by Jenny Colgan
She made Mrs Manse drink the tea, then took her upstairs to her little flat and, without much difficulty – the old lady was still mumbling – persuaded her to get into bed. She called Archie and asked him to track down Mrs Manse’s sister in Truro, then she sat in the stifling flat, waiting for the doctor, who had to wait for the tide.
As she waited, she noticed that the photo, the old photo she’d seen in the drawer, had been taken out and put on top of the cabinet that housed the television, freshly dusted and polished. Gillian had been speaking the truth, Polly realised; she had accepted what had happened to her boys, and knew that they wouldn’t be coming home again.
The doctor arrived looking harassed.
‘The sooner they get that bridge sorted, the better,’ she said. ‘This is ridiculous, it’s medieval. How do you guys live like this?’
Polly looked at her.
‘We like it,’ she said, defensive again.
The doctor checked Mrs Manse over and declared her physically fit, if clinically obese. She sniffed loudly. ‘Though you might just call that normal these days. All that white bread.’
Polly decided she didn’t like the young doctor.
‘She’s a little confused, though. I would say it’s almost certainly just a dizzy spell to do with her age, and I would suggest that whatever she does now, she doesn’t stay on her feet for too long.’
‘I think she wants to go and play bingo,’ said Polly.
‘Perfect,’ said the doctor. ‘Is she still working?’
‘Runs this place single-handedly.’
The doctor shook her head.
‘That won’t do. That won’t do at all.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Mrs Manse sleepily. ‘This… this girl is going to run it for me now. Aren’t you, Polly?’
Polly realised that this was the first time Mrs Manse had ever used her name. She normally just referred to her as ‘you’; as in ‘you’ve ruined this village’.
She squeezed Mrs Manse’s wrinkled old hand.
‘Of course I am,’ she said. ‘I promise.’
Chapter Thirty-One
The seasons had rolled around and new shops had opened in Polbearne: a bespoke fishmonger that paid the men well for their catch, next to the beautiful seafood restaurant; and a children’s clothes and knickery-knackery shop that Polly was astonished to see could actually make a living.
Both bakeries too were thriving; they had hired another member of staff and Jayden oversaw the running of everything with ease, handling the main baking and the grunt work and leaving Polly to experiment with new tastes and flavours and techniques, which she enjoyed. She had also got a lovely mention in a Sunday newspaper, which pleased her. She had been on one or two dates, once with a surfer friend of Reuben’s, who turned out to be very chatty on the subject of surfing and almost entirely uninterested in anything else, and also with an architect who was working on one of the conversions, but nothing had quite clicked, even as she told herself that what she and Huckle had had was a friendship gone slightly awry, and that was all. Anyway, she was far too busy to worry about that, what with Christmas with her mum, her brother and his children, Reuben and Kerensa and Kerensa’s parents. It all got a bit embarrassing when Reuben and Kerensa kept snogging over the Christmas crackers, but there was a big service up in the old church building, everyone freezing but giving thanks for a year that could have been so much worse, and the whole thing was brilliant fun.
But as spring and the wedding approached, she found herself getting a bit nervous again. She settled on a cool ‘Hey, how are you?’ approach, but then of course if Huckle turned up with his ex – if he turned up with anyone – she knew she would be gutted.
Most people didn’t even know about her and Huckle; didn’t even ask. Kerensa asked did she want him disinvited, and Polly pointed out that he was Reuben’s best man. Kerensa said screw that, Reuben did anything she told him to, and Polly could only smile and say don’t be ridiculous, it was a tiny kiss ages ago. Who could possibly still be bothered by something like that?
Come the early spring, pop pop pop, the babies all arrived: one Tarnie, one William, Tarnie’s middle name, two Cornelias and a Marina. (One of the Cornelias belonged to Samantha, who had been pregnant after all, just so slender she didn’t recognise the fact.) People started regularly talking about Polbearne needing a school, which inevitably led to some of them saying ‘and a bridge’. The village was still very split. It would be touch and go come the quarterly planning meeting.
