The Visitor (26 page)

But then the pilchards didn't come back and the mackerel dropped off too. The artists brought money, by way of rent and buying supplies, but they were usually hard pressed. So many of Morlanow's own people went away, never to be seen again. Those left behind stood in the streets with their hands spread, as if to say: what do we do? It wasn't their fault.

The kettle was shrieking its readiness. As she lifted the cup of tea to her lips she saw the next sign. Just as when she saw the hare and the knapweed cairn, she didn't know she was looking for something until it came, but there it was. A stalk floated on the whitened surface of her tea: a visitor was coming to her door.

Eleven

As Pearl nears her front door she hears crying. At first she thinks that it's Samuel in the Tremain house next door but then she realises it's a woman. She's never seen Alice cry, not even when they dragged her, naked, from the net loft Miss Charles was using as a studio. No, the crying is coming from Pearl's house.

Inside, the first thing she sees is her mother curled into a shaking ball on the floor beside the hearth. A moan pours from her open mouth. Her strong mother who is tough as boot leather, bearing no fuss, no hysterics. Something must have happened to her father. Pearl grips the door frame as her legs buckle. She can't speak but looks round wildly. Is he here? Have they brought him home? Polly is standing at the other end of the room, looking at their mother on the floor but not going to her, just standing staring. Then Pearl sees Gerald behind her, his arm around Polly's shoulders. They are leaving then.

Pearl manages to stand and goes to hold her mother's heaving shoulders, kneeling on the floor. Her mother looks at her but is unable to speak. Pearl smoothes her hair and whispers soft sounds, as her mother does for Pearl when her chest is bad. Pearl looks to Polly and Gerald and gives them the best smile she can, weak and poor as it is, because this isn't their fault. They are going to be together. They are going to start their lives.

Eventually they manage to get their mother into a chair and persuade her to have a drink of water. She doesn't say anything as the details come, just sits rigid as if dead and propped in the chair. Gerald has borrowed the money for the passage from his brothers. Once he's got work he'll send it back in dribs and drabs but it will work out because people are making fortunes in Australia. It's impossible not to succeed. Not like in Morlanow where it's harder and harder just to make ends meet. They have no choice but to go. Gerald says this over and over again. No choice. Polly has no choice if she wants to keep Gerald, Pearl thinks, but she doesn't say that. It's hot in Australia and there's open country for miles, Gerald says. When Pearl asks him about the fishing there he just smiles and says he might be a farmer, or a carpenter, or a mine worker. Anything's possible in Australia.

Their mother stirs into life. ‘When do you sail?' she says.

There's a long pause before Gerald says, ‘next week'. And Pearl is close to shaking and crying on the floor herself. So soon. How will she say goodbye? The door opens and her father is home, standing in his sea boots and knowing straight away that something terrible has happened. Pearl doesn't want to be around when they tell him, to risk her mother falling apart again, or even worse seeing her father cry. She slips out, pulling the door closed behind her. The news will be known soon enough but there should be some privacy for the shock first.

She gets to the pump in the street and stops. There's nowhere she wants to go. No purpose to her actions anymore. Polly is leaving. Polly will never come back. There will only be letters now. She will never see her sister again and it's all the fault of the fishing. No boat for Gerald, no pilchards for him to catch. And yet the east coasters with their smart gear heave full nets from the sea. Even on Sundays they find more fish. She can't understand how the sea can be so mean, so wilful. Where is the Lord when His people need His love?

There's a movement beneath the gable at the end of her row. Jack squats next to her but doesn't say anything, for which she's grateful. She couldn't bear any spiritual talk now.

‘Polly's leaving,' she says and begins to cry as the words are out, making it true. ‘Australia. With Gerald.'

‘I'm sorry,' Jack says. ‘You're not going too though, are you?'

She looks up and sees the concern on his sunburnt freckly face. He's a good soul, despite his rages and his stubborn chapel rules. She shakes her head. ‘I've no money for the fare.'

