by Jenny Colgan
‘Well that’s useful,’ said Huck. ‘Because I am attempting some entrepreneurial brilliance. Is it working?’
Polly put her arms around his neck.
‘I wonder,’ she said. ‘I wonder if we could.’
Huckle kissed her full on the mouth.
‘We can do anything.’
‘Hey, you guys, stop with all the sexy stuff,’ came Reuben’s whining voice across the waves. ‘Honestly, you’re disgusting. And come and eat this pavlova, before they take the oven away.’
Chapter Eleven
Polly woke the next morning in one of Reuben’s sumptuous, ridiculous guest suites. It had a circular bed, and automatic curtains, which, drunk the night before – after they had finished eating on the beach, they had come in and watched Star Wars episode 3 one last time in the big cinema – she had insisted on opening and closing until Huckle begged for mercy. Neil was on the floor beside them, still sleeping soundly.
At first Polly wasn’t sure what had woken her, until she realised it was a removals man, carting off a sink from the capacious en suite. She blinked.
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘could you leave the loo for a bit?’
Huckle was still out for the count, gently snoring. Polly felt rather rough as she stumbled to the bathroom, but the view – the bathroom had a huge window over the bath, straight out to sea, nothing in your eyeline but sharp, sharp blue – woke her up.
‘I will MISS this place,’ she said, as Huckle started to stir. ‘I can’t believe some Russian guy is going to come here and ruin it.’
‘Ruin it how?’ said Huckle, groaning and running his fingers through his thick hair. ‘I don’t know how it could actually be more tacky.’
‘I am thinking, gold everywhere and more animal skins?’ said Polly.
‘Oh yes, that would do it,’ said Huckle. ‘You seem suspiciously perky for a morning after at Reuben’s.’
‘The swim helped,’ said Polly. ‘Oh, and also I slept through the film. He’s shown it about nine million times, and it’s been shit boring every single time. So actually I feel pretty good.’
Huckle smiled, and glanced at his watch.
‘I think he said something about his housekeeper going today.’
‘So sad,’ said Polly vehemently. She had always liked the idea of a housekeeper.
She took one last glance around at their stunning surroundings.
‘Shall we lock the door and bid it farewell?’ she grinned.
‘I believe under the circumstances that’s the respectful thing to do,’ said Huckle, rolling over in the bed.
Back in Mount Polbearne, having taken their leave of Reuben and Kerensa, bravely holding hands in what was left of their grand entrance hall, Polly and Huckle looked at the finances together, up in the sitting room.
Outside, it was a wild night. The grey clouds had come over and torn themselves up and now there was a storm brewing. Polly had, as she always did, gone down and forbidden the fishermen to go out in bad weather, and they had, as they always did, pretended to listen to her then turned around and gone anyway. Actually this was unfair: since the previous year, Archie had been much more conscientious and careful around weather forecasts and had occasionally held back the fleet. But he did not think this would be worse than a bit of wind and rain, and they were behind on their quotas, and so, with a weary look on his face, he cast off the lines and they chugged bravely into the hungry waves, Polly watching them go, anxious as ever.
The wind had blown out the power temporarily. The lighthouse itself had back-up generators, but the building wasn’t connected to those, so Huckle went searching for candles. Normally Polly didn’t mind a power cut: they snuggled up together and had an early night. But tonight they were looking at paperwork, which was tortuous but essential and unavoidable, so they lit as many candles as they could find and worked off the laptop’s battery, peering at the piles of bills on the table. They did live cheaply – Mount Polbearne didn’t offer that much in the way of shopping, unless you wanted a bucket and spade, chips, or a piece of driftwood with ‘LOVE’ spelled out on it in white paint, and Polly cooked most things they ate from scratch – but there was the mortgage, and taxes, and electricity and water and just the usual flotsam and jetsam of everyday life. Polly had poured all her meagre savings into the lighthouse, and now they had a vastly reduced income. Almost nothing, in fact. She shook her head in disbelief.
‘Oh goodness, it’s worse than I thought,’ she said. ‘Seriously, it is awful.’
Huckle nodded gravely.
‘Mind you, Reuben’s will look just like this, minus several million extra dollars.’
‘I know,’ said Polly. ‘But somehow I can’t help thinking that they’ll be absolutely okay.’
‘Well, sure,’ said Huckle. ‘They’re probably thinking exactly the same thing about us.’
The candles flickered, and their shadows glowed high up against the rough whitewashed wall, a pin of light in the thick darkness of the sea, with the great swooping lamp above them. Polly looked at their silhouettes, their heads close together against the dark, and leaned in even closer.
‘What are we going to do?’
They’d looked into buying a van, and it was possible – entirely possible – but expensive. Well, everything was expensive when you had no money, that was an absolute fact, but to buy a van, and get it clean and ready to work and certified, would take time. And they didn’t have time. Polly needed to work. She had to.
