The Visitor (38 page)

Her father reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. He turns it over and looks at it, then hands it to Pearl.

‘Letter came,' he says.

Pearl's heart knocks into a gallop and she fumbles trying to open the single folded page. Nicholas. It's from Nicholas. He has sent for her. But she is reading words that haven't come from his hand.
The Council has voted…

Her father touches her arm. ‘Read it aloud,' he says. ‘It came this morning but we'd no one at hand to ask to read it, you being… Please, my sweet. I think it's important.'

She clears her throat and forces herself to concentrate. ‘The Council has voted in favour of the construction of a green for the playing of miniature golf, which it is hoped will add to the draw of Morlanow for visitors
.
'

‘I don't understand,' her father says.

Pearl scans the rest of the page. ‘It's a game, Father. There's an explanation of it here. Says it's “gentle amusement”.'

‘What's that to do with us? Visitors get up to their own merriment. Don't usually ask us permission.'

Quickly, she reads the last few lines to herself. ‘It's the ground,' she says. ‘They want the ground the seine boats rest on during the season.'

He grabs the paper from her and holds it close to his face, as if that will force the strange twisting shapes into something he can read. ‘What? That can't be right. We've kept the boats there for years. My grandfather tended a seine boat there.'

‘Can they go back to their lofts?' she says.

Her father sighs and leans his head back against the hut. ‘Some could, but since the boats came out many places have been rented, fitted with beds and the like. And anyway, where would they go next season, when we're waiting for the fish? We have to be close to the water.'

‘It says the Tillotsons want the boats to be destroyed,' she says, watching his mouth open, his eyes widen.

‘No, you must be reading it wrong.'

Pearl goes back to looking at the sea, drained of all strength and unable to console him. ‘That's what it says,' she tells him. ‘They want the ground cleared as soon as possible.'

Her father blows air through his nose and mutters darkly. ‘I'm going to see that fool Trevisco right now. What does he think he's playing at?'

‘But the boats. Do you really think they'd last another season? With no more money for repairs, and these bad years… there mightn't be many pilchards left.'

He doesn't lose his temper at this suggestion now; his anger has cooled. ‘There have always been spells like this,' he says. ‘My great uncle William told of a run of eight poor years. Not a pilchard to be seen on this coast, yet further up they were throwing themselves into the nets. They'd all but given up in Morlanow. Many gone hungry, many left, including his three brothers. And then the fish were back and kept coming. They're funny creatures. You should know that.' He playfully nips her cheek and she smiles, unable to remember the last time she did so. ‘They never truly go,' he says. ‘They're just playing, waiting until we've all but given up. It's a test of faith, of a kind, but don't you tell your mother I said so. Trevisco and the Council have forgotten that, too concerned with what the railway men have to say, and I think me and some others had better remind them.'

‘No, Father, please. No more fighting.'

‘Don't fret, my sweet. Been enough arguing here. We don't need more amongst ourselves. Govenek men are waiting for us to fall out again.'

‘I've seen the east coast boats putting in there.'

Her father grunts and gets to his feet, stretching his tight joints. He looks along the cliff path towards the neighbouring village.

‘Govenek's welcome to them, but I'm uneasy all the same. I heard they're planning to build a new wharf over there, to make a proper harbour.'

‘Who'll pay for that?' she says. ‘Surely they've seen from Morlanow that the money's running dry.'

‘That's the worst of it. The youngest Mr Tillotson was seen there. Got a new agent measuring up, ordering the stone.'

They are both silent then. Gulls swoop over them, hunting their nests on the cliff. Their cries sift down.

‘What about us?' she says.

‘Tillotsons have had enough, it seems. The Master's been shaken up by the rioting, though he was none too strong before it. And if we won't go out on Sundays, change to taking different fish with these bigger boats like the east coast crews, well – the Tillotsons think there's nothing for them here, don't want to mend their own boats. But the pilchards will come back, and we'll manage on our own somehow.'

‘But the letter—'

‘Misunderstanding, that's all. I'll get off now, straighten it out.'

The next day she sees the fire. Her father has failed. Men drag the seine boats from their summer home by the rock pools and pile them near the slipway. The letter said the Council wanted the boats removed quickly and with as little fuss as possible. Taking them to Skommow Bay and leaving them to be slowly claimed by the sea would only prolong the grief. It's more fitting that they are burnt.

It's the same when older people die. After their mortal remains are taken to chapel for proper burial and the minister has retired home to an understanding ignorance, friends and relations take the bed of the newly lost, and the sheets and blankets, their clothes, any special trinkets they were known to like, down to the beach. They build a pyre without a body and light it, staying and watching the flames until every last piece has burned away. But there are less who keep the old ways, and with the pilchards staying away many can't stretch to rid a house of its wares. This fire for the boats is the first she has seen in a long while.

The wind blows smoke up to the hut. It mixes with the salt water on Pearl's cheeks, smarting. What would Nicholas think of this, the end of the seine boats? He said change had to come, before it was forced. And he was right. Is anyone on the shore, those watching as the fire devours the boats, thinking the same? Does anyone think of him at all?

She turns so that she can't see the bonfire and instead looks out to sea in the direction of Govenek. It's a calm day, good for making land.

She wakes one morning and Alice is there.

Alice is so still, looking out to sea, that at first Pearl thinks that she's dreamt her. But then Alice turns and something about the look in her eyes tells Pearl that this isn't a dream. The softness that came to Alice when she married Jack's father has gone. She looks like she did when Pearl was a child: thin, worn ragged.

‘Where's Samuel?' Pearl asks.