Reuben and Kerensa were hoping their wedding ceremony would ‘blow everyone’s socks off’. From Mount Polbearne only Polly was flying out, as maid of honour, which made her really nervous. Samantha couldn’t because she was pregnant. Archie had been invited but couldn’t be persuaded to leave his new baby, the apple of his eye. Jayden was needed to mind the shop.
Polly practised being calm and collected, telling herself that Huckle would probably barely remember her: just some girl he hung out with for a bit, on that holiday he took. She wondered how utterly impossible this was going to be when she had to turn up dressed as Princess Leia, complete with doughnut ears.
‘Why don’t YOU have the doughnut ears?’ she had hissed furiously on one of the many occasions she and Kerensa had had cause to fall out about it.
‘Because I’m going to be the young princess,’ said Kerensa. ‘Reuben thinks the later, prequel episodes are terribly underrated.’
‘That’s because he’s wrong about everything,’ grumbled Polly, trying to plait her hair up again.
‘Wear the wig,’ counselled Kerensa.
‘No chance,’ said Polly. ‘I look like an actual mad person.’
‘But if you have red doughnuts you’ll also look mad.’
‘Strawberry blonde,’ said Polly. ‘And this was your fiancé’s stupid idea. Seriously, is everyone coming like this or is it just going to be me?’
‘Everyone,’ said Kerensa. ‘All five hundred. Reuben is taking it extremely seriously.’
‘FIVE HUNDRED?’
‘But it’s okay,’ said Kerensa. ‘You don’t know any of them.’
‘Great, that helps. Who’s Reuben going to be anyway? Luke?’
‘No! Darth Vader. It’s going to be hilarious.’
‘You’re not serious.’
‘Totally! It’s going to be fab.’
‘You’re getting married to Darth Vader.’
‘It’s sexy.’
‘It’s asthmatic. And evil.’
‘Well I think it’s going to be really special.’
Five hundred of Reuben and Kerensa’s friends and relations were booked in to hotels close to the seafront mansion, but Polly was only interested in seeing one. She couldn’t sleep a wink on the long flight over, couldn’t eat. When she got there, too late for the rehearsal, about which Kerensa was furious – ‘You won’t walk at the right speed’ – she wished more than anything else that the hotel would let her into the kitchen to make up some dough to calm her nerves. Instead she lay tossing and turning in the vast luxury suite, trying not to worry about how tired and jet-lagged she’d look in the morning. Finally, at about four a.m., she drifted off, waking, very late, to the most beautiful American morning. The sun shone; the Atlantic looked far bluer and wider, it seemed, than it did from the other side. Polly ordered breakfast in bed, looked at the white costume hanging on the back of the door and groaned loudly.
She couldn’t force anything down but a cup of coffee. She was terrified of seeing him again, particularly when Kerensa, banging furiously on her door, hauled her away to an elaborate hair and make-up session. When she saw her hair twisted into their ludicrous headphone shapes, she wanted to burst into tears. Kerensa on the other hand looked rather good: pale make-up and an extraordinary kimono-style dress, incredibly huge and elaborate, with her hair perched on top of her head and what was clearly about four other people’s hair pinned on for good measure.
‘Wow,’ said Polly.
‘I kn
ow,’ said Kerensa. ‘Amazing, huh?’
The wedding was outdoors, on a completely perfect lawn. There was a bower leading down to the water’s edge and chairs laid out with large bows tied to their backs. The bows were black and had pictures of the Millennium Falcon on them.
‘Who are all these people?’ asked Polly wonderingly.
‘Oh, everyone loves Reuben,’ said Kerensa complacently, and Polly gave her a hug.
‘I love you,’ she said.
‘Watch the kimono.’ Kerensa grinned. ‘You too. I have invited all his sexy rich friends. There must be SOMEONE at this wedding who won’t move to another continent if you kiss them.’
‘They’ll move before I kiss them, the second they see this bloody headphone hair… Oh my God, are those Ewoks? They must be boiling.’
