Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery

by Jenny Colgan

  “What?”

  “Do you think Reuben would fund the sanctuary?” Polly repeated. “I mean, all those people will lose their jobs and nobody will look after the puffins and the sea will grow too warm and ALL THE PUFFINS WILL DIE.”

  She looked a bit wobbly and as if she might burst into tears, and Huckle vowed not to buy her any more hot toddies.

  “Look,” he said. “You’re doing too much. I said it all along. Just calm down. We’re taking Christmas off and that’s that.”

  Chapter Eleven

  That weekend, Huckle simply insisted that a walk was going to happen. Polly hadn’t been outside properly in daylight for about four weeks. And there was nothing like a walk for clearing heads.

  “And Neil needs the exercise,” Huckle added.

  “So do I,” said Polly. She was happy to go, especially as there might be a tea shop at the end of it. Or a pub.

  “No, you’re fine, it’s that puffin that’s fat,” said Huckle, checking his phone. “Can Reuben come?”

  “No,” said Polly. “I’m planning on bitching up him and his relations for several miles.”

  There was a pause. Huckle tapped at his phone. Then he looked up.

  “Ah,” he said. “So, anyway, he’s coming.”

  “Don’t tell him where we’re going!”

  “Ah,” said Huckle again.

  “HUCKLE!”

  She looked down.

  “We’ve got our sweaters on now,” said Huckle.

  “Hmm,” said Polly.

  The sun was just about visible through a misty haze. Great pools of fog gathered in the fields, where birds swooped in hopeful fashion around newly planted seeds in the brown turned earth, and sheep tried to nibble the grass under heavy frost. The sky was a hazy pink, the days having the shortest possible attention span at this time of year; making the least effort. You had to get out and grab it while it was there, otherwise the wind and rain would tear in again and then you were stuck.

  They were cutting through the north of Cornwall, the Tintagel path, which would take them out along the headland—it was hard where they lived to do anything really without a view of the sea—ending up just past the puffin sanctuary. Polly wanted to pop in and see how they were doing. Neil had his blue foot ribbon on just in case he decided to go off and play with his old friends, but he showed no inclination to do anything except lie in his paper bag in Polly’s backpack, which rather negated the purpose of the walk: getting a fat puffin some exercise.

  But Polly didn’t care as she walked along trying to match Huckle’s long strides, breathing the cold, invigorating air. Winter had more to recommend it, she realized, than she remembered. Or rather, this part of winter. February she could more or less take or leave. Once Christmas was over, it just turned into a waiting game. But now, out here in the harsh air, the sun glistening off the frosted fields, the waves pounding into the cliffs far below, Huckle’s dirty blond hair dishevelled beneath his beanie hat, she could see why it was some people’s favorite season.

  “I like seeing roses in your cheeks,” said Huckle, smiling at her. “I’d forgotten what you look like out of doors.”

  “Me too,” said Polly. “It’s nice. I should come outside more often.”

  Huckle smiled.

  “I miss the summer, too,” he said. “When the bees are buzzing again, rather than sleeping. I feel like a spare part kicking around.”

  “A very sexy spare part,” grinned Polly.

  “I need to earn more money,” said Huckle. “I need to throw myself into that beauticians’ circuit. I really do. There’s lots to be made from organic products.”

  “But who’d look after Neil?” said Polly. “Who’d look after me?”

  They walked on hand in hand, until a stray brown terrier ran up cheerfully to say hello and Huckle tousled its rough fur.

  “Hello, buddy!” he said. “How are you?”

  The dog wagged its tail furiously, and Huckle gave Polly a look.

  “No,” said Polly. “Seriously. We’re not getting a dog. Neil would pitch a fit.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Don’t want to risk it,” said Polly.

  From inside the rucksack came what seemed to be little bird snores. The dog started sniffing around it.

  “Shoo,” said Polly. “You do seem to be a nice dog, but Neil’s already been in a fight or two and he doesn’t come out of them terribly well. I think it might be quite easy to chomp him by accident.”

