The Things I Know

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘You do?’ It was a startling insight and one she felt flattered to be the recipient of.

  He nodded. ‘My mum, she’s’ – he paused – ‘she’s hard work.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I meant what I said before, about her being needy – she doesn’t shut up, ever, she just goes on and on and on, spouting the same nonsense on repeat, and I always feel she’s having a go at me, digging away. And so I don’t talk any more.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t talk?’ Hitch gave a small laugh at the very concept.

  ‘I mean, when I’m at home, she goes on so much that I can’t get my words out. I’m quiet. I think a lot more than I say and it’s a habit that’s hard to get out of. It’s been a long time since I spoke properly, like I do with you.’

  ‘How long?’ She stopped walking and turned to face him.

  ‘About twenty-four years, since my dad left. I used to be able to talk to him.’

  ‘And he left you.’ She regretted her earlier laugh. There was nothing funny about this, nothing at all.

  ‘Yes, he left me, and then there was no one to listen, and no one around with anything to say that I really wanted to hear. My mum got louder and louder. It’s a strange thing; my home became deafening and silent at the same time.’

  She blinked at him. ‘And yet you can talk to me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, shrugging as if this required no further explanation, ‘but I don’t talk to anyone else.’

  ‘What, not even at work?’ In her imagination, working in an office or a shop was the way she saw it in any film – it meant an instant social life, where chatting between buddies only halted when you had to get on with the job in hand. It was one of the things she thought she missed out on most in farm life.

  Grayson shook his head. ‘Not really. I have the odd chat with Liz, who sits next to me – she’s nice – but I don’t speak to anyone else about anything significant, and never about what matters to me . . .’

  ‘Why not?’

  As he began to speak, she heard the hesitant air of embarrassment in his tone and concentrated on listening hard, sensing that whatever revelation might follow represented a risky moment of openness on his part.

  ‘I’ve always felt a bit different. Always. I don’t know why and I don’t know how, but somehow, when I was a kid, I knew that all the things that made the other boys “normal” seemed to have passed me by.’ He paused, and she sensed that this was no easy admission. ‘I mean, even now, in my early thirties, I know I’m not like other men. It’s not only the big detail and small detail stuff I told you about, it’s more than that . . . It’s like, when the things were being handed out to make a successful life, I got barged out of the line.’ He snorted briefly with laughter, an act she recognised as one she deployed herself in moments of embarrassment.

  ‘What kind of things?’ She turned her head towards his outline in the darkness.

  ‘Confidence. Awareness. Conversation. Humour. Drive. Muscles. And a basic understanding of the offside rule.’

  I know you . . . I’m the same . . . I know what this feels like . . .

  ‘I tried to talk to Reggie about it once, tried explaining how it felt like everyone was happy to barge me out of the way because I just don’t count. Like everyone got the joke, apart from me. But it was hard for him to understand, and even he got impatient; he had to be somewhere.’

  ‘You do count, Grayson. It’s true I don’t really know you, but in some ways I feel like I know you inside out, and you do count.’ To me.

  ‘Yes, and it feels different here, but in the real world I just don’t know how to be the same as everyone else. I don’t know what to wear, how to walk, what music to listen to, what to say. I just don’t.’

  ‘Maybe you don’t have to, maybe you worry too much about fitting in and being like everyone else. And trust me, I know what that feels like.’ She touched the coiled fingers of her right hand. ‘I also know it’s a waste of life, really, and this is the real world here, Grayson. Not the world you’re used to, but a real world nonetheless. It’s my world.’

  ‘I find it easy to talk to you. I don’t know why, but it feels like a relief.’

  ‘And I find it easy to talk to you.’ Reaching back, she felt for his hand in the dark and, taking it into her own, where it fit most neatly, the two walked on in silence until they came to the lower slope on a bend, further up the river where the mighty Severn meandered, providing water for the farms on the lower plain.

