by Jenny Colgan
‘Is that true?’ said Selina.
‘Yes,’ said Polly. ‘Also, have you got Lucas de-clawed yet?’
Over the next few days, exactly the same thing happened – people lining up, including, Polly was wildly gratified to see, some of the beards coming back as repeat custom. She upped her quantities every day and still emptied out before lunchtime. The weather was getting better too, which meant a fuller car park, and somehow word was getting round that you could basically pick up your picnic from there rather than lug it all the way, so she was doing a pretty good trade to families too. After a week when she barely slept at all and found herself constantly high on adrenalin, she finally called Huckle to tell him the amazing news: that they were starting to be successful at last.
She was sitting with the old-fashioned phone on a chair facing the sea. Some seagulls were circling, having a fight about something. She couldn’t admit to herself how much she missed Neil; how jealous she was of those bloody seagulls. Nor how many nights she had sat bolt upright in bed, convinced he was going to come knocking at her window, that he would be back; nor how she would always look at Selina’s flat as she passed, just in case he’d forgotten and gone there instead.
But there was no sign of him, and this was breeding season, and well, the weeks had passed, and… Polly swallowed hard. He would come back. He must. He was her puffin and that was that. Although if he remembered being sent away twice… maybe he had just got the hint that they didn’t want him any more.
No. She couldn’t think like this, not when she had made such big strides. But it was almost as if the pressure easing slightly on Nan the Van had made the loss of Neil suddenly much more acute. She tried not to think how lovely it would be for him to be able to hop up and down on top of the van, and snarf up the crumbs in the car park, and say hello to everyone…
She told herself sternly that a car park was absolutely no place for a small bird who was not as speedy as he ought to be, and tried to put a smile on her face before she called Huckle. She would have liked to have left it later – it was the middle of the afternoon for him – but she really couldn’t: she was exhausted, and she needed to be up at four to start on the loaves. She really missed Jayden for the scrubbing and the mopping parts; having to do all that herself was tiring her out, but she had absolutely no choice: the kitchen and the van had to be totally spotless at all times. She wouldn’t be able to keep her eyes open another second, and she really wanted to call him now.
‘Huck?’
Huckle was just heading in to the dairy. He absolutely knew it wasn’t Polly’s fault that their time zones weren’t compatible, but it sure did tend to come up at the most inconvenient moments.
‘Hey,’ he said.
‘Okay, are you ready for our accounts?’
He perked up a little to hear her voice sounding brighter, not in the dull register he’d got so used to over the last few weeks.
‘Hey, Jackson,’ he shouted through the open door. ‘I’ll be two minutes, okay?’
‘Sure thing,’ said his colleague equably. Over the weeks they’d been working together, he’d come to assume that Huckle’s girlfriend must be the most crazily high-maintenance woman out there, given the horrendously inconvenient times she called him. But the animals seemed to like him, and that was all that mattered.
‘Go on,’ said Huckle.
Polly named a sum that wouldn’t even cover his tractor fuel.
‘Mmm,’ said Huckle.
‘But!’ said Polly. ‘You’re missing something.’
‘I am?’
‘Yes!’
She hadn’t spoken to anyone else apart from, briefly and hurriedly, customers all day. She was loving talking to Huckle, even if it sounded like he had to get away.
‘Go on, then,’ said Huckle. She told him the lame takings most days, even though it made them both sad. She’d actually stopped doing that this week; he’d just assumed it was because they were too depressing even for her.
Polly paused dramatically.
‘That’s… NET!’
‘What do you mean? A fishing net?’
‘Okay, well done, great big important farmer.’
Huckle smiled.
‘Well I’m not sure you know what net means.’
‘Shut up and don’t be insulting! Those are net figures after materials, fuel and… Are you ready?’
‘I’m ready,’ said Huckle.
‘Paying you back for the van.’
There was a pause.
‘What, all of it?’
‘No, not all of it,’ said Polly, slightly deflated. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. No, I mean, pro rata. For the week.’
Huckle quickly did some sums in his head.
‘But that’s… that’s incredibly good!’
‘I know!’ said Polly.
‘Is that just from the article?’
‘Well, let’s say the article and also me being awesome,’ said Polly.
Huckle smiled with genuine pleasure.
‘This is really starting to move. Are you upping volumes?’
‘I am,’ said Polly. ‘And the weather forecast for the week is blue, blue skies ahead.’
‘Warm?’
‘Well, what do you call warm?’
‘Let’s not get into that,’ said Huckle. It was 106 degrees Fahrenheit outside.
‘Warm enough for buckets and spades and jumpers,’ said Polly. ‘And the first schools will be starting to break up soon – those posh private ones where they’re all fancy and think holidaying in some decaying old British resort is really groovy.’