  The dog scampered off to be with some children heading in the opposite direction. They laughed and jumped up and down with their pet, then the elder boy ran to a tree and started hanging off it upside down by the knees. Huckle went quiet again and watched them, and Polly looked at him in trepidation. He felt her eyes on him and looked away. He didn’t know, truly, what her problem was, but he didn’t want to press her on it. He didn’t want to make it too much of an issue. Huckle didn’t really like issues. On the other hand, some things were important.

  Polly blinked as the children’s shouting and laughter reached them.

  “Nice place to bring up a family,” said Huckle softly.

  Polly nodded. “I suppose so,” she said stiffly. She was actually relieved to see Reuben and Kerensa appear, coming the other way on the path.

  “HEY!” shouted Reuben. “We’re out to see if my pregnant-but-still-totally-hot wife can perk up a bit.”

  Kerensa shot Polly a tight smile. Polly felt sick. This was awful. Such a horrible burden to be carrying around, and of course it was even worse for Kerensa.

  “Hey, you guys!” she said, more cheerily than she felt, and linked arms with Kerensa. “Come on. Only three miles and there’s a pub that does the best cheese and ham toasted sandwich in Cornwall. And I know this because I have tried them all.”

  “You’re only trying to make me feel better because I can’t have any hot cider,” grumbled Kerensa.

  “You can have a tiny bit of hot cider,” said Polly.

  “Nope,” said Reuben, overhearing. “No way. You’re not damaging this baby. This baby is going to be the most awesome kid ever. I’m not having him born with fetal alcohol syndrome. You shouldn’t eat the cheese either.”

  “Is he being like this the entire time?” said Polly. She could say it in Reuben’s earshot; he was impenetrably thick-skinned.

  “Yeah,” said Reuben. “For our perfect baby.”

  Kerensa didn’t answer him back cheekily like she normally would. Instead she dug her hands into her pockets and trudged on. Reuben raised an eyebrow at Huckle.

  Polly let the men get ahead and hung back with Kerensa. The ground was slippery and muddy from all the recent storms and wind. The two chaps made a funny combination ahead: Huckle so tall and broad with his slow nod; Reuben talking up to him nineteen to the dozen, arms flailing.

  “How’s it going?” said Polly, although she could see from the body language pretty much exactly how it was going.

  Kerensa shook her head. “It’s like someone gave me a precious globe, made of glass or something, and told me to carry it safely. And I haven’t. I dropped it and I broke it and it’s shattered into a million pieces. There’s absolutely no way I can put it together again. I’ve done something so awful. And one day—it could be any day, probably soon—he’s going to walk in and he’s going to find out; he’ll look at the baby. And I’ll have broken everything. Everything in my perfectly lovely life will be ruined and shot and I’ll have to raise a baby on my own and my life will be over and I’ll have lost this brilliant, clever, sexy, funny man I really, really love . . .” She collapsed into tears.

  “You couldn’t . . . you couldn’t explain?”

  “How?” said Kerensa. “How could I? God, Poll, I didn’t even know I was pregnant for months, I was in such denial. He was the one that noticed my tits felt all different and brought me home a pregnancy test. He was so excited . . . Oh God.”

  The men turned round, but Polly waved them on. She put her arm
round Kerensa’s shoulders.

  “You never know,” she said. “I mean, it could be his, couldn’t it?”

  Kerensa nodded. “Yes.” She sniffed.

  “But why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What, with you all happy and loved up and living in a perfect fairy world?”

  “I don’t live in a perfect fairy world!” said Polly crossly. “I work my tits off and I’m completely skint and . . .” Her voice trailed off and she realized that she was going to cry too.

  “What?” said Kerensa.

  “. . . and I don’t even know if we can afford a baby. With everything.”

  “Oh no,” said Kerensa, for whom money was never a problem. “Oh Poll. Don’t be daft. You’re doing all right.”

