Free The First Wife by Emily Barr Page A

good strike rate.’
    He winced. ‘I can imagine. Right, what about tomorrow? Why don’t we go somewhere – have an adventure?’

    And so we caught the first train this morning, changed at Truro, and then at St Erth, and ended up in St Ives. I had hazy memories of going there once, years ago, on a summer’s day. We had parked the Mini in a car park on a hill by a church, and I had run down a steep hill towards town and fallen over and grazed my knees. I remembered Grandma helping me up, cleaning my grazes, and buying huge plasters to cover both injuries. Granddad bought me an enormous strawberry ice cream to cheer me up. I could recapture the feeling of amazement that they cared enough to do that, and that told me that it must have happened soon after I went to live with them.
    Today had been a different matter altogether. We stepped off the train under a leaden sky, and walked to the beach, where there were a few people, a lot of jumping dogs, and waves that were massive and hostile. We walked along the sand, quickly, to warm up, and stood on Porthminster Beach and looked across the bay.
    ‘That’s Hayle,’ Al said. ‘And that long beach is Gwithian. See the lighthouse over there? Godrevy.’
    ‘That’s Virginia Wolf’s lighthouse, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘Her book – To the Lighthouse?’
    ‘Trust you to know that, Lily Bellybutton.’

    St Ives was quiet, and as we walked through the town, it felt almost ghostly.
    ‘This place is insane in the summer,’ Al said. ‘So busy, you can’t do anything. It’s much better to come at this time of year, when it’s cold and grey and the light is so other-worldly.’
    I looked around. We were on a lane called Teetotal Street, lined with little terraced cottages. The light was shifting all the time, and right at that moment, a black cloud moved, and the sun came out. The sky was dark, but the light was, briefly, bright.
    ‘I’m frozen,’ I said. ‘What do we do now?’
    ‘Now,’ said Al, ‘we go and shelter in a pub, and you have half a pint of beer.’
    I walked with him, but I was not keen. ‘I’m not drinking half a pint. I can’t take the hangover.’
    The pub was tucked away in a back street, and it was warm and busy. I stepped across the threshold, onto a brightly-patterned carpet, and wrinkled my face.
    ‘What’s the problem?’ asked Al, turning and looking back at me.
    ‘It’s a bit smelly,’ I confided.
    ‘Oh, come on, Princess,’ he cajoled. ‘Find us a table and I’ll get you a drink. We’ll have some crisps too, to line your stomach. You can’t live in the modern world without being able to put away a modest amount of alcohol. Consider it part of your ongoing education.’
    Although it was still the morning, just, there were plenty of people in here. No one looked at us. Al was soon leaning on the bar, holding out a ten-pound note, waving it at the barmaid.
    When he came to sit down next to me, he put the small glass of beer in front of me with a flourish. I smiled at him. I felt as though I had known Al for a long time. Unlike Harry Summer, he did not make my knees go weak. Unlike Fergus Summer, I was pretty sure he never flirted with me. He was, I was starting to think, a proper friend.
    ‘Thank you,’ I said. He lifted his own glass, which was filled with clear bubbly liquid.
    ‘Cheers,’ he said, and we clinked glasses. I looked at his. There was ice and two thin slices of lemon in it.
    ‘What’s that?’ I asked. ‘Is it gin and tonic?’ I knew about gin and tonic because it featured in books a lot, and because Granddad had always reminisced about it. If it was gin and tonic I was going to ask for a sip.
    ‘No, it’s not,’ Al said, laughing at me in a nice way. ‘I’m impressed at your keenness to learn, though. It’s lemonade. Bog-standard kiddies’ lemonade, I’m afraid.’
    ‘Seriously? Why?’
    He answered straight away.
    ‘Because when I was down on my luck, I drank enough lager to last me a lifetime,