She’d met up with Jayden that morning, who’d texted her in a panic.
‘That weird man,’ said Jayden. ‘Flora doesn’t like him either.’
‘Flora doesn’t like anyone.’
‘That’s true,’ said Jayden, going slightly pink.
‘So,’ prompted Polly. She couldn’t deny it: it made her feel slightly better to hear someone saying she was really missed, and she hoped Jayden would.
‘He’s bought in all this kind of garage pre-packed stuff,’ said Jayden. ‘I don’t think it’s actually much cheaper than you doing it. I think it’s much more expensive actually.’
‘But he doesn’t need to pay me to do it,’ said Polly.
‘Oh yeah,’ said Jayden. ‘I never thought about that.’
‘You just pour it out in front of the display case.’
Jayden nodded.
‘It’s not as nice as yours,’ he said, sadly.
‘Well that’s good,’ said Polly. ‘Maybe you’ll eat less of it.’
‘He counts the stock,’ said Jayden gloomily. ‘It’s all plastic-wrapped. A plastic-wrapped eclair isn’t very nice.’
‘A plastic-wrapped eclair?’
Polly genuinely couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe that anyone would do that. What kind of a fiend would plastic-wrap an eclair?
‘But everyone is so conscious of their weight these days, and what they should and shouldn’t put in their bodies… and if they’re going to have a treat, something as lovely and gorgeous and delicious as an eclair, why wouldn’t they have the best, made with proper cream and icing, and fluffy flour that’s been raised that morning, and all chilled deliciously so it’s absolutely gorgeous and fresh in your mouth, and one, two, three bites and you’re happy for the rest of the day, because it’s lighter than air, and nothing so light and lovely can really be bad for you, not when it’s made with love from good stuff.’ Her mouth took on a defiant line.
‘I know,’ said Jayden.
Polly wrapped her arms around her knees and stared out to sea.
‘I hate him so much.’
‘Me too,’ said Jayden, quickly glancing behind him to make sure Malcolm wasn’t stalking about.
‘Um…’ Jayden was bright red and staring at the ground. ‘Um, would you like me to quit for you? Because you know I would.’
Polly’s hand flew to her mouth.
‘Oh no, Jayden, NO! Definitely not. No. Not at all. Honestly, I would not want you to do that for me. In fact, as your ex-boss, I order y
ou NOT to do it. Seriously.’
Jayden had hated being a fisherman, and he loved working in a bakery. Jobs in the region tended to be seasonal and hard to come by, and Polly couldn’t bear the idea of him giving up the first job he’d ever had that he’d actually liked. She put her hand on his arm.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you for that, it means a lot. I’m very touched. But no, you don’t have to give up your job for me. You just need to do it properly, hang on in there, then when Malcolm gets bored of it and goes to do something else…’
She tried to think of precisely how this would happen, but couldn’t, quite. She made sure her voice didn’t choke up too much.
‘Just don’t… don’t clean it as well as you did for me. No, hang on, what am I saying, you’ll make everyone sick. That’s a terrible thing to say, ignore me. Just do what you always do, Jayden. You’re great at it.’
Jayden beamed. ‘Thanks,’ he said. Then added, ‘Nobody ever said I was good at anything before.’
‘Well you are very, very good in a bakery,’ said Polly. ‘Far better than that ratfink deserves.’
Jayden looked up at her.
‘You’ll be all right, Polly,’ he said. ‘I know you will. Whatever you do.’
But now that the numbers were in front of their eyes, Polly had lost the optimism that seeing Jayden had given her.
They simply didn’t, couldn’t add up, even if they could borrow money to buy a van, which they couldn’t, because Polly was a discharged bankrupt and Huckle was an American. Even then it would still take time to get it up to scratch, sort out the paperwork. Time they didn’t have. The repayments on the lighthouse were very high, and that was before you even got near all the work it needed.
Huckle looked at the soft candlelight playing on Polly’s features as she bit her lip anxiously. She looked absolutely lovely, but he hated seeing her so worried and sad. In fact, he felt his only job was to keep her from being worried and sad, and make her laugh and keep her happy, like she’d been yesterday splashing in the water of Reuben’s cove, even now Reuben no longer had a cove; even when their splashing days were over.
‘Well,’ he said, in that slow way of his. He wasn’t looking forward to this, but it had to be said. ‘Well, Polly, there is something.’
Polly blinked. ‘I know, I know. We move. We move, we go and get office jobs again, we drive through traffic every day for the rest of our lives, we work nine to five, we never see the sun go down over the sea or have a picnic in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. I know that’s life, Huckle. I know that’s how it is for most people, and I know I’m not special, or different, that I don’t deserve to be doing something else. It just took me longer to figure it out than everybody else. It’s time to grow up. Get rid of this millstone lighthouse and go do something else.’
There was a long silence. Then Huckle drew her to him and gently kissed her neck.