Alice bites her lip, shakes her head. ‘He's making us leave,' she says.

‘Who is?'

Alice puts her head in her hands. ‘He says the house is his and he wants us out.'

Pearl's about to offer comfort, to say no, of course Jack won't. He wouldn't. But then she thinks yes, Jack would. Now his father's dead he can do as he pleases and no one in Morlanow will take Alice's part, not even for Samuel's sake.

‘Can you talk to him?' Alice says. ‘Ask him if we can stay?'

‘Have you anywhere to go?'

‘No,' Alice says. ‘Only the workhouse. Will you speak to him? Tell him I'll do anything. I have to think of my child.'

‘Yes,' Pearl says. ‘The child.'

When Alice walks back down the cliff path Pearl looks the other way. Even with her stick Alice stumbles. It will be a hard walk for her and Pearl can't bring herself to watch.

Nicholas comes to her from across the sea but not by ship. He walks on the water, the waves lying down for him. Behind him comes a storm, dark clouds billowing as if they are a cloak. Nicholas smiles at her. She feels that smile when he is still only just visible on the horizon. It wraps her in comfort. She's back on the edge of the cliff, waiting for him, unable to move but not afraid. He comes slowly, achingly slowly, and finally he's in front of her, hovering there. She's unsteady. She will fall but doesn't know how to stop herself. The rocks are coming closer. The ground is rising up to meet her. The air is rushing past her face. She's falling and all the while Nicholas is kissing her.

A stinging pain at the back of her head. And another. Laughter. She opens her eyes and sees two boys, each no more than six years old, standing nearby. She doesn't recognise them. One, a little taller, holds a stone in his hand, weighing it up. His companion stands just behind him, staring shyly at Pearl. They whisper to one another. The taller boy pulls back his arm and flings the stone at Pearl. This one misses and bounces off the hut wall. She tries to stand and the boys turn tail and fly down the cliff path, towards Govenek.

She puts her hand to her head and there's blood. The ground rolls away and the pitching sickness returns. It's early evening, the first star hanging in a wash of orange-pink. Pearl steadies herself against the doorway of the hut. Local boats are coming into shore. Jack's is amongst them.

She doesn't want to leave the hut. At the huer's lookout she is halfway between Govenek and Morlanow and she lays claim to neither. If it weren't for the presence of another that she can no longer ignore she would stay here, living in the hut, walking the cliff path and being mercifully forgotten. But the village wouldn't let her forget. And the child is a gift, in a way. Part of Nicholas is left behind and she must care for it, not condemn it to a life of scandal. She has to do what's right by the child. Her child. Alice has shown her that. At the thought of Alice and Samuel, Pearl is washed with guilt. They lose out if she is to gain. But she stands up, dusts herself down. She knows what must be done. Alice will have to make her own way.

Pearl gathers the few items her mother has brought from home: the blanket, a plate and cup. In the last of the daylight she picks her way down the cliff path, keeping an eye on the progress of one returning boat.

Twenty-Four

Jack turned on the bottom stair. ‘No, you've got to stay upstairs, Pearl.'

She clutched the banister. ‘Why have I got to? I haven't been bad. Don't make me stay there. I need to go outside.'

‘In this weather?'

The rain lashed the house then, to remind her of its presence and what she had to do. Straightening up, her chin out, she marched down the remaining stairs, pushed past Jack's astonished face and went into the kitchen.

He was at her side, trying to steer her back towards the stairs. ‘Doctor's coming, remember. And he mustn't see you, Pearl.'

‘Why mustn't he? If there's something the matter I should see the doctor, Jack. Is there something the matter with me? Am I ill?' She felt fine. Better than fine.

Jack put his hands to his head and stared at her. ‘You've not been listening at all, have you?' He raised his voice, shouting each word slowly. ‘He wants to take you away from me and I won't let him. You belong here.'

There was the truth of it. She hadn't been on her guard, had let her thoughts slip. With his sneaking and tricksy ways Jack knew that Nicholas was coming. Pearl found herself against the wall. He got his arms round her and began hauling her back towards the stairs.

She cried out. ‘No, please. Let me go. Let me go to him.'

He held on tighter. He was going to keep her in the house and the packet would go without her. ‘You don't know what you're saying, Pearl. This isn't what you want.'

They struggled together, Pearl squeezing Jack's swollen, hot hands, knowing that was where he felt the greatest pain. He sucked his breath over his teeth, baring them like a fox, but still he held on.

There was a sharp tap on the front door. When the second knock wasn't answered, a voice called through the rain.

‘Mr Tremain? It's Dr Adamson. Your son asked me to call by.'

Pearl felt a tremble go through Jack's arm and slipped sideways out of his grip. She backed into the kitchen.

Jack pointed at her. ‘Stay in there. Don't come out until I tell you.' He began to close the door.

‘Is it hide and seek, Jack? Are we playing now?'

With only an inch of open doorway between them, he paused. ‘Yes. That's it. You've got to hide in here. Stay very quiet.'

She didn't know why Jack sounded so sad; this was his favourite game. The door closed. In the corner of the room there was a heap of stones, some of which were scattered across the floor. She crouched and began stacking the stones in front of her. Jack was best at hiding and was never keen on doing the seeking but this time she was going to win.

She could hear Jack on the other side of the door. He was talking to someone, a voice she didn't recognise. They were getting closer. They would find her. She needed a better hiding place, further away. There was another door, by the window. She opened it and remembered.

Standing in the puddle that had collected on the doorstep, Pearl held out her arms to the water pouring from the sky. It was sweet on her lips. Her hair was a tangle of damp within seconds, her clothes heavy.