‘But you would go, if you had it?' he says.

‘Yes. No. I don't know,' she says. ‘How could I leave mother and father now? And this is my home. Morlanow is…' She can't finish the sentence. What is Morlanow? Home, yet full of gossip and distrust and not enough food. Her father risking his life every time he puts to sea and her mother praying for his safe return, never sure until the front door opens that he's alive. Is that what the future holds for Pearl?

‘I wouldn't want you to go,' Jack says. ‘I'd… I'd miss you, seeing you around the place.' He gets up and stretches his legs. Looking down at her he says, ‘you belong here, Pearl.'

She's angry at that. She belongs where she damn well pleases to belong. Who is he to tell her otherwise? But he's walking away, striking off into the evening, certain of his rightness. And she has no words to tell him.

When the day comes there are no more tears. They've cried themselves out, their bodies dry as rays hanging in the sun, and the brief wedding the day before has raised spirits a little. Many people come to the station to see Polly and Gerald off. They will take the train to London, packed amongst the barrels of fish and crates of lobsters, to board
The Great Britain
, the ship that will take them to Australia. Aunt Lilly supports her mother, bracing her shoulders, whilst Mr Polance stands with her father. Mr Taylor comes to say a prayer for safe passage and old Mrs Pendeen is there just for the spectacle.

Gerald's family come over from Govenek with their friends and neighbours but even in this shared moment of loss the communities are separate. Those from Govenek stand apart, divided from the Morlanow party by a heap of luggage being loaded onto the train, even though fish from both villages are being packed together inside the carriages.

Sarah Dray hugs Polly for a long time, each promising to write each week, promising never to forget her best friend. The world is full of promises these days. It's Pearl's turn next to say goodbye but the words she lines up in her head don't say enough about how much she doesn't want Polly to go, about how she wants to go herself. So she says nothing and the short embrace in the chaos of the other passengers saying goodbye and boarding the train is too brief. It looks as if she doesn't care when really she cares too much.

Others push past her to say their own goodbyes. Pearl is forced to stand with Sarah Dray, pressed against the cases. Sarah gives Pearl a pitying look. ‘Try and be happy for them,' she says to Pearl. ‘They're starting a new life. You'll be settling down yourself soon, I shouldn't wonder.'

‘What are you talking about?' Pearl says.

‘Come on now, don't be coy.' Sarah is her usual smug self, all pretence of care gone. ‘Your parents have great hopes to have you settled now Polly's gone. A house of your own.'

Pearl's blushes come in force but she's confused. Sarah loves to know everyone else's business. It's not the time for this now anyway. The guard is walking through the crowd, telling the passengers it's time to board. All too quickly Polly and Gerald are inside the carriage, leaning out of the window, waving, waving, and the train's whistle screams and the smoke begins to pour from the engine. They're going too quickly. It must take longer than this. There needs to be more of a leave-taking when the loss is so great. Pearl begins to cough and in spite of herself she's forced to lean on Sarah's proffered arm. The train is jolting away, disappearing in a cloud of smoke. It's over. It's done. She's left behind.

Twelve

‘Come on now,' Jack said, helping her to stand. She stumbled. Her boots were on the wrong feet. However had she managed that? Her head hurt. Her whole body hurt. It was because Polly had gone. The train pulling out of the station had bruised her. Jack's hands under her arms made it worse.

‘You're hurting me!' she said, but he only held on tighter.

‘Come on, Pearl. Up you get.'

Coughing. She couldn't breathe. Her skirts were all wet. He was trying to drown her. No. She was sitting on a dirty floor.

‘There now,' he said, setting her skirts straight and tutting at their dampness. Her boots were on the wrong feet. She kicked them off. He sat opposite her at the kitchen table. He put his head in his hands for a moment, took a loud breath, then looked at her. He had such a glum face. Would stare until people felt they had to look away. But Polly. He would know.