  There was the gentle sound of the water lapping the bank and the occasional flip and dip of fish that breached the moon-dappled surface of the river. Hitch laid the blanket on the soft, grassy bank and sat down, pulling Grayson with her.

  And just like that, he again kissed her mouth, as if he’d been doing it for a lifetime. She felt the pull of longing deep in her gut, lost to this man who didn’t push her head away from his face, didn’t avoid looking at or touching her and didn’t hesitate when it came to kissing her misshapen lips.

  She’d had only one brief sexual encounter, with Tarran Buttermore, an unhappy, unsatisfying collision that darkened her thoughts and had left her with a feeling of emptiness, the exact opposite of what she had sought in that quick, cold, casual tryst that had lacked intimacy in every way.

  Now this man was lying on top of her, kissing her with confidence, and the yearning she felt for him was an awakening. Pulling away, she whispered in his ear as she helped unfasten his belt, ‘Have you . . . have you done this before?’ She wondered if his oddness and his lack of friends and social life might be a factor.

  ‘Yes,’ he murmured, smoothing her hair from her face, ‘but it didn’t feel like this.’ He kissed her again. ‘Nothing feels like this. It’s brand new.’

  From anyone else, she knew this would be a line to be snickered at, no more than chat, but not only did it feel true, she knew that Grayson Potts did not lie. Hitch closed her eyes and laid her cheek against his. He was right; it was brand new. This feeling was tinged with sadness at the fact that this was a one-time thing. Grayson Potts was a kind and gentle soul who would tomorrow go back to the big city, while her life was here, helping her parents. She shook the intrusive thoughts from her mind, trying not to think too far ahead and concentrating on the now, the glorious, exquisite now.

  Grayson eased his clothes from his body. She felt him reach down and he gasped before bringing his hand up towards his face. She could see in the beam of light from the phone set on the ground that it was covered in blood, dark red, glossy and bright in the moonlight.

  ‘Oh God! Oh no! Grayson!’ She felt her pulse quicken and her face blush. ‘I’m sorry, I . . .’

  He shook his head and kissed her. ‘It’s part of you. It’s all part of you. And every part of you is perfect.’

  Hitch knew his words would line her gut with warmth on the coldest of mornings and send a smile to her face when her muscles ached from shovelling shit. He thought every part of her was perfect. Every. Single. Part.

  Gently, he leaned forward and again kissed her mouth. Hitch clung to him with shaking arms, unable to stem the tears that fell and quite overcome by the sweet, sweet sensation of being held for the first time with love.

  I know I feel different.

  I know I’m different.

  I know it’s because of him.

  I feel like a woman.

  I feel happy when I’m with him.

  I know that, if I could feel like this every day, then I would wake up happy.

  I know that life can give you the most beautiful and unexpected gifts when you least expect them.

  SEVEN

  Hitch woke slowly and spread her arms wide over her head. Her head felt slightly fuzzy as, in a dreamlike state, she played the movie in her mind from the night before: remembering the feel of lying in Grayson’s arms, his fingers running through her hair, which lay spilled across the tartan rug; the way he ran his finger lightly down her cheek, now wet with tears . . . And afterwards,
lying huddled together, a jumble of arms and legs, wrapped in the edges of the rug with clothes scattered there on the riverbank in the moonlight.

  She rose now and showered quickly, stepping into her jeans and feeling so full and satisfied she could barely face breakfast. Making her way across the landing, she hesitated outside the guest bedroom and, having looked both ways along the landing to make sure the coast was clear, she knocked quietly and popped her smiling face inside the door.

  Grayson sat up and looked around for his shirt, a little more self-conscious of his nakedness in the cold light of day.

  ‘You’re awake.’ She beamed at him.

  ‘I am,’ he said, nodding, and the sight of him was enough to fire a bolt of longing right through her. ‘I was just thinking about you.’ He patted the duvet.

  ‘And I was just thinking about you.’ She walked forward and perched on the edge of the bed, planting a chaste kiss on his face. ‘My mum would kill me if she knew I was in here with you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell her,’ he whispered.

