds fifty! Two pounds fifty for this! That’s more than one of your pricey old loaves with seeds and stuff in it.’
‘That you didn’t like.’
‘I didn’t always like them,’ said Archie. ‘But I liked them a hell of a lot better than what we’ve got now.’
He looked haggard and tired.
‘Archie, are you getting enough sleep?’ said Polly.
‘No,’ said Archie. ‘But at least I was eating properly before. This. This is a travesty.’
‘I know,’ said Polly. ‘I don’t like it either.’
‘You have to do something about it,’ said Archie. ‘You have to. Everyone will just stop going.’
‘But where are you going to eat?’ said Huckle.
‘I know,’ said Archie. ‘Hunger strike is quite a difficult sell, to be honest.’
He looked sad.
‘Their sausage rolls taste of poo,’ he said. ‘You know, I am trying and trying and trying in this town. We’re all trying to adapt, to move on, to adjust. And now this happens. I can’t run a good fishing boat on poo rolls! I can’t inspire and lead my men on this!’
‘I’ll try my best,’ said Polly. Huckle shot her a warning look. The plan was not to tell anyone what they wanted to do. They didn’t put it past Malcolm to block it in some way.
‘Well try harder,’ said Archie.
Polly watched him go.
‘I worry about him,’ she said.
‘You worry about everyone,’ pointed out Huckle, accurately.
They wandered up the little main street.
‘I’ll just…’
‘You shouldn’t,’ said Huckle. ‘It’ll make you upset.’
‘I just want to see.’
She popped her head round the door of the old Polbearne bakery. Flora was standing there looking as sullen as ever. She was back in slouchy, greasy mode, her shoulders bent, her hair in her eyes, her bottom lip sticking out ferociously. Polly had to squint to see the stark, angular beauty that was there underneath; it was a good disguise.
Flora was dressed up in a ridiculous maid’s outfit – black dress, white apron, frilly mob cap – which made her look like a cross between an under-housemaid and a strip-o-gram. She was standing in front of packets of pallid pastries, looking thoroughly bored.
‘Hi, Flora.’
‘Oh, hello, madam,’ mumbled Flora.
‘It’s just me,’ said Polly. ‘Polly.’
‘I have to call everyone madam now,’ said Flora.
‘Oh well, that will definitely make up for the terrible food,’ murmured Huckle.
‘How are things?’ said Polly.
Flora shrugged. ‘Everyone keeps coming in going blah blah blah, where’s Polly, this is horrible, I think I’ve been poisoned,’ she said. ‘Then they don’t come in any more. Malcolm is very cross.’
Polly tried not to be pleased about this. She glanced back at Huckle.
‘Do you think he might give me my job back?’
‘I think he migh
t have done,’ said Huckle, ‘if you hadn’t told him he was a pig.’
‘Everyone wants to call their boss a pig,’ said Polly. ‘Come on, if you can’t make a big fuss when you’re being sacked and storm out going “You’re a pig!” you’re not really a human being.’
‘What are you? A pig?’ said Huckle.
‘No! It’s emotional distress! It’s good to let it out! He’ll understand.’
‘He thinks this is all your fault,’ said Flora. ‘He thinks you’ve turned the town against him.’
‘I think he did that the first time he said “This town is total shit’’,’ said Polly. ‘And started selling people plasticine masquerading as food.’
Flora offered Neil a little piece of plastic bun. He sniffed at it, pecked at it briefly, then backed away.
The bell tinged behind them and Polly and Huckle turned guiltily. Malcolm was standing there. At the sight of them his face went purplish around the jowls. It wasn’t a good look on him.
‘WHAT HAVE I SAID ABOUT BIRDS IN THE SHOP?’ he hollered. He turned to face Polly. ‘And you’ve got a cheek, turning up here again.’
Polly flushed bright red. She hated confrontation of any sort.
‘I was checking up on Flora,’ she said.
‘Don’t you worry about Flora,’ said Malcolm. ‘And stop bloody poisoning the town against me.’
‘Actually I think you’re the one who —’
Huckle put his hand on her arm.
‘We haven’t said a thing, sir,’ he said, politely. ‘Polly feels awful that she brought mucky stuff into a food preparation area, don’t you, Poll?’
Polly swallowed hard.
‘Um, yeah,’ she mumbled. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘In fact,’ said Huckle, ‘I think she’d probably come back and work for you. Buck things up again, if you wanted that.’
Polly blushed bright red to the tips of her ears. She was furious with Huckle. On the other hand, if there was just the tiniest chance that he didn’t have to go away, they had to take it, no matter how humiliating it was for her.
Malcolm smiled, relishing the fact that they’d come back to beg. He’d hoped for this.
‘Ha! Not a chance,’ he said. ‘Run my business into the ground with her messing around the place? Not bloody likely. Ha! Oh no, when the summer season starts up, that cash will be all mine, and I’m not risking that. SO sorry, but you must understand. Health and safety is health and safety! Political correctness gone mad, I call it, but you must understand, my hands are totally tied.’
Polly felt her own hands clench into fists.
