Summer at Little Beach Street Bakery

by Jenny Colgan

  ‘Selina?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Hang on, I thought Flora was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen in your life and she’d completely broken your heart.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jayden. ‘But I appreciate… well, most ladies really.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jayden shyly. ‘I didn’t meet many growing up. Only got brothers, then with the fishing… I think you’re all lovely. You all smell so nice.’

  ‘Uh, all right,’ said Polly hurriedly.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean you. You’re my boss.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’

  ‘Anyway, I hope Huckle comes back soon,’ said Jayden. ‘I really miss him.’

  ‘Thank you, Jayden,’ said Polly, pushing open the lighthouse door. She only locked it in the summer during the daytime, and that was only after she’d come home once to find a family of wide-eyed holidaymakers in her sitting room, with the father extemporising, ‘… and then one day the lighthouse keepers simply vanished without a trace’, at which she’d had to shoo them out, which had scared the children of the party, who thought she was the lighthouse ghost. Since then she’d had a ‘Private Property’ sign put up at the bottom of the steps, even though a) she thought it looked a bit mean and petty, given that the view really did belong to everyone, and b) it didn’t stop people coming up the steps anyway, walking right round the lighthouse and patting her van.

  As they reached the van, she got such a shock, she nearly dropped her tray. They both stood and stared at it together. On the closed side – the side facing the sea, away from the lighthouse – scrawled in huge, angry letters was the word ‘SLAG’.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Polly. ‘Oh my. Oh dear.’

  Carefully, before she dropped them, she put the loaves on the ground, and her hands flew to her mouth.

  Jayden shook his head.

  ‘Who on earth would do that?’

  He turned to her.

  ‘There was no one here when I came up. But I didn’t see it, it’s facing the other way, and it was dark.’

  ‘I know,’ said Polly. ‘Why would you? Oh God. Oh God, who would…’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Malcolm,’ said Polly and Jayden at the same time.

  ‘He must have found out how well the van is doing,’ said Polly. She’d gone completely white.

  ‘And that you’ve given me a job,’ said Jayden.

  Polly shook her head. The word was so abrasive, so shocking and nasty.

  Jayden ran back into the lighthouse and re-emerged with some cleaning products and a brush, but it was no use, they couldn’t get it off. It was properly done with spray paint. The entire van would need to be resprayed.

  ‘I’m going to kill him,’ said Jayden.

  ‘What’s happening to our town?’ said Polly. ‘It was always so happy here. And now it’s shouting and spray paint and graffiti and just awful things.’

  ‘Are you going to tell Huckle?’

  Polly thought of everything she hadn’t told Huckle – the harassment, the shouting – for fear of him getting cross and being unable to do anything from so far away and wanting her just to leave. She shook her head.

  ‘He’ll be too annoyed,’ she said. She sniffed, heavily.

  ‘Thank God you’re here,’ she said to Jayden, who frowned.

  ‘I think I might have made things worse,’ he said. ‘I think it might be because of me and the bakery thing. Tipped him over the edge.’

  ‘I’m not a slag, though,’ said Polly. ‘Not that that makes any difference.’

  Jayden went back towards the lighthouse again.

  ‘Do you have any old sheets?’

  ‘Um,’ said Polly. ‘Only one.’ It was the one she used to line Neil’s box when it was cold in the wintertime.

  ‘Can we use it?’ said Jayden. ‘You need to cover this up, otherwise people will point and laugh and say things.’

  ‘Thanks, Jayden,’ said Polly. ‘Uh, yeah. It’s in the cupboard to the right of the fourth stairway.’

  ‘Fourth, huh?’ said Jayden. ‘Seriously, I don’t know how you can live here.’

  Those words echoed in Polly’s brain. Out at sea, the fishing boats were steaming in and the waves glowed pink and gold in the early-morning sun. It was as beautiful a place as could be imagined, the chill of the dawn being burnt off by the rising sun, as gently as the bread rising in its pans, waiting to be turned golden in the heat of the oven; waiting with the promise of the new day to be grabbed and relished. And yet everything inside Polly felt like it was crumbling to dust.

  One of the fishing boats puttered over, fearfully close to the rocks.

  ‘Wassat, Polly?’ shouted Archie, looking concerned. He pointed at the van. ‘Who done that?’

  Polly shrugged. ‘The new baker guy, I think.’

  Archie’s face grew dark.

  ‘Right, that’s it,’ he said. ‘I’ve had absolutely enough of this. We’re boycotting.’

  ‘We tried to boycott before,’ said Kendall, ‘but we got a bit hungry. Their stuff is horrible, but you know.’

  ‘Sssh,’ said Archie. ‘You weren’t meant to say.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Polly. ‘I don’t mind, really. You can’t come out across the causeway every time you need a sandwich.’

  ‘We will now,’ said Archie. ‘And we’ll tell everyone else as well.’

  ‘And we’ll set the bakery on fire,’ said Kendall.

