Mainlander

by Will Smith

  At first he’d been angry: if he hadn’t made such an effort for Emma’s birthday, she wouldn’t be pregnant. Now he was calm. A part of him always felt more comfortable with a path of expected behaviour, no matter that it involved a degree of privation. And painful as the situation was, it was less painful than leaving Emma, with or without a child. He only had to renege on a promise made at a moment of extreme crisis with Debbie, as opposed to the vows he’d made to Emma before God, family and friends. He wanted to explain to Debbie that the qualities she cherished in him were those that meant he could no longer be with her. How could she love a man who would leave his pregnant wife? He knew this would be scant consolation. He had a letter in his pocket, already rewritten after he had baulked at the mawkish sign-off ‘in another life, we would be together’, which he had changed to the formal but heartfelt ‘I wish you nothing but happiness’.

  He knew it was cowardly to slip a note through her door and run away, and he knew that they would have to speak at some point, especially if they were to continue working at the same school. He couldn’t leave, but he knew it wasn’t fair to force her out so somehow they would have to reconcile. Perhaps she would leave anyway. In her shoes, he would.

  Already he felt closeness returning between him and Emma. He had seen a change in her since the news. She was calmer, more at ease, relaxed yet focused. She said she had felt reborn in the storm. The doctor at A&E had told her that Mrs Le Boutillier had been in deep shock when she had brought her in, and that she had probably saved her life. She had saved one life, was about to create another, and was finding meaning in her own.

  He had asked his third-year English class that afternoon to write down their favourite song lyrics for discussion. A solemn boy who normally said very little had picked ‘Jigsaw’ by Marillion, a band about whom Colin knew little, other than that they had a penchant for a jester on their album covers and a lead singer called Fish, but he had been struck by the opening lines, so much so that they had distracted him for the rest of the lesson.

  We are jigsaw pieces aligned on the perimeter edge,

  Interlocked through a missing piece.

  Maybe his and Emma’s child would be that missing piece. He had to hope so.

  The baby would be born in the spring, when the Island would be thronging with new life. The ferns on the north coast would be unfurling; the western commons and headlands would be gold with gorse flowers; the lanes would be vaulted by the trees and fringed by the hedgerows in advance of their biannual trim, the Branchage. The sun would begin to warm the sea, and then the tourists, the lifeblood, would return. It was a beautiful place, one worth fighting for.

  He looked up at two vapour trails, one current and sharp, streaming out behind a plane invisible in the dusk, the other older, billowing into nothing. He often wondered who was on the planes, where they were going and whether they were aware they were passing over an anomaly, which, the week before, he had begun uncharitably to think of as a crumb left over from a Continental shift. It was an odd place, neither English nor French, a nominal part of the United Kingdom, a defiant abstainer from the EEC, seemingly on the edge of so much yet at the centre of everything. There were worse places to make a stand, to stake a claim.

  He stood up, took one last look at the heaving sea canopied by the first of the night’s stars, and made his way back up the path to the car.

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks are due to the following people:

  Reuben Grove was the first person I trusted to read the early chapters. If he hadn’t reacted so positively, I might not have continued.

  Isabel Lloyd was my second reader. She was not only greatly encouraging, but also provided advice and criticisms, which proved enormously helpful and were consistently echoed by my agent, editor and copy editor.

  Ed Docx helped me to narrow down the voices of certain characters. His overall seal of approval meant a huge amount to me and gave me the confidence to submit the manuscript.

  The enthusiasm and support of my wonderful screenwriting agent Abby Singer at Casarotto led me to my brilliant literary agent Jane Finigan at Lutyens and Rubinstein, whose excitement, guidance and faith have been invaluable throughout.

  My boundless thanks go to my editor Clare Reihill for buying the book, and for then offering incisive and perceptive criticisms, which identified numerous fault lines that I have done my best to correct. Thank you Clare, for bringing the ending a little further into the light, and for making me a better writer.

  I was lucky enough to have an outstanding copy editor in Hazel Orme, whose impeccable taste and judgement have improved every aspect of the book.

  Thanks to Stephen Guise for meticulous coordination.

  Thanks to Tony Able for his memories of 19 October 1987.

  Thanks to Derek Hairon of Jersey Walk Adventures for information about the tidal patterns around Seymour Tower. The website www.jerseywalkadventures.co.uk has details of all the fascinating tours they offer.

  Thanks to Geraint Jennings of the Société Jersiaise for a prompt ruling on Jersey-English spelling.

  Thanks to Sarah Robins for last-minute French corrections and for alerting me to the in/on Jersey pitfall.

  Thanks to Richard Pirouet for a final adjudication on ‘in the Island’.

  Kevin Brace was kind enough to allow the use of his photograph for the cover. His excellent work captures the unique beauty of Jersey, and can be found at his website kevinbrace-photography.com.

  Thanks are also due to the staff of the Fat Cat Café, Stoke Newington, who provided multiple meals and coffees throughout the writing and rewriting of this novel.

  Love and thanks to Anne for waiting to read it.

  Finally, my love and gratitude go to two inspirational teachers who had an incalculable influence on me that I still carry daily – Peter Fekete, to whom this book is dedicated, and Colin Benson.

  About the Author

  Will Smith is a writer on the multi-award-winning television shows Veep and The Thick of It, in which he also appeared as hapless Tory researcher Phil Smith. He spent his formative years in Jersey, and now lives in London. Mainlander is his first novel.

  About the Publisher

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  HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

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