Huckle shook his head.
‘That is amazing,’ he said. ‘That’s great. I can’t believe you’re turning it around.’
‘Can’t you?’
‘YES. Yes, of course I can!’
Now it was Polly’s turn to smile.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I think someone could probably use that other half of their ticket soon.’
Huckle blinked.
‘It’s early days,’ he said. ‘I mean, this might just be a blip.’
‘Life is a blip,’ said Polly. ‘You’ve kind of just got to get on with it anyway, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, but, you know. To be sure.’
There was a long pause.
‘Don’t you want to come home?’ said Polly, finally.
‘What? No, of course I do. That’s not fair. But I can’t leave Clemmie.’
‘Look,’ said Polly. ‘You have to realise Dubose isn’t coming back. He thinks he’s a student on a gap year. He’s bouncing about. Tell Clemmie it’s over. She needs to just go back to… Well, I don’t know where she’s from. But she can’t run a farm by herself, and she’s taking too much of you.’
‘Yes,’ said Huckle. ‘But there’s another thing.’
And he told her.
Polly swore vociferously.
‘Tell him,’ she said. ‘Just email him and tell him.’
‘I promised I wouldn’t. She wants to tell him herself.’
‘But then you’ll be there for ever.’
‘I won’t.’
‘It’s not fair,’ said Polly. ‘It’s just not fair.’
She heard the petulant note in her voice and hated herself for sounding so selfish and horrible. Ugh. She knew it wasn’t Huckle’s fault; he was doing the right thing. She just missed him so much.
‘It’s a great farm,’ said Huckle. ‘It could work really well for them. Much better than Clemmie going back to her mom’s in the city, raising a baby alone.’
‘Well that’s what’s going to happen.’
There was a long pause.
‘Polly,’ said Huckle. ‘That’s my niece or nephew we’re talking about.’
Polly bit her tongue in frustration and disappointment. She wanted to be better than this, not to let her anger come through.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know. But you should just tell him.’
‘It’s not my place to do that.’
Polly heaved a
great sigh.
‘And,’ said Huckle, ‘you know, the money… I mean, I can make money here. Good money. So that will help…’
‘I’m making money!’
‘As of three days ago.’
‘WHAT?’
‘Mr Huckle?’ Jackson’s voice came through the barn door.
‘Look, I didn’t mean it like that,’ said Huckle. ‘I’ll call you in the morning, okay? I really have to go.’
Polly felt a lump in her throat. She wanted to beg him to come home, to go to the airport and come home, for crying out loud. But of course she couldn’t. She wanted to be nice, she really did. But she was so very tired.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Don’t call me in the morning, though. I’m too busy.’
Huckle blinked.
‘I want to.’
‘Well, whatever,’ said Polly.
There was a pause.
‘Oh,’ said Polly. ‘And you didn’t ask me if Neil has come back yet.’
‘Did Neil come back?’ asked Huckle in disbelief.
‘No,’ said Polly. And she hung up the phone.
Chapter Nineteen
‘You should be looking happier than you are,’ observed Kerensa, who had stopped off to see Polly between dashing from one meeting to another across the Cornish coast. She ate one of the sugar buns. It was delicious. She looked at another, then shook her head.
‘You can have one,’ said Polly.
‘I can’t,’ said Kerensa. ‘If I grow too big for these clothes, I can’t afford any others.’
‘Yes, and you shouldn’t be looking as happy as you are,’ said Polly. ‘I am horribly jealous.’
Kerensa smiled to herself.
‘Oh well, you know. It’s not so bad.’
‘What’s Reuben doing?’
‘Amazing things,’ said Kerensa. ‘We’ve worked our way through most of the Kama Sutra. Also, he’s working on a dating website for people who… take a bit of time to get to know.’
‘You mean ugly people?’
‘No!’ said Kerensa. ‘No, just people most folk don’t like when they meet them. He’s trying to get Malcolm to sign up.’
‘I don’t think Malcolm knows everybody hates him.’
They were picnicking in the fine weather out on the seafront by the harbour wall. Archie was fixing nets, rocked on top of his boat by the gentle swell, helped by Sten the Scandinavian. It was painstaking work. The sun was blazing.
Polly’s only problem now was capacity, in her own ovens and in the van itself. Whatever she made, she would sell. Holidaymakers were coming from far and wide: the local caravan park had let her put up a flyer, and now people would troop down with their flasks and sit outside the van on the rocks. Dog-walkers came past every day and made a morning collection, and the Mount Polbearne residents kept up their regular shopping lists via Muriel. It was all going incredibly well. Polly just needed somebody to share it with.