  ‘No, don’t do that,’ said Polly and Archie at once.

  ‘Still, that is a terrible thing,’ said Archie, shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry to see it in our town, I really am.’

  Polly nodded. ‘Me too.’

  ‘It feels like… it just feels like so much has gone wrong since last year.’

  Polly looked at Archie with concern. Every time she had thought he might be getting a little better, grieving a little less, carrying a little less of the weight of the world around with him on the boat, it seemed not to be so. Selina was horribly up and down, but at least she tried. And Polly herself… she just felt so stuck.

  Jayden came down with the old sheet.

  ‘Ahoy!’ he shouted. ‘Did you see what that prick did to Polly?’

  ‘We’re going to burn down the bakery!’ said Kendall.

  ‘No we’re not!’ said Archie again.

  ‘Oh yeah, burn it down,’ said Jayden. ‘He totally deserves it.’

  ‘Yeah!’ said Kendall.

  ‘Maybe just the sheet for now,’ said Polly. ‘Thank you. No burning down, I mean it.’

  Archie nodded.

  ‘We’ll come and fix the van,’ he said. ‘Just let us get the haul in, and we’ll see you in a bit.’

  Polly and Jayden drove carefully across to the car park and set up their stall with Neil’s old sheet hiding the ugly word. They began to serve the usual crowd of customers – more today, in fact, it was so beautiful outside – and handed out buns and baguettes with alacrity.

  Someone cornered Polly saying they made a local cheese and might she be interested in it for sandwiches. She tasted it – it was a gentle creamy blue, completely delicious, and she took their details and promised to consider it.

  Jayden disappeared at eight and Polly waited for Selina to come and help serve, but she didn’t appear. Their arrangement was very casual, and it was entirely possible that Selina had taken the opportunity on this beautiful day to sunbathe, so Polly threw herself into serving and cleaning and getting things out of the oven before they burned and giving change and smiling at her regulars, and in general, although she was still shocked and upset by what had happened, she was busy enough to kind of take her mind off it.

  Things got slightly better when, sure enough, the little taxi boat turned up with Archie and Sten and Kendall on it, plus a large tin of green paint.

  ‘Sorry, me lover,’ said Archie. ‘Green is all we got because of the boat, see.’ Trochilus II, the fishing boat, was a fine sharp green colour. ‘But I te
ll you, it’s the best paint there is. Won’t never shift once we put it on.’

  ‘I’m slightly worried about that,’ said Polly, who had a faint idea that she should really be getting it resprayed in a proper vehicle way, rather than painted with boat paint, but wasn’t sure how she was going to pay for that or find the time to fit it in.

  In any case, the boys looked so happy and willing to help, she had no choice really but to thank them, feed them with the lovely sugar buns that had somehow come out so light and fresh and fruity and delicious despite her sadness, and let them slap so much paint over the offending graffiti it felt like it was weighing down one side of the van.

  ‘There we go,’ said Archie. ‘How’s that, madam?’

  ‘Thank you kindly,’ said Polly. ‘Well, it is a lot better.’

  In truth, it was very slightly better than a rude word, but quite a lot worse than her lovely original red and white van, but that didn’t matter for now. What mattered was that the graffiti was gone. What on earth would happen tonight, Polly had no idea. Would she have to sit in wait for him?

  ‘We’re just off to torch the bakery,’ said young Kendall.

  ‘Seriously, though,’ said Archie, leaning over, ‘why don’t we come with you when you go to confront him? Or are you going to call Paul out?’

  Paul was the duty PC, who was very rarely needed in Polbearne.

  Polly hadn’t considered doing either of these two things.

  ‘Well, I don’t know.’

  ‘Otherwise he’ll just do it again,’ said Archie. ‘We don’t mind coming. We’re not working tonight anyway.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Polly. ‘It’s not like you to take a day off.’

  ‘Forecast is right grim for later.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Out on the blue water, white-sailed boats bobbed around as in a child’s drawing. It was beautiful; a picture-perfect English seaside day, with the bread sales to prove it.

  ‘Oh, aye. That storm that never broke yesterday, it ain’t gone anywhere. I reckon it’s just biding its time. Building up more, I would say.’

  Polly looked at the blue sky.

  ‘I will never understand the weather.’

  ‘No one understands it,’ said Archie. ‘No one understands it but us fishermen, and nobody ever listens to us.’

  Polly thought of something and twirled round.

  ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Did we take a picture of the graffiti before we painted over it?’

  ‘Why would you do that?’ said Kendall.

  ‘To show the police constable,’ said Polly.

  ‘Ah,’ said the boys. Alas, in their excitement at helping, nobody had thought to do that.

  ‘Not to worry,’ said Polly. ‘I just really hope this isn’t going to happen again.’

  Archie frowned. ‘Hoping isn’t enough,’ he said. ‘You’re going to have to confront him, like. Has he been mean to you before?’

