Free The Visitor by Katherine Stansfield Page B

has been given to the Master to sell on the seafront, her mother and Polly pack as much as they can carry of what remains into their willow cowals. These baskets sit high on their backs, with shiny leather straps that go on top of their hats to keep each cowal steady. Her mother and Polly sometimes have to walk miles to sell the mackerel; to Govenek, the next village down the cliff path, and the hamlets on its other side, even to Pentreath if no one buys closer to home. On those days each of them returns home with a red band across their forehead, like an angry halo. Today they must have sold well in Morlanow because they’re back for dinner. Mackerel sometimes shy away from her father’s nets and there is nothing to put in the cowals. The earthenware bussas of pilchards then have to stand many a meal in Pearl’s house and in most of Morlanow’s. These fish keep everyone fed through the winter and are so important they have two names: Pearl has heard pilchards called ‘fair maids’. Other fish are neither boys nor girls, but pilchards are special, and more beautiful. That’s why her father’s seine boat has the same name.
    There are no salted pilchards left from last year’s season but the fish from the early catch are nearly ready to be woken from their salted sleep and Pearl’s mouth waters at the thought.
    After they’ve eaten Pearl and Jack go to the yard behind her house. Jack’s house has the same yard but he doesn’t have any chickens. He hangs back while Pearl reaches into the warm straw for eggs.
    â€˜You can get them too,’ she says. He shakes his head. A chicken comes close to his feet to peck the ground. He gives a shriek and presses himself against the wall.
    â€˜They won’t hurt you,’ she says. ‘Watch.’ She picks up one of the wriggling, fluttery bodies and puts her arm around its side so that the chicken doesn’t mind being held. She loves to feel its heart beating against her own chest. If she had two hearts she might be stronger and allowed to swim more often. After a moment watching to make sure nothing terrible happens, Jack inches forwards and cautiously reaches out a hand. His fingertips graze the chicken’s soft, creamy-red feathers. He manages a small smile.
    â€˜Jack!’ a man’s voice shouts, startling the chicken so it squawks and flaps free of Pearl’s arms. Its wings are in her face and she cries out, trying to protect herself, unable to see. She’s aware of Jack near her, similarly frightened, and when the voice shouts his name again she realises it’s not the chicken that scares him. It’s his father.
    Mr Tremain is looking over the shared wall into her yard. His face is as lined as her father’s but it looks like anger on Mr Tremain, while her father just looks tired. Jack’s father is dark-haired and with huge furry eyebrows that are frowning now as he looks at the pair of them. ‘Get in here,’ he says, ‘that’s woman’s work.’
    Jack backs away from the chickens and hurries into Pearl’s house, without even saying goodbye. Mr Tremain goes inside his house and presently shouts drift into the yard where the chickens are scratching about, calm now. Pearl feels something tickling her cheek near the corner of her mouth. She puts her finger to it and finds blood. The chicken must have scratched her. Before she realises what she’s doing she’s got blood on her dress. Her mother will shout but it’s Jack she’s really thinking about. He has no mother to wash his clothes, or to soothe his father’s temper.

Six
    Jack woke her with a cup of tea and then sat close to her on the bed. He looked like he was trying to say something so she waited, sipping the tea which was too weak but at least he’d tried. There was that dull ache at her temple again. Had she been dreaming? Her face was cut. The chicken squawking. Jack’s father