Free The First Wife by Emily Barr

cheer me up. So did my mother. When those two agree on something, you have to do it. You have no choice. I mean, looking at the fucking sea? What’s that going to do?’
    ‘Sometimes it’s nice,’ I said, forgetting my nerves. ‘Don’t you think? Sometimes you can look at the water and the waves, and it can make you forget about other things. Because it just carries on, no matter what.’
    ‘Oh, Lily,’ he said, and he stared at me. I was tongue-tied all over again, and desperate to end this conversation, so I knocked my coffee back and went upstairs, without a word, to carry on with my work.

Chapter Eight
    December

    It was dark outside the carriage, by the time my train drew into Penmere, and I could see the trees whipping around in the freezing wind. Much of the rest of the country had snow, and I was hoping we would, too. Most years, everyone else had snow and we had rain, but for the past couple of winters, even Cornwall had managed enough snow to get the gardens populated by oddly-proportioned snowmen, and the schools closed for a day or two.
    I was cold, through and through. The train, a little one-carriage one, was warm and a bit smelly, because it was crammed with people, most of them students, but it was going to take more than a sweaty train to warm my bones up again. I smiled to myself, and thought back to the strangely normal, amazing day I had just had. Yesterday, I had bumped into Al in the library. I was picking up an armful of Russian novels, while his hands were full of children’s picture books.
    ‘You’ve got a child?’ I asked, enormously surprised.
    He laughed. ‘Jesus, no way! Lily, you’d know if I had a child. No, my friend Boris has two kids. I’m going to see them this afternoon, said I’d take some books along. Can’t afford to buy them, so I’m providing a mobile-library service.’
    I smiled. ‘You’ve got a friend called Boris –’ I said, pleased. ‘And I’m getting out Russian books. Is Boris Russian?’
    Al shook his head. ‘Not even slightly, I’m afraid. Real name Stanley Finnigan.’
    ‘So, why’s he called Boris?’
    ‘He’s the spitting image of Boris Becker. Who, come to think of it, does not look at all the way a Boris ought to look. Not at all brooding or Russian.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Want a coffee?’
    ‘Can’t,’ I told him proudly. ‘Got to get back to the house because I’m looking after Tommy this afternoon. Julia’s got to drive the twins to see their dad, and he lives in Launceston, so I said I’d have Tommy – he’s the youngest – while she does it. “Reduced rates for babysitting” – remember?’
    ‘Hey,’ said Al, understanding at once how pleased I was. ‘Look at you, doing your bit. Are you feeling more at home?’
    ‘I’m getting there. The strange thing was, I was acting cheerful and normal, but secretly I was miserable. Now, though, I’m almost starting to believe my act. I’ve started talking to Mia and once you get to know her, she’s not as grumpy as all that. She actually seems to look up to me, bizarrely. I mean, who could possibly look up to someone who’s spent all their life taking care of old people, and who has never even tasted beer?’
    I was aware that we were standing in the middle of the library, and people were having to walk around us. No one seemed to mind. This, I told myself, was because standing in the library chatting was a normal thing to do. I was successfully passing myself off as someone ordinary.
    ‘Of course she looks up to you, you idiot.’
    ‘Only because I’m older than her. She’s exactly the sort of pretty, cool girl who would have hated me at school. God, nothing gives people like that a laugh better than a teacher doing the register and coming to the name Lilybella Button. Lily Bellybutton was only the start of it. The worst thing was when the teachers colluded with them. You know, all snigger together to get in with the cool kids. Everyone’s happy, apart from one – pretty