  She laughed, and he took her hand. ‘It’s a wonder to me that I can make you laugh like that. It feels like a superpower.’

  Hitch kissed their joined hands. ‘You go home today.’ She addressed the elephant in the room.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘How do you feel about that?’ she asked softly, watching as his face seemed to lose a little colour as he looked towards the window, where sunbeams filtered through the branches of the trees.

  ‘I feel like someone is about to take a large stone and smash my happiness beneath it.’

  ‘You have a lovely way of saying things, Grayson.’

  ‘I don’t normally.’

  ‘And that’s how I feel too. I don’t know what to say and I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘I’m trying not to think about it,’ he confided.

  ‘Do you want some breakfast?’

  He ran his finger over her face, and with the thought that he would not be within reach tomorrow, it was as if he had cut her.

  ‘I don’t want any breakfast.’ He spoke from a throat croaky with barely contained emotion.

  ‘Do you want to come and see my chickens with me?’

  He nodded. ‘I’d like that very much.’

  ‘I’ll meet you outside.’ She kissed him and slipped from the bed, lingering in the doorway to catch one more glimpse of him while she could.

  ‘Are you ready for your formal introduction?’ Hitch called out from the paddock as he strode across the yard, just as he had only a couple of days ago, with his bag in his hand and his brown envelope within reach.

  ‘I guess.’ Grayson wiped the sweat from his palms on his trousers.

  ‘Well, come on then!’ She beckoned him forward before bending over to chuckle at him.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’

  ‘You! The way you’re creeping forward, scared of approaching Daphne. She’s such a sweet bird – she won’t hurt you!’

  He looked warily at the fat hen. ‘It’s not that I’m afraid of her, more afraid of doing the wrong thing. And not just doing the wrong thing, but the wrong thing in front of you.’

  ‘She’s tough. She won’t be scared. Just bend down and say hello,’ she said, coaxing from the sidelines, watching as Grayson straightened his shoulders and spoke clearly.

  ‘Good morning, Daphne. Hello.’ Hitch roared with laughter and he spun around. ‘Why is that funny?’ he asked, with his arms spread.

  ‘Because!’ she managed. ‘You sound so formal – she’s a chicken, not the Lord Mayor! Although she’s very grand, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘It’s harder for me with you watching!’

  She decided to intervene. Picking Daphne up, she cradled her to her chest.

  ‘You’re my beautiful girl, yes, you are. This is Mr Potts and he’s come to say hello to you. And I know what you mean about being watched.’ A wide smile split her face. ‘When I was about nine, up in the top field, I was desperate to drive a tractor—’

  ‘At nine?’ he interrupted. ‘That sounds a little young. I think at nine I was all gangly legs and reading chess books by torchlight under the duvet.’

  ‘This is a working farm, Grayson! Nine is nothing to be driving a tractor. If anything, I was coming a little late to the party. Anyway . . .’ She drew breath. That wasn’t really the point of her story. ‘I couldn’t get the hang of it. It was hard, with my leg not doing what I wanted it to. And what I really wanted was to be left alone to figure it out, but my dad and brother insisted on calling instructions from the edge of the field. It was only when they fell silent and I forgot they were there that I cracked it, and my dad sounded so proud, yelling, “You’ve got this, Hitch! Look at you! You’re driving all by yourself!” Oh my God, it felt wonderful. I felt so powerful, like I could put my foot down and keep going, smashing through fences, fields and across rivers, just keep on going, in charge of my own destiny, free to go wherever the fancy took me. I’ve never forgotten it – it was the most free I’ve ever felt. I don’t know why I should think of it now. But it felt good to be in control.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that.’ Grayson blinked at Daphne, who now made a clucking noise. Hitch placed her gently back in the run.

  ‘Here.’ She pulled grain from her pocket and tipped the tiny granules into his palm. ‘Feed her this.’

  Grayson bent down and held out his flattened hand.

  ‘Look, Daphne, look what Grayson’s got for you!’ she coaxed.