‘Actually I was going to say exactly the opposite,’ he said, drawing her up to sit on his lap. ‘You belong here. You belong here doing what you love. You should stay here. Build it up again. Heck, fail again if you like. It doesn’t matter. It will work out in the end, what you do. Keep doing the right thing, and do it right and it will come right. That’s my promise to you.’
Polly looked at him, not comprehending.
‘And meanwhile, for a little while…’
There was a pause.
‘Clemmie rang. Dubose’s girlfriend. She rang me, looking for him.’
They hadn’t seen or heard from Dubose; Polly assumed that if he was at Selina’s she’d have seen him, even though she was steering clear of the bakery, but she hadn’t. It was like he’d vanished into thin air.
‘He hasn’t even got in touch?’ she said, shocked.
‘That’s not unusual.’
‘Oh my God, what if he left us that night and drowned on the causeway!’
‘I think we’d know,’ said Huckle. ‘Anyway, I called Mom. He sent them an email… asking for money.’
‘Oh,’ said Polly. ‘Your brother is the WORST chancer.’
‘I know,’ said Huckle. ‘But anyway. I’ve been thinking.’
Polly felt an anxious feeling deep in her stomach.
‘I can go back,’ said Huckle.
‘No,’ said Polly instantaneously.
‘Shush,’ said Huckle. ‘I can go back. I can make money on the farm. Gaw, making money is all I used to be good at, till I got into the honey trade. I haven’t worked on a farm for a while, but I can do it. And it pays reasonably well. Clemmie will put me up.’
‘You can’t go!’
‘Are you going to listen to me or are you just going to talk yourself into a gigantic panic?’ said Huckle, kindly but firmly. ‘Listen to me. I’d been thinking about this anyway, even before what happened, otherwise I can’t see how on earth we’ll ever make the lighthouse into anything other than a death trap.’
‘It’s not a death trap!’
‘What about that stair moss?’
‘I can’t believe you’re bringing the stair moss up again.’
‘I just think most people live in houses that don’t have moss.’
‘Well hooray for them.’
Polly’s face looked cross. Huckle rubbed her back and arms.
‘Look,’ he said, his voice low and soothing, ‘I go back to the States, work for a few months, make some money. Clemmie needs help. And I’ll save Dubose his job for when he gets home. Not that he deserves it. I’ll send you the money. I will trust you not to spunk it all on shoes and getting your nails done.’
Polly managed a tiny grin. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her nails done.
‘When you’ve got your van up and running, I’ll come back again. Get back into my highly demanding career of being occasional honey-collector and bee-keeper and hanging-out-with-Polly-and-Neil-er.’
Polly looked at him.
‘But you can’t go. I’ll miss you!’
Huckle nodded. ‘Well, good. I would find it very difficult if you didn’t notice or remotely care.’
‘Can’t we get through this together?’
‘This is getting through this together,’ said Huckle. ‘All of us together. Sorry, Poll. I apologise for my family baggage.’
Polly’s eyes were wide. She thought of Selina sending Tarnie off for weeks on end, his dangerous work miles away from home. She thought of sailors’ wives everywhere who waited months for their men to come home; of men who raised families whilst their wives did night shifts and collapsed, exhausted, to try and grab a few hours’ sleep in the noisy day; of the men who worked on oil rigs; of divers, and soldiers, and women who left their children behind in other countries to earn a crust. And poor abandoned Clemmie, in love with the handsome, carefree Dubose.
Huckle grabbed her and held her tight.
‘Don’t think I won’t miss you,’ he said. ‘Every second of the day.’
‘All those American girls will want to eat you up,’ grumbled Polly, trying to stop a tear coming to her eye.
‘Yeah, fortunately I can only get turned on by an English accent these days,’ said Huckle. ‘Seriously, anything else just puts me right off.’
Polly laughed.
‘You are surrre, monsieurrr?’
‘What’s that?’ said Huckle. ‘Lebanese?’
‘Shut up! It’s French!’
‘Oh,’ said Huckle. ‘Well, actually, you know, that one appears to be working too.’
‘Disproves your theory,’ said Polly. Huckle shook his head and pulled her closer to him.
‘Proves it,’ he said. ‘The only person in the entire world for me is you. We need this for us.’
‘You promise it won’t be for long?’
They blew out the candles one by one, except for one each, which they took downstairs to their bedroom and placed either side of the bed. Outside there was nothing except, every so often, the waves, and then Mount Polbearne, lit by the light from above their heads.
>
‘This is kind of romantic,’ Polly said.
‘Whoop! Sorry, it’s hard to pee in the dark,’ yelled Huckle from the bathroom. ‘Sorry!’
‘Okay, so there was a romantic mood going on,’ said Polly, smiling. She went and looked out of the window. Could she manage? Could she cope with Huckle gone? He was her rock, her everything. But also, she felt inside herself, also there was something else.