The familiar Star Wars music, played by the Boston Symphony Orchestra, struck up as they finally reached the French windows leading out to the lawn. Their path was scattered with black and white rose petals. Polly squeezed Kerensa’s hand.
‘EEK!’ Polly said.
‘YAY!!’ said Kerensa back.
Kerensa’s dad, of whom Polly had always been fond, was trying to look as dignified as possible whilst dressed as Obi-Wan Kenobi. Father and daughter embraced, then Kerensa, steady as a rock in her huge costume, indicated for her flower girl, Cadence, Reuben’s extraordinarily fat but very pleasant sister, who was dressed as a red handmaiden of some sort, with horns, to throw blood-red rose petals in front of their feet.
Polly stepped out clutching a bunch of white flowers and feeling so nervous she thought she was going to throw up. At first she gazed at the ground where she was walking, but as people started to clap (they obviously did this at American weddings), she raised her head.
And there he was.
Reuben had to be standing on a box, or wearing high heels or something, because assuming it really was him in the black Darth Vader mask, he appeared miles taller than usual. And next to him, managing somehow to look calm and as stupidly handsome as ever, dressed as Han Solo in a rather fetching leather jerkin, was Huckle.
Polly bit her lip and carried on walking. Gasps were greeting the arrival of the bride behind her. This was good; Polly felt there weren’t as many eyes on her now. She’d been instructed to go down the aisle then stand to the left of the rabbi, on the bride’s side. Huckle of course was on the other side. But he came towards her immediately, holding out his hand. She swallowed hard.
‘Hello,’ he said quietly.
‘Hello,’ she replied, and as if he’d never been away, he planted the softest kiss on her cheek and led her over to his side, despite Reuben harrumphing crossly.
‘I like your hair.’
‘Shut up,’ she said, her heart thumping.
‘No, I mean it.’
‘You’re wearing a jerkin. How could I possibly take what you have to say seriously?’
They arranged their faces into expressions of suitable solemnity as Kerensa, looking truly like a queen, took her place next to Reuben, hissing at Polly to go round her other side. Polly pretended not to hear her. She also noticed that Reuben was wearing platform boots.
Inside, her whole body was like fireworks, exploding with joy. She couldn’t keep the smile from her lips or the glow from her face as Huckle gently took her hand. All the difficulties, the separation, the long, cold winter months, the lonely nights, the long days, the fact that seeing him again was temporary; all those things dissolved just being near him.
‘Where’s Neil?’ he whispered.
‘Did you know they don’t give out passports for seabirds? It’s a disgrace.’
‘Well if you stay here long enough, he’ll probably find us.’
Polly smiled.
‘If everyone has quite settled down,’ said the rabbi, rather tersely and giving them a sharp look, ‘we can begin.’
‘My queen,’ recited Reuben in a low monotone, reading from a card. ‘May the Force be with us as we travel through the galaxy of life. I pledge never to turn to the dark side…’
‘Bit late for that,’ whispered Huckle, and Polly smacked him.
‘… but to stand for ever in the illumination of our love. I vow to fight the evil empire and you may take your place at my side as we rule the galaxy.’
‘I will,’ said Kerensa.
She took out her own card. Polly bit her lip very, very hard.
‘My Jedi, my love. I take your hand and accept your pledge. May the Force be strong in us. Remain a Jedi and I will stand by you.’
‘I will,’ said Reuben, the heavy breathing from his mouthpiece making it come out as a rasp.
Polly felt herself getting vaguely hysterical. It didn’t help that after they’d crushed the chuppah, and it was announced that Reuben could kiss his bride, he couldn’t get his helmet off. Mostly people were clapping and didn’t notice straight away that there was a titanic struggle going on. Kerensa tried to help, but couldn’t raise her arms in her enormous dress. The rabbi had to step in and try and unfasten him, with Reuben expostulating furiously the entire time.
Polly felt an insistent hand on hers.
‘Come with me.’
‘We can’t leave yet.’
‘We’ll be back before he’s got that thing off.’