‘Have there been any letters?' she said.

‘Letters?' Jack said. ‘No, no letters.'

‘Tomorrow maybe. She said she'd write to Sarah every week. She should write to me too.'

‘Eileen asked after you when I was on the front yesterday,' he said. ‘Said she hadn't seen you for a while.' He looked expectantly at Pearl.

‘Who?' she said.

‘Eileen. In the shop.'

‘It's Polly that's meant to write.'

He was being difficult. He wouldn't listen. She'd have to find someone else to ask. She stood up. Even Sarah Dray would do. Anything to know how Polly was. To know if leaving had been worth it. She needed to put her boots on.

‘Polly's dead, Pearl,' he said. He came and stood next to her. She let him put a balled hand on her shoulder. ‘She died a long time ago.'

‘No!'

‘You know she's dead. There was a letter then. That's how we heard. Remember?'

‘A letter?' she said. He nodded. ‘Has a letter come? She said she'd write.'

‘No. A letter hasn't come. There was a letter to say that she'd been—' He licked his lips. ‘To say what had happened. To Polly.'

Pearl pulled on her boots. She was going out. He wouldn't talk sense. But her boots wouldn't go on right. There was something wrong with them. Her feet couldn't slip inside. They were the wrong shape. Or the boots were wrong. Quickly, quickly or she would forget what she was looking for. She had to get away from Jack and this dirty old house. She had to get back to the other place, where she knew where she was. That's where it made sense. In the truthfulness of the light that came when she wasn't ready. But she was ready now. She shut her eyes and willed its blaze. She was ready to leave.

Thirteen

Everything in the palace stands ready but the season is poor. There's no pretending otherwise. The fourth in a run to be thin with fish. Day after day the sun shines and all is quiet at the huer's hut. The wait between catches is long, weeks at a time, and the amount each seine net lifts to the surface varies wildly. Even the most bruised fish are deemed fit for bulking, though the merchants acting for the Papists have returned some hogsheads, claiming the pilchards are no good.

While the wait goes on, Pearl's evenings are mostly free of work, once supper is over. There's nothing to do but pray. At any moment the cry from the huer might come. She just has to stay within hearing distance.

She and Nicholas go down to the hidden notch of Witch Cove and sit on the shelf of pebbles, watching the green waves curl and release.

‘What do you wish for most in the world?' he asks.

‘You'll laugh at me,' she says, already blushing.

Nicholas puts both hands over his heart. ‘I won't. Promise.'

She follows the path of a wave as it lifts from the surface of the sea, tracks diagonally and breaks on the stones. She thinks of telling him what she longs for most, what she goes to sleep wishing for, but her nerve fails her.

‘A bathing suit,' she says. A guffaw explodes from Nicholas. She turns away from him and crosses her arms. ‘See! I knew you'd laugh.'

‘I'm sorry, I am. It's just that a
bathing suit
.… What's wrong with swimming in just your drawers? Only visitors wear bathing suits.'

‘I've always wanted one, a proper one, with stripes. I remember Polly said once that I could and then, I don't know, it never came.'

He stops laughing at the mention of Polly. ‘A bathing suit's a fine thing to wish for,' he says, ‘and you made me laugh, limpet-legs, which there's not been cause to do lately.' He gently knocks his shoulder against hers then picks up a stone and hurls it towards the water's edge.

Witch Cove is a precious place shared between them, tucked behind a swell in the cliff. For Pearl the shelf of sharp stones is worth sitting on for the secrecy it gives and for the view of Cornwall flying away into a haze, torn cliffs laid with soft fields, white cottages clustering at their edge, the pointed fingers of the engine houses that mark the mines, stark and strange amongst them. Pearl's own land, though she has seen little of it.

‘What do you wish for?' she says.

‘I wish you'd come out in my boat.' He puts his hand down on the pebbles, just touching hers. ‘I've named her. The boat, I mean. You were taking too long.'