They both turned round. They weren’t sitting next to the Little Beach Street Bakery; Polly didn’t want to risk Malcolm coming out and shouting at her simply for existing in the same postcode, if Mount Polbearne even had a postcode. They were along the harbour a bit, but they could already hear the voice coming out of the shop, roaring.
It was Jayden, tearing off his apron, his round face totally red. He threw the apron back into the shop and marched out.
‘I quit, you absolute utter bastard!’
‘Uh-oh,’ said Polly. She had never seen Jayden cross in her entire life.
‘I quit, and nobody is going to work for a bastard like you!’
Polly jumped up and went towards him.
‘Are you all right, sweetie?’
‘He’s a bastard!’ said Jayden, marching straight up to them, out of breath and beside himself with distress. ‘Oh. Is that a toasted teacake?’
‘It is,’ said Kerensa. ‘And you can have it if you sit down and tell us every sordid detail.’
But Malcolm had already appeared in the doorway and, looking back at him, Polly reckoned she could already see the source of the problem, and what had been going so very wrong.
Malcolm had his arm possessively around Flora’s neck.
Polly gasped in astonishment. Flora looked as blank and unconcerned as she usually did, but Malcolm’s blubbery lips were open in a smile of triumph, and he stroked the girl’s shoulder smugly.
Polly shook her head in disbelief.
‘No way,’ she said. ‘She prefers Malcolm? How dare he lay his filthy paws on that beautiful girl?’
Jayden looked very close to tears.
‘What happened, Jayden? It’s not just because he’s her boss, is it? He didn’t insist or anything?’
Jayden shook his head.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s because she said she was tired of all the poetry and the flowers and stuff. I thought girls liked poetry and flowers.’
‘Flora is not like other girls.’
‘No.’ Jayden sighed. ‘You know what HE did?’
Polly shook her head again.
‘He bought her a mixer.’
‘She wants to bake,’ said Polly. ‘Is he going to let her? She could save the shop if he lets her bake.’
‘No, it’s just for fun. She’s not allowed to bake in the shop.’
‘THAT MAN!’
‘Did you know he plays the trumpet?’
‘I did know that,’ said Polly.
‘He’s been serenading her! Under her window!’
‘With a trumpet?’
‘All I can play is the spoons.’
‘Lots of people like the spoons,’ said Polly, trying to be reassuring.
‘Flora said she thought the spoons were rubbish,’ said Jayden. ‘I don’t think she liked the trumpet much either. But she liked the mixer. Also she said he talks to her, whereas everybody else just dribbles.’
‘Oh Jayden,’ said Polly. ‘That is bloody rotten news. I am so, so sorry.’
Jayden sniffed loudly.
‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘It’s all crap what they sell anyway. Disgusting. It’s making everyone constipated, all that terrible white stuff. It doesn’t do anybody any good. Bungs up your insides. I hope it bungs up his insides,’ he said bitterly, glancing back at the Little Beach Street Bakery. He hung his head. ‘She was SO beautiful,’ he said mournfully.
Polly thought of the beautiful Flora. She had always kind of assumed that being beautiful would be a short cut to everything, not just a mixer.
‘Why won’t he let her bake in his shop?’ said Kerensa, shaking her head.
‘He said he didn’t want her to mess up her beautiful hands,’ said Jayden. ‘But you’re going to keep taking all his business, aren’t you?’ he added hopefully.
‘Well I tell you what, I don’t feel guilty about that any more,’ said Polly, who’d been the victim of too many bruising early-morning attacks. ‘But even more so now, knowing I won’t be doing you out of a job.’
‘Can I come and work for you?’ said Jayden. ‘Can I come to your van? I haven’t been allowed to visit it. Malcolm banned everyone. Sorry about that.’
‘That’s okay,’ said Polly, although she did think a little regretfully of those first few days without even the hint of a friendly face. ‘I understand. But Jayden, I don’t have enough business yet to pay you properly… I can probably let you do a few mornings and a bit of cleaning, but that’s about it. And I don’t even know if it’s going to keep up.’
‘Of course it is,’ said Kerensa. ‘All you needed was for people to discover how brilliant you are. Now that they have, you’re away!’
Polly smiled. ‘Thanks, K.’ She touched her hand.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Jayden. ‘I’ll shovel up all your mucky stuff. Then I’ll dump it on his doorstep.’
‘You will not,’ said Polly. Even though it was no longer hers, she still loved the beautiful soft grey of the Little Beach Street Bakery frontage; it was quite lovely, even if she couldn’t set foot over the threshold a
ny more.
‘Okay,’ said Jayden. He added quietly to himself, ‘Maybe in his car.’