Huckle drew Polly out through the side of the flower-entwined bower – nobody even passingly looked at them – and down a little slope to the beach, where nobody could see them.
And down there, he took her hands.
‘I am so sorry your boyfriend died,’ he began, carefully.
Polly looked at him.
‘I… I was fond of Tarnie,’ she said. ‘But he wasn’t… It was awful that he died, but we’d… you know, we weren’t together.’
‘You acted like it was wrong.’
‘Oh Huckle!’ said Polly. ‘THEN! It felt wrong THEN! At his FUNERAL! Not FOR EVER, you big doof!’
She saw the slow, lazy grin crack across his face, and found she couldn’t help it; there was no holding back now. She hurled herself into his arms and kissed him, fiercely, the two of them rolling down the dune towards the surf.
‘I thought it was for the best,’ he said, when they came up for air. ‘But if I’m honest… if I’m honest with myself, I couldn’t believe how much I missed you, how much I thought about you. Every day, every minute, every second. I’ve been waiting for this.’
‘I’ve been dreading it,’ said Polly.
‘Why?’ asked Huckle.
‘In case you were back with your ex… in case you had someone else.’
Huckle shook his head. ‘God, no.’
‘But to leave and not to contact me…’
‘I thought you were grieving for Tarnie and I would only get in your way.’
And as they kissed, the entire wedding party – C-3PO, R2-D2, plenty of Ewoks, a very unhappy Jabba the Hutt and a Jar Jar Binks who’d almost got turned away at the door – appeared over the top of the dune, coming down to get their photographs taken. Polly instantly felt guilty for behaving badly at her best friend’s wedding, until Kerensa, right in the centre of the group, moving very slowly as befitted her queenly status and uncomfortable garments, came towards her with her bouquet of blood-red roses outstretched.
‘I’m not going to throw these,’ she said. ‘I can’t lift my arms anyway. I think they are just for you.’
The rest of the wedding was a riot of excess: oysters and fresh Maine lobster, a new cocktail, rows of immaculate waiters, and a famous eighties band who were truly terrible in every way, though the people in costumes rivalled it. There was a choreographed dance by the bride and groom that nobody who saw it ever forgot; four hours of speeches during which six people fell asleep, and a cabaret performance by a famous stand-up comedian and a dancing dog.
It was all completely wasted on Polly and Huckle, who liberated a bottle or two of the Krug and stayed down by the water’s edge, completely wrapped up in one another. Huckle remembered that he should go and make
his best man’s speech, but when he got to the vast marquee and saw people fanning themselves and passing out all over the place, he simply sidled over, hugged his friend (whose plastic carapace was uncomfortable to the touch and felt increasingly sticky, though Reuben refused to remove it) and whispered in his ear:
‘Do you want the full version or the short version?’
‘MAKE THIS HELL END,’ breathed Reuben through his regulator, whereupon Huckle held up his glass and declared:
‘To my friend Reuben, the best, the most heroic yutz I ever met in my life, and his wife, who is of course far too good for him,’ and the entire room exploded into clapping and cheering, from relief more than anything else.
‘Now, Reuben’s early life was somewhat challenging,’ said a short elderly man dressed as Luke Skywalker and looking not very happy about it, as he got to his feet brandishing a sheaf of notes as thick as a telephone directory. The room collectively groaned. Huckle was glad that Reuben’s face wasn’t visible, as he grabbed a plateful of wedding cake (there had been nine of them) and another bottle of fizz, and ducked back outside.
He stood for a second, just looking. The sun was setting behind them, and the sky was filled with pink and yellow, a soft, clear light that lit up Polly’s hair, which had come loose from its ridiculous buns and was falling in soft waves over her shoulders. She was standing perfectly still, gazing out to sea with a pensive, faraway look on her face, his ridiculous jerkin resting lightly on the shoulders of her white dress. He wasn’t used to Polly being still; she was always doing something, five things at once sometimes: laughing, eating, baking, clearing up, taking money… She was normally a ball of energy. To see her so soft and still like this… His heart simply leapt in his chest.