Sunrise by the Sea (Little Beach Street Bakery #4) - Colgan, Jenny Page 0,93

months before.

‘Are you okay going to an airport and getting on a plane and stuff?’ she said, which nearly made Marisa baulk again. ‘Can’t you get the GP to prescribe you anything? Like a sedative?’

‘I’m too anxious: they don’t really work on me,’ admitted Marisa. ‘I work myself into such a state worrying they’re going to knock me out and I’ll go crazy or fall asleep on the wrong plane or have to get removed, that they don’t really do what they’re supposed to do.’

‘Oh goodness,’ said Polly. ‘What about a gin and tonic then?’

‘Same deal,’ said Marisa. ‘So scared it’ll make me crazy it makes me crazy.’

‘I am so sorry about your grandmother,’ said Polly. ‘You always speak about her so much.’

‘Just because . . .’ Marisa’s voice cracked a little. ‘She’s normally so annoying.’

Polly smiled. ‘Do you need a lift? Huckle can take you to Exeter when the tide comes down.’

Marisa had been about to say no, but realised that actually every last piece of help she could get would be good in this situation.

‘Yes please,’ she said. ‘Are you sure he wouldn’t mind? The train fare is more than the flight.’

Polly snorted. ‘It would be. No. He won’t mind.’

She didn’t add, although she could have, that Huckle’s gratefulness to Marisa was boundlessly huge.

The twins had to come, of course, and were delighted by this turn of events; they didn’t get a lot of trips in the car.

Not only did they get to squabble over one filthy and very badly cracked iPad in the back seat – they had begged Marisa to ‘borrow’ her phone, being canny, before Huckle sternly told them to button it – but there was the promise of that impossibly exotic thing, the McDonald’s Happy Meal, on the way home. Therefore they both decided to sing the entire way, leaving Huckle and Marisa not much space for talking, which Marisa didn’t mind. She looked out of the window, trying not to feel her anxiety grow as Mount Polbearne grew small in the side mirror behind her, touching distance, then gone. She wanted to reach out, run back, but she couldn’t.

‘You gonna be all right?’ said Huckle in his sunny way.

‘I think so,’ said Marisa. ‘No. Yes. Yes. I can do this.’

‘If it helps,’ said Huckle, ‘nobody likes airports. Everybody hates them. Everyone’s feeling the same as you, just on a slightly different level.’

Marisa looked at him.

‘Is that true?’

‘Of course. Hellish places.’

Marisa looked at her hands.

‘That does kind of help, actually,’ she said.

‘There you go. Also, you get a run-up.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you walked down to the bakery. Then you got in a car. Then you’ll be getting on a train. You’re working your way up in steps. Plane is just the next bit.’

‘You’re a very helpful man,’ said Marisa.

‘Good,’ said Huckle. ‘Now could you invent a honey pizza, please? Just to help things along.’

‘There is a cheese and honey pizza! With pine nuts!’ said Marisa.

‘Is there?’ said Huckle. ‘What’s it like?’

‘Revolting,’ said Marisa. ‘I mean, if you think that’s a drawback.’

‘Okay,’ said Huckle, as Daisy and Avery sang a loud and extremely rude song off the radio. ‘Well, I might have to think about it. Do you know how long you’ll be away?’

Marisa shook her head shortly. Neither of them wanted to state the truth: until they knew the outcome, either way.

‘I wouldn’t mind if Polly stopped doing pizza for a couple of weeks,’ said Huckle. ‘She needs rest.’

Marisa nodded. ‘She does. Also think of how much pent-up demand there’ll be when I get back.’

Huckle looked at her and smiled.

‘Well, look at you, all optimistic and stuff. I think you’re going to be okay.’

They pulled up outside the station which the twins mistook for the drive-through and started shouting about chicken nuggets.

‘Thank you,’ said Marisa. Inside the car had felt safe and private and contained. Outside, the world was bustling and busy and nothing like the quiet of Mount Polbearne at all, and full of people shouldering their way through normal life, whatever that was. It was undeniably unnerving.

Huckle hefted her wheelie suitcase out of the boot and watched her wheel off into the crowd, worried about her, and slightly worried about his wife if they never saw her again.

Chapter Sixty-three

She very nearly didn’t make it. It was the smell of the airport; that mix of booze and anxiety and diesel and duty-free perfume: all sorts of things bubbling up to fuel her nervousness.

It felt so familiar: the desire to press herself against