  ‘Morning, Daphne,’ he said with a smile, stretching out his arm. To his obvious surprise and delight, Daphne took a hesitant step in his direction, looking left and right, as if scoping out the scene, checking out this stranger who sat patiently with the gift of grain. Eventually, she came close enough to peck from his hand.

  Hitch clapped and squealed. ‘She loves you! She loves you!’

  The words left her mouth like a song and Grayson looked up at her. There was a beat of quiet while he straightened to face her and the morning sun lit him from behind like a halo. Hitch captured the image like a photograph and stored it in her mind, there for perfect recall when she was walking alone down by the river or driving the lanes in the dark.

  ‘Does she?’ he blinked.

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘I think she does.’

  The two stared at each other in silence for a moment or two.

  ‘I think I’m going to miss you, Grayson.’ She spoke softly, her throat tight with emotion.

  He nodded. ‘Me too.’

  ‘I feel as if I’ve been in a clothes dryer and everything is a bit upside down and my stomach is churning, and I like it, but I don’t know what happens next and that feels scary.’ She bit her lip, hoping he might take the initiative, clear a path for the future. His words when they came left her cloaked in disappointment.

  ‘I’ve written my address and number on a piece of paper and left it by the side of the bed. If you need anything, if you want to come and visit or if you’re ever passing . . .’

  She gave a nasal laugh of derision. ‘If I’m ever passing? Okay. I don’t even go into Bristol, so that isn’t going to happen, is it? But thank you.’ She wasn’t sure if leaving his address was an invitation or a kind dismissal.

  ‘I guess I could . . . I could come back and—’

  ‘When?’ She jumped in, thankful for the bolt of optimism that fired through her, thinking that to make a date gave them a foundation on which they could build.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he confessed with a look of confusion. ‘I have to go to work and—’

  ‘It’s okay, Grayson. I get it. Maybe it would only make it harder, having to say goodbye again – or worse, making a plan that you can’t stick to. I mean, it’s a bit crazy, isn’t it? I’ve only known you for a couple of days and it’s been nice, so nice. I can’t tell you how low I was until you arrived.’ She paused. ‘But maybe now it’s time to get back on with real life again.’

 
I can say this easily enough, but my heart is aching and the words cut my throat like glass . . . I want you to want me. I want you to say you want me! I feel desperate at the thought that this is all we’ve got! I want more, Grayson – I want more of you!

  ‘Do you mean that?’ His breath came quickly and he looked pained.

  ‘Well, of course I mean that! I don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep and I don’t want to think we’re heading in one direction when we might be heading in another. That’s not fair on you or me.’ She stared at him, cursing the tears that gathered at the back of her throat.

  ‘You’re such a good person, Thomasina. And I don’t want to make you a promise I can’t keep, no matter how much I want to.’

  She folded her arms across her chest, as if this stance could deflect the verbal blows of disappointment. ‘I like your honesty and the fact that you never tell a lie. And I don’t regret anything.’ She spoke with a wobble to her voice. It was important he knew this, as again the picture of them on the riverbank in the moonlight sprang into her mind.

  ‘I don’t regret anything either, quite the opposite. I don’t only think you’re a good person, I also think you’re smart and beautiful.’

  ‘God, Grayson, you don’t see me how other people do!’ she said, laughing.

  He stared at her. ‘Well, that’s good. I don’t want anyone to see you how I do because they might just be slicker than me, less weird, and that means you might choose to be with them. Someone who knows how to dress and stuff.’

  ‘Someone who understands the offside rule?’ she joked painfully, trying to raise a smile.

  ‘Exactly.’

  With the back of her hand, she wiped the tears that had finally found their way to the surface. ‘I don’t feel as if I get to choose anything right now.’

  ‘I guess not,’ he said softly, ‘but it’s not that straightforward, is it? It’s life. It’s geography and it’s circumstance and, until I can figure all that out . . .’

  He let this hang, but she took little comfort from the thin sliver of hope he cast in her direction.