  “We are doing just about all right,” said Polly. “As long as we never buy anything. Or go out. Or try and have a baby that I have to give up work for. Or try and fix anything in that stupid too-big house I bought by mistake.”

  “You wouldn’t have to give up work,” said Kerensa. “You could have a bakery baby. Just sit it up on the counter and give it a croissant to suck.”

  “Is that how it works?”

  “I dunno, do I? I don’t know anything about babies.”

  They looked at each other, and at Kerensa’s huge bump.

  “Oh GOD,” said Kerensa. “How have we managed to fuck everything up so completely?”

  Polly burst out laughing.

  “God knows,” she said.

  “At least you still get to drink cider,” said Kerensa darkly.

  The little pub just off the trail was perfect: cozy and warm with firelight and old brasses gleaming on the walls. They used local cheese and homemade bread for perfect toasted sandwiches, just as Polly had said. The four of them flexed their chilly toes and sat in a cozy booth. Polly sat next to Reuben and decided, as Huckle had suggested, just to come out with it.

  “Reuben,” she said. “I need some money.”

  “Well, cater the Finkel family Christmas,” said Reuben equably.

  “I don’t want to,” said Polly.

  “Well then, we have a situation.”

  “Listen, it’s not for me. It’s for the puffin sanctuary.”

  “That stink hole?” said Reuben.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “It’s just up the coast from us. I can smell the fishy bastards when the wind’s going in the wrong direction. Hey, why? Is it up for sale?”

  “No,” said Polly in alarm. “But they’re having trouble keeping it open.”

  “Well, this is great news,” said Reuben.

  “No, it’s terrible news! They’re an endangered species.”

  “They can’t be, there’s millions of the pricks. Shitting all over my beach.”

  “Reuben! You can’t be serious. Neil can hear you.”

  “He’s all right. The rest of them can get eaten by cats for all I care. Hey, I want another cheese melt. These things are awesome. Get me another one!”

  “Two won’t be more awesome than one,” said Polly, slightly horrified at his greed.

  “Course they will,” said Reuben, rubbing his hands cheerfully.

  “No, look. Can’t you donate to keep it open?”

  “No,” said Reuben. “I’ll make them an offer for it, though. Hey, I could build a nice summer house there.”

  “A mile away from your actual house?”

  “That would be just about right for my parents,” said Reuben. “Although I could probably still hear them. Plus, I could have both beaches. Hell, yeah, I can see this coming together.”

  “Nooo,” said Polly. “Huckle, tell him.”

  “I think I’ve known Reuben long enough to never try to tell him anything.”

  “Well why don’t you buy it and move the sanctuary and put all the puffins somewhere else?” said Polly.

  “What, and ruin someone else’s beach house? Yeah, good luck with that, taking ninety-five years to get through court and ruining everybody’s lives.”

  Reuben’s second sandwich arrived and he fell on it with gusto.

  “See,” he said. “One is good, but more is better.”

  “Reuben!” said Polly in total dismay.

  “What?” said Reuben. “I’m celebrating getting rid of those stinky puffins.”

  By the time they’d finished lunch, the light was fading and absolutely nobody was talking to Reuben. They made their goodbyes in silence, Polly hugging Kerensa for a long time. As they headed back along the cliff path, Huckle looked at Polly with concern. They were approaching the puffin sanctuary, and as if by unspoken agreement, they both turned toward the entrance.

  The place was just closing up as they got down there. Bernie and Kara were walking round checking water levels and fencing to stop local wildlife getting at the birds.

  “Hey,” said Bernard.

  “Hey there, is that Neil?” said Kara. “Hello, little fella!”

  Neil, who’d seemed to sense where they were, had hopped out on to Polly’s shoulder. Now he fluttered around the area cheerfully before returning to his perch, rubbing his head against her neck in case she was considering leaving him there again.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, patting him reassuringly. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here with me.”

  “Eep,” said the little puffin.

  “How’s it going?” Polly asked Bernard.

  Bernard looked glum.

  “We tried to organize some Christmas parties here,” he said. “We thought maybe offices would like to come down, you know.”