Malcolm, thoroughly overexcited, turned to Flora with a lascivious look on his face.
‘You’re looking quite lovely today, my dear. I do like that new uniform.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Flora sullenly.
‘Can you do the curtsey?’
Flora bobbed reluctantly, to Polly and Huckle’s amazement.
‘Piiiiggggg!’ whispered Polly under her breath, and Huckle uncharacteristically gave her a small pinch.
‘Hush,’ he said.
‘Okay, bye,’ he said loudly, as Polly clearly didn’t trust herself to speak. He shepherded her out the door.
‘That man is such a PIG!’ shouted Polly at the top of her voice. ‘All he does is RUIN things. Horrible, horrible man! He’s starving the fishermen to death and he’s enslaved Flora and he’s racist!’
‘How do you figure he’s racist?’ said Huckle.
‘Oh everyone knows that anyone who says “political correctness gone mad” is just itching to be allowed to say something racist.’
Huckle wisely ignored this.
‘To be fair, Flora doesn’t seem massively less happy than she did before,’ he pointed out.
‘I wish you hadn’t asked for my old job back,’ said Polly, kicking at a stone in the road. ‘It was humiliating.’
‘I know,’ said Huckle. ‘I’m sorry. I just wanted to be a hundred per cent absolutely sure and positive that it was going to play out that way.’
He turned her round to him. A little weak sunlight played off the waves uncovering the shiny ancient stones of the causeway.
‘Because otherwise, my darling, how on earth could I bear to go?’
Polly held Neil close to her in the sidecar. Patrick had signed him off, and approved very much of her decision to take him back to the sanctuary. Get a puppy, he had advised. Something bred by evolution for thousands of years to make a good pet. Polly had looked at him with narrowed eyes until he had looked away first. He had also begged her to make him some bread for his freezer in return for the outstanding operation bill, which Polly had explained she couldn’t pay for a little while.
‘It has genuinely done terrible things to my quality of life,’ said Patrick. ‘We took you for granted, Polly.’
Polly shrugged. ‘Life changes,’ she said. ‘These things happen.’
Patrick looked at her. The spark had gone right out of her.
‘It doesn’t always seem fair, though.’
‘That’s because it isn’t,’ said Polly, dully. ‘It’s not meant to be. No one promised anything.’
She glanced down at Neil, who was absent-mindedly trying to eat some gauze he’d found on Patrick’s desk. It had unrolled, and he was chasing it.
‘He’ll be okay,’ said Patrick, reading her thoughts. ‘He’ll be fine. It will be fine.’
‘How many times does he have to fly back before I can keep him?’ asked Polly suddenly.
Patrick sighed. ‘Polly…’
‘I mean it. How many times?’
‘It doesn’t work like that,’ said Patrick. ‘You have to let him go. The more time he spends with other puffins, the more his natural instincts will come to the fore. He’s not a cuddly toy. You’re not in a Disney film.’
‘I am, actually,’ said Polly. ‘I’m in that bit in Fantasia where it all goes horribly wrong for Mickey Mouse and he starts to drown and all those mops keep hitting him.’
‘Now don’t think like that,’ said Patrick. ‘Animals are only ever our guests. We are absolutely so lucky to have them, and they stay with us for a time and make our lives better, and then it’s over.’
Polly nodded. But she didn’t believe him.
The same cheery Kiwi girl they’d met before was still working at the puffin sanctuary up on the north coast, standing square in her khaki shorts, curly hair pulled back in an unflattering pigtail.
‘Hello,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Did you find another one?’
‘No, it’s the same one,’ said Polly stiffly. She’d been worried that Neil would get anxious being back here again, but he was dozing peacefully in his box.
‘Oh yeah!’ said the girl. ‘I remember you now! Homing puffin. Amazing.’
She picked Neil up out of his box. He regarded her sleepily.
‘You’ve been in the wars, young man,’ she said, looking at his scars. ‘What happened?’
‘Attacked by a cat,’ said Polly.
The girl nodded.
‘Yeah, you have to watch for that. That’s why he’ll be best back at sea.’
Polly nodded numbly. It’s not for ever, she told herself. It’s not for ever.
‘Hey, you,’ she said to the little bird, bringing her nose up close to his beak. ‘It’s time to go on your holidays, okay?’
Neil eeped and looked around him with interest. There were very few puffins on Mount Polbearne; the seagulls had pretty much staked out their territory. He glanced back at Polly with a puzzled look.
I will see him again, thought Polly. She had to think this. I will see him again. Because otherwise I cannot cope.
She kissed him very briefly, and then the Kiwi girl put him down on the rocks, next to some little pools where puffins were already congregating. The noise of the birds filled the air; there was guano spattered against the rocks. They seemed, undeniably, to be having the most wonderful time together. Nearby, excited children in cagoules had gathered to
watch them being fed a huge meal of fish. Other flocks tore across the sky in groups, tumbling and wheeling in their freedom; dancing on the gusts of wind.
It was Huckle who bent down quickly, checking that Neil still had his Huckle Honey tag from a long time ago, and buried his face in the little bird’s feathers.
