Marisa smiled and, for the first time in a very long time, showed a flash of what looked suspiciously like confidence.
‘With these ovens?’ she said, dark eyes flashing. ‘I think we’ll be all right.’
And Polly found that, somehow, she wasn’t crying any more.
Chapter Forty-two
Andy’s power hose was in massive demand, so they first went at it, exhausted as they were, with big wire brushes, starting with the most important job: wrenching the main door back open. Once Huckle woke up, he brought up the twins in their wellingtons, warning them to stay outside in the back yard and play in the puddles rather than, as they were perfectly capable of doing, somehow falling on a concealed rusty nail and ending up airlifted to hospital for tetanus.
The door was ruined, that much was true. Completely done for. Huckle patiently set to work unscrewing its hinges to lift it out altogether. The forecast for the next few days – stretching into the next week, in fact – was irritatingly fine, which meant that they should be able to carry on cleaning up, which was good, but also that they would miss all the tourists, who were being told to walk over at their own risk until the cobbles were properly reset in the causeway, a frustratingly slow and delicate task, and nothing could drive over it either.
Archie’s mob were making up for the damage done to their fishing fleet by running the boat taxi service twice as often as usual, and bringing in large boxes of supplies, thankfully.
The bakery door unhooked, the water started to rush out, down back towards the sea, leaving behind a slow-moving pile of silt and dirt and crap.
‘At least there’s no carpet,’ said Huckle. ‘You should see Mrs Baillie’s place. All floral carpets, all done for, and it will stink for one hundred and forty-five years.’
It was true, the heavy flagstones were practical – no peeling laminate or floating tiles. But it was still dispiriting to see her beautiful glass units all scratched and cracked by the thrown-about water; the chiller cabinet for cakes completely destroyed. The cash register was safe, thankfully; she had unplugged it and put it up above with the knives and many of the dishes, so that although the units were a mess, her expensive equipment was safe.
They opened every window that could open, checked the electrics were okay now the power was back on and set the extractor going and Andy, bless him, once he’d finished in his chippy, kept the power-hose unit on his back and came straight over to theirs.
‘Ghostbusters!’ said Huckle drily as Andy lowered his visor and gave them a salute, but they were all incredibly pleased regardless.
They sluiced on and on until there was just a grim black patina on the floor, which would need hands and knees scrubbing. The girls looked at it in dismay. Huckle looked at the both of them and ordered them home for a nap. It would keep.
There was piano music coming from next door as Marisa finally let herself in, filthy and utterly exhausted. A melancholy, sad song. He must think she was still at Polly’s. For some reason she didn’t mind it so much.
She fell into the shower, and the water ran black off her. She left the hot water on for a very, very long time, leaning her head against the shower wall feeling a mixture of emotions – pride, sadness, excitement – all coursing through her at the same time.
The music was still going as she came out, finally clean, put Polly’s clothes into the washing machine, pulled out some fresh cotton pyjamas and crawled between the fresh sheets on her bed even though the sun was high in the sky. The soft bed and stiff cotton felt like heaven to her bone-weary body; she remembered, smiling, the little bird marching through the flour; the children crawling up Mr Batbayar and startling him awake; the excitement of the ovens. What could she do? she wondered. If she could get out of her own way, what might she do?
Next door, the little song tinkled on. But it did not keep her awake.
Chapter Forty-three
By the next day, the town was mobbed. Everyone was wandering up and down Beach Street. Many were helping; cousins and friends had shown up, waded in over the broken cobbles or commandeered rowing boats to sweep out and try and dry out the old cottages and fix things up. People had come from miles around, particularly after a news helicopter had done a broadcast on television, showing the devastation to the ancient causeway. It was truly amazing, Polly had thought: people had come from miles away, with blankets (not really necessary) and mops (very, very necessary).
The weather stayed glorious so the streets were full of people, whom Andy promptly manage to oblige with beer and fish and chips, and the grocer’s, set back from the main drag, got rid of all the newly acquired ice cream which almost made up for their ruined stock.
But Polly was still faced with the endless scraping task of trying to clean up the ovens and was still without a working door. She was baking at home but that had to go to the workers, so selflessly giving up their time to put the town back together, so she was missing all the trade, even when all the fishermen trooped up the hills and presented themselves as her personal cleaning army, announcing as their slogan, ‘RECLAIM THE PASTY!’
In the early afternoon, an unexpected quiet fell on the harbour-side, and Polly looked up. Everyone was staring at a ridiculous vehicle that had appeared on the causeway. It looked like a convertible on the top and – no, surely not – a boat underneath, and had a big sign on it saying AQUANDA.
A crowd gathered. As it neared the submerged end of the causeway, the car took a sharp right turn and, as the crowd literally gasped, launched itself, taking a cut through the waves and sending a jet of water behind it.
The audience gasped again and some of the children started clapping as the car/boat spun a wide circle in the sparking water and came to a halt in a skid on the beach.
‘Stop smirking,’ said Polly to Huckle, as they both stood watching, the twins, who had been given little mops of their own, dashing out breathlessly.
‘LOOOOK! AT! THE CAR!’
Avery was hopping up and down with excitement.
‘IT’S A BOAT!’
‘Do you need to pee, Avery?’
‘NO! YES! BUT! AFTER THE BOAT CAR!’
Well, if the worst came to the worst, he was outside and already filthy, thought Polly to herself, failing to win Mother of the Year for the fifth year in a row.
‘Oh, come on, it’s cool,’ said Huckle, nudging her elbow.
‘It’s ridiculous!’ said Polly. ‘I bet it cost more than the entire contents of this shop.’
‘It’s his money,’ said Huckle.
‘I know, I know,’ said Polly. ‘I’m being bitter. Ignore me.’
‘IT’S! A! CAR! BOAT!’
‘It is,’ said Polly laughing. ‘A! CAR! BOAT!’
The doors of the water car came up sideways like a DeLorean, and Reuben and Kerensa stepped out, both grinning broadly. Between them was Lowin, wearing a T-shirt embroidered with a huge cobra, and looking like someone who knew exactly how jealous of him every other kid there would be, and enjoying every second of it.
‘WOAH,’ said Avery. ‘Lowin is my friend. I’m go say hello.’
And he dashed across to the harbour’s edge where Lowin was mounting the steps.
‘HI, LOWIN! HI! HI, LOWIN!’