Free Up With the Larks by Tessa Hainsworth

unwind, that's why he was in Cornwall
for a few days. He's got the main role in a West End revival
of a Pinter play.'
    Ben was far away, no doubt thinking of the theatre and his
acting days. They must have seemed very far away and unobtainable
at that moment, especially as he had received a 'Dear John'
letter from his London agent soon after we'd moved. Because
he now lived in Cornwall, the agent regretfully could no longer
keep him on the books.
    'Horrid for you, Ben,' I said quietly.
    He focused back on me. 'The worst of it all was that he
gave me a huge tip. Far too much. That was the most
embarrassing part.'
     
    Ben carried on with the aromatherapy work but it didn't come
often enough to pay our way in Cornwall. He managed to get
a part-time job in a coffee shop in St Geraint, but the wage
was low and the hours too few, so he was still looking for yet
more work. Like most Cornish people, we were beginning to
realize that to survive economically, sometimes it was necessary
to have four or even five part-time jobs.
    I desperately needed to find a job of my own. If Ben and
I both worked, we might just manage to keep our heads above
water. But I was beginning to despair as I was turned down
by a supermarket in Truro (overqualified for a job as cashier);
a dental assistant (no experience); and a waitress at a smart
Italian restaurant (no experience, overqualified and also not
Italian, or Italian-looking anyway).
    Meanwhile our expenses were mounting. The water leaking
through one of the outer walls that we'd seen on our first night
in the new house turned out to be a sign of a crack in the
bricks that needed professional mending. There was always
something – except jobs. We were learning the hard way just
how impoverished Cornwall still is, how hard it is to find work,
to live.
    Our golden dream was slowly turning to dust as we worried
ourselves sick night after night. By this time we didn't even
know if we could afford to move back to London, where we
could at least find work. A move costs money and that was
something we no longer had. As each job possibility fell through
and our financial state grew increasingly dire with our debts
mounting, we began to seriously despair.
    Then, miraculously, I overheard a conversation which
probably saved our lives – our lives in Cornwall, that is. It
was afternoon on a balmy, early autumn day and I was waiting
to pick up Will and Amy from the village school. As usual,
a gaggle of mums sprinkled with a few dads were chattering
as if they'd known each other for years, as they had, of
course. And as I hadn't. I knew it had only been a couple
of months since we'd moved to the village, compared to the
lifetimes the others had lived here, but there were days when
I felt as if I were not merely someone from Up Country but
a creature from another universe. It's not that people were
deliberately unfriendly, for they were all scrupulously polite
to me, but nevertheless I got the feeling that they saw me
as one who was definitely not on their planet and never
would be. Luckily Will and Amy were fine, having merged,
as children can do, seamlessly into school and village life. I
liked the Cornish – we wouldn't have moved if we hadn't –
but I was beginning to wonder if they really, truly, deep down
would ever accept me, or Ben, or anyone who was not
Cornish.
    I felt it today as I greeted the other parents. Not wanting
to be pushy and barge in on their conversations, I hovered
around the edges. And that's when I heard the following:
    'Did you know Ryan is giving up his job as relief postman?'
this was from a short, exceedingly plump redheaded woman.
    'No, really? He's only had the work these six months. Why?'
The redhead's confidante was a vivacious young woman with
hair in a long brown plait. She didn't look old enough to be
anyone's mother but she had a baby in a pram with her.
    'Bad hip, needs an operation. Said it wasn't his thing
anyhow.'
    'Shame. He's looking so much better since he got