  Polly nodded and, haltingly, described how Malcolm had bullied her. The fishermen were shocked. As she served the last of her customers and put up her ‘Sold Out’ sign, they debated amongst themselves and insisted that she come back to the island with them on the boat to talk to Malcolm – the tide was coming in and the causeway was under water.

  ‘Just a chat,’ said Archie. ‘Unless you’d rather we went ourselves.’

  ‘Nooo,’ said Polly. She sighed. She hated confronting things head on, and that seemed to be about all she was doing at the moment.

  Her heart started beating faster as she cashed up the takings – up again, she couldn’t help noticing: the tourists were flooding in in force, and she had put the article up in the window of Nan the Van so people could read it for themselves. Even better, the Western Morning News had picked it up and were coming to interview the ‘local success story’ themselves, which would definitely help trade. So she should by rights be feeling happy. Instead, of course, she felt anything but. There was a snake in paradise.

  It was still a perfect day as she locked up Nan the Van. She glanced worriedly round the car park but it seemed full of totally normal-looking families: tattooed dads, mums admonishing their children not to run towards the sea; people glancing at their watches and the tidal chart; a couple loitering by the van in case it suddenly burst into life again.

  She was full of nerves. Normally she would always sit down in a boat, but today, slightly self-consciously, she stood up in the prow.

  ‘What are you doing up there?’ said Archie.

  ‘Giving myself courage,’ said Polly, adjusting her balance. There was a slight swell, more noticeable than the beautiful day would suggest. ‘I’m pretending I’m Napoleon.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Archie. ‘Well I thought that, obviously, but I didn’t like to say.’

  ‘Who’s Napoleon?’ said Kendall. ‘Did he burn a lot of stuff?’

  Polly stared straight ahead at the shadow of Mount Polbearne looming huge and forbidding against the sky. Normally she saw it as the loveliest and friendliest of places, bathed in freshness and light, but today it appeared as a rocky outcrop with a sinister shadow.

  Still, she set her chin towards the horizon as the little boat puttered on, attempting to hold on to her courage, trying to rehearse what she was going to say.

  ‘Just be calm and dignified,’ said Archie behind her. ‘Tell him you’ve got photographs you’re turning over to the police.’

  ‘Um,’ said Polly. ‘Yeah, we should totally have taken those.’

  ‘And that you have a witness.’

  ‘A witness with a grudge,’ said Polly.

  ‘I’m an upstanding member of the community,’ said Jayden. ‘Although I am a bit deranged by heartbroken grief. Just at the moment, you know.’

  ‘And that if he doesn’t stop his campaign of harassment and intimidation, he’s going to be in serious trouble.’

  ‘And THEN we’re going to burn his shop down!’ piped up Kendall.

  They moored up opposite the Little Beach Street Bakery. It needed its paintwork touched up, Polly noticed sadly. Her own name of course had been painted out already, but the salt tides were harsh on the cornices, and the grey was streaking and fading. The windows were dirty, and a few dusty Empire biscuits were laid out here and there. To Polly’s fury, ‘as mentioned in the Bugle on Sunday’ was taped in the window with peeling sellotape.

  She could cry to see what had happened to her once beloved little bakery. There were lots of cheery people walking up and down the winding cobbled streets, eating ice creams from Muriel’s, fish and chips from Andy’s – his beer garden was absolutely full to the brim of people enjoying the fabulous weather. Over the other side of the rocks, the beach was teeming with children picking hermit crabs out of rock pools with shrimping nets, and teenage girls giggling and fiddling with their signal-less phones and pulling down the sides of their fifties-style bikinis. Picnics were unpacked, including several of her own loaves; suncream was slathered on unimpressed toddlers; waves were run into with shrieks, then equally quickly reversed out of.

  But the Little Beach Street Bakery was completely deserted.

  Archie looked at her.

  ‘Do you want us to come in with you?’

  ‘No,’ said Polly, more bravely than she felt. ‘But could you hang about outside? Just in case he starts throwing rock-hard buns at me?’

  The fishermen nodded.

  ‘You’ve done a lot for us,’ said Jayden, softly, behind her. ‘You can do this. We’re here for you.’

  ‘With matches,’ added Kendall.

  Polly nodded and stepped out of the boat. In a town absolutely thronged with people, she couldn’t have felt more alone.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s do this.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  She creaked open the door of the Little Beach Street Bakery; its hinges needed oiling, she thought. She left the door slightly open, then realised she was expecting Neil to hop in behind her. The fact that he didn
’t made her want to sob, but she managed to restrain herself.

  Flora was slouching behind a very tired display of sliced white bread and a few hard-looking buns. There were more of the cheap and cheerful Empire biscuits – Polly had nothing against Empire biscuits per se, but these ones were wrapped in plastic and had clearly been bought in in a batch simply because they had a long shelf life. The rest of the shelves were empty. It made her so sad to see it.