Up With the Larks by Tessa Hainsworth

Author:Tessa Hainsworth [Tessa Hainsworth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781409050568
Publisher: Random House

At the post office in Morranport, Nell is threatening to retire again. 'Let the rightful owners come back and take over this place, it's theirs, in't? Travelling the world like they do, not at all fussed about us poor old folk having to face all this.'

'All what, Nell?'

She gives me a look that tells me how pathetic she thinks I am, then hands me a newspaper clipping from one of the daily South West newspapers: '40,000 fear axe as Royal Mail goes high-tech,' shouts the headline.

I read it while Nell watches, making sure I don't skip a word or two. She's looking magnificent today, her bosom clothed in a purple, cotton, long-sleeved tee-shirt, a shell pendant nestling cosily in the middle. Her short hair is standing on end as usual, seemingly without any artificial aid.

The article is about some revolutionary sorting machine that will make all postal workers either redundant or reduced to part-time work when it is in place. I hand it back to Nell. 'We've heard all this before,' I say. 'There's always something threatening but it never comes to anything. I bet this won't either.'

She sniffs, 'You be thinking I'm getting all in a twitter about nothing, are ye?'

'No, Nell, not at all. Of course you worry, we all do. It's just pointless, isn't it, to worry about it, when there's nothing to be done.'

She sighs, ignoring the customer who is gently knocking at the door of the post office, pointing at his watch to politely suggest it's past opening time. 'Like the closures. You be telling me I should forget about them too.'

'Rumours of this place being shut have been going on for years, since Ben and I used to holiday here. You're still here, Nell, and so is the post office. It'll be here for ever.'

She grunts, disbelieving, turning her back on me and letting in the customer, saying breezily, 'What's your hurry, me handsome?'

The burly white-haired man that comes in apologizes for rushing her, even though it's ten minutes after opening time. He buys some stamps and some Polo mints and stays for at least fifteen minutes chatting to Nell while I sort in the back room.

When he goes, Nell says, 'D'ya know who that was?'

I tell her no. 'I've seen him around, though. Isn't he a fisherman?'

'Yep, one of the last around here actually working. Soon won't be any fishing boats about, what with the sea all fished out.'

'It's not too good for them, I know.'

'And what fish there be left in the ocean, those monster trawlers – now't but factories on the sea, they be – are swallowing the lot. No room at all for the small fisher folk.'

'Like the small farmers,' I say.

She nods. 'No room for the little blokes, not no more. Not in anything, even post offices.'

I say, to steer her away from her favourite topic of the injustices done to rural post offices, 'So who is he? That man? Other than a fisherman?'

'He's Charlie's dad. Arnie, name is.'

For a moment I'm not sure who she means.

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