  “Come down and look at birds in the cold?”

  “Yeah,” said Bernard. “For Christmas, like.”

  “In the dark and the cold? Look at birds on the sea?”

  “We’ve got a café.”

  They had a horrible café, which sold cold greasy fish and chips to parties of schoolchildren under fluorescent lights. Polly looked at it.

  “Hmm,” she said.

  She looked at Huckle, and Huckle looked at her.

  The room itself was actually rather nice: classically proportioned, with big windows overlooking the rocks and the ocean; birds flying everywhere. It had horrible formica tables and chairs. Polly wondered what it would look like with great big long traditional wooden tables and benches. And fresh baking and . . .

  She shook her head. That was ridiculous. She didn’t want to expand. She couldn’t.

  She thought about Flora, about to finish her patisserie course. She thought about the number of young unemployed there were in Cornwall. She heaved a sigh.

  Huckle glanced at her. Polly mentally shook herself.

  “How much money,” she said to Bernard, “do you need to see you through? If we could look at it again, maybe in the summer.”

  Bernard looked momentarily startled, then delighted. Polly worried in case he thought she was rich. People did when they saw the bakery. She bit her lip.

  Bernard named a figure. “It’d take us through to the summer,” he said weakly. “And then, hopefully, it’ll pick up again with the season. Especially if we maybe changed our caterers . . .”

  Polly blinked. It was a lot. It really was a lot.

  She looked around the empty facility. The moon had come up—low, still, given the time of year, but it was a clear, cold evening, and the moonlight shimmered on the waves. Under the stars, slowly popping out even at this hour, she could see the birds dancing, whirring and diving in the sea, crossing the sky, the cold nothing to them with their heavy oiled wings. Up on the cliff there were nests on every available surface, thousands of birds banding together, chattering, diving, heading out for fish; small pufflings stamping up and down in that funny way they had that reminded Polly of toddlers wearing wellington boots.

  She heaved a sigh and pulled out her phone.

  “What are you doing?” said Huckle.

  “I’m invoicing Reuben in advance for catering his Christmas,” said Polly.

  He read over
her shoulder; it was the exact amount the puffin sanctuary needed. He took the phone off her and adjusted the total.

  “What are you doing?” said Polly.

  “It means we might get a holiday out of it,” said Huckle, kissing her. “Cor, there’s no messing about with you when you’ve got an idea in your head, is there?”

  “Thanks for being so understanding,” said Polly, nuzzling into him. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “You don’t,” said Huckle. “But hey, here I am anyway. Dealing with the fact that my very, very, very busy fiancée has just taken on a massive extra job.”

  “Look on the bright side,” said Polly. “If you sous-chef for me, you won’t have to spend any time talking to Reuben’s parents.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The next few days passed in a blur. Polly engaged Selina, who had a tendency to get distracted but when she applied herself was perfectly capable, and taught her, painstakingly, how to turn out perfect buns and rolls and croissants, doing most of the prep herself and leaving the selling to Jayden, who was desperate for any scrap of overtime he could get.

  He was still planning on buying a ring for Flora when she got back from college. Polly still thought they were far too young, but she didn’t mention it. In fact she was slightly admiring. The idea of organizing anything as complex as a wedding was far too much for her to consider at the moment; Jayden’s confident attitude was impressive in its own way.

  She knew she ought to buy Huckle a present, but she didn’t know when or how. Online stores didn’t really deliver to Mount Polbearne without a hefty surcharge, and even when they did, it was still something of an ordeal to deal with Dawson complaining about having to heave stuff across the causeway, so the best thing to do was to go to a big town. She managed finally to sneak an afternoon off with Kerensa. She was going to attempt some shopping in Exeter so she could go and see her mother, too.

  Polly was aware that her family was strange. Kerensa had been raised by her mother, Jackie, entirely on her own, and it had all worked out fine. She knew the circumstances of why her dad had left, and she even saw him from time to time. It was tough, but it was how it was.