Livora Gracely

A small doorway. A rather ambitious breakfast.

Halfway Out

The loaf had reached the doorway. Ned had reached a difficulty.

He stood inside Pella’s bakery with the warm bread across both paws. One end had passed beneath the brass bell. The other rested firmly against the opposite side of the door.

Outside, Sol looked up from his breakfast.

“Coming through?”

“Partly.”

Sol had taken the short path from Bea’s workshop while Ned stopped at home to change his dusty hoodie. By the time Ned reached the old boot, Sol had ordered a slice with butter.

Now his knife paused above the plate.

Pella glanced across from her flour-dusted table.

“That’s the workshop loaf.”

“I know,” Ned said. “It’s trying to stay in the bakery.”

As Ordered

The bakery filled the toe of an old brown boot. Shelves of jars followed its leather walls, and the doorway curved up into the ankle. A long lace hung beside the entrance, its end stirring whenever someone passed.

Ned drew the loaf back into the room.

Pella cleared a space on the breadboard. He set it down carefully, keeping its paper underneath.

“Could you cut it in two?”

“Bea asked for it whole.”

“They’ll cut it when it gets there.”

“She wants to put it on the board between the benches. Everyone can take a piece when they stop.”

Ned looked at the loaf.

Pella had made a fine job of it. The crust rose along the middle, golden where it had opened in the oven. A little flour remained in the slashes.

He took the purse from his pocket and counted out the bread money.

Pella put the coins in her till, then returned to the round loaf waiting on her table.

Ned stayed beside the board.

There was plenty of room for the bread in the bakery.

There was plenty outside.

Between the two stood one small doorway.

One End First

He went to the entrance without the loaf.

The widest part of the opening was near his shoulders. Above that, the arch narrowed. Below, the wooden sill lay clear.

Ned turned sideways and stepped through.

Sol drew his plate closer to himself.

“Are we practising without breakfast now?”

“Just checking.”

Ned came back inside.

This time, he slid one paw beneath the middle of the loaf and supported the lower end with the other. He lifted it diagonally, keeping the crust clear of his chin.

The upper end went through first.

He paused beneath the bell, turned his shoulders, and let the lower end follow.

The paper whispered against his sleeve.

Then he was outside, with the whole loaf still in his paws.

Sol lowered his knife.

“There you are.”

Ned looked back at the door.

“It was wide enough.”

“Eventually,” said Sol.

Behind them, Pella’s bell gave a small ring as Ned’s hood brushed it.

She looked up.

“Mind the crust.”

He drew the loaf a little closer.

“All of it?”

“All of it.”

Breakfast Arrives

Ned settled the wrapped loaf along his arms.

At the little table, Sol lifted his own modest slice.

“Mine found the door some time ago.”

He took a bite.

Ned looked from the slice to the loaf, then towards the lane leading back to the workshop.

“I’d better go before they start eating the breadboard.”

Pella reached beneath her counter for the next sheet of paper.

“Tell Bea I’ve written down tomorrow’s order.”

Ned nodded and set off.

By the time he reached the tyre house, Jo had put the wheel back on the bicycle. Bea was turning its handlebars when she saw him at the entrance.

“Whole?”

Ned raised the loaf.

“Whole.”

She cleared the middle of the long board between their benches.

He laid it there, unwrapped the paper, and let the smell fill the workshop.

Jo put down his spanner.

Bea fetched the bread knife.

For the first time that morning, Ned was pleased to see someone cut it.