‘Not really. I’ve spoken to my aunts about it in the past, but they don’t really help. They drink with her and then leave me to clear up the mess. I think they find it funny, but it isn’t. Liz at work once told me I should call my mum’s bluff and move out. She said it might force her to take control, to confront the situation, and so I did.’ He paused.
‘What happened?’ She liked Liz, despite having never met her. The woman’s advice and logic seemed sound.
He gave a deep sigh that sounded like defeat. ‘I moved out, rented a flat near work, and she was furious. She didn’t think I’d go through with it, and then, when I did, she got drunk and burned herself quite badly – fell on to the electric fire.’
‘Oh God!’
‘Yep, and a short while later, a couple of days, she knocked on all the neighbours’ doors in the early hours and was ranting, and they had to call the police, who called me. And another time she fell in the bathroom and knocked her tooth out, and another she nearly set fire to the chair with a cigarette.’ He looked skyward and let his arms rise and fall. ‘You name it, she did it, and I kept getting the calls late into the night and early morning, which was wearing and stressful, and when I didn’t get calls it was wearing and stressful, as I couldn’t imagine what was going on, and I was on edge, waiting for the calls. So I gave up, came back home and here we are.’
‘You should have told me what it was like for you, told me about your life here.’
‘I don’t really tell anyone. It’s shameful and it’s not the life I wanted.’
Thomasina looked at him in earnest. ‘No, no, Grayson, it’s not shameful. It’s quite amazing how much you do for her to keep her well and how selfless you are. There aren’t many who would. And you do it because you’re a good son and because, in the end, it feels easier, safer . . .’
‘I guess so.’ He looked down, as if weary.
‘But the truth is, Grayson, time is passing and life doesn’t come to you – you have to chase it.’
‘Or sometimes it does come to you, because here you are.’ His face brightened. ‘I’ve thought so much about all the things I want to say to you and what it might feel like to have you here, and now that you are I feel a bit tongue-tied.’
‘That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything and you don’t have to feel nervous. Everything is okay. Your mum’s asleep and I have no intention of rooting around to find your dad’s blow-up bed.’
He nodded. ‘He wasn’t an arsehole.’ He kept his voice low, picking at the button on his pyjama top.
‘I know.’ She placed her hand on his arm and he laid his palm over it, anchoring her to him. Her heart pulsed.
‘And he didn’t sneak out in the dead of night. He spoke to me, told me he was sorry.’
‘He must have felt so torn.’
He nodded. ‘I’m sorry about the way she spoke to you.’
‘That’s okay. She’s just lonely and probably a bit scared, and alcoholism is a horrible sickness.’
‘What do you think she’s scared of?’ He looked a little perplexed.
‘That you might run out on her, like your dad did. That she might be left alone. That she might lose you.’
‘I guess so. I can’t pretend my sympathy hasn’t worn thin over the years, because it has. Ironically, it’s the way she behaves that might make me run out on her. I’m sick of it, and yet I love her, feel responsible for her. It’s complicated.’
‘Families always are.’ She thought of the pull of the farm and how she and her parents leaned on each other.
‘I’m happy you’re here, Thomasina.’
‘Me too. I didn’t want to force you to see me, in case you didn’t feel the same, but I had this . . .’ She faltered.
‘This what?’
She placed her hand on her stomach. ‘This horrible ache. Like I’d lost something and I needed to find it. I felt sad, really lonely – and I missed you. Does that make any sense?’ She twisted her face upwards to look at him.
‘It does. It makes complete sense.’
‘Did . . . did you miss me at all, Grayson?’ She felt dry-mouthed with nerves at asking. But this was bold! This was chasing life!
‘Every second.’ He nodded. ‘I missed you every second. I thought about you all the time and I couldn’t get to sleep for thinking about you, and I thought about you from the moment I woke up until the moment I went back to sleep.’
Thomasina reached out and took his hand. The feel of his dry palm against hers was life-affirming, warm and wonderful. ‘Really?’
‘Really. You are the best person, smart and beautiful.’ He ran his fingers over the side of her face.
‘You make me feel beautiful.’
‘You make me feel beautiful.’ He spoke sincerely, easily, the truth. ‘Thank you for coming to find me.’
‘I didn’t feel like I had any choice. I wanted to see you, Grayson, to make sure you were the man I thought you were. I couldn’t understand why we didn’t make more of a plan, but I get it now, now I’ve seen . . .’ She nodded her head in the direction of the lounge, where his mum was sleeping off the drink.
‘I want to be the man you think I am. I want to be the man you make me think I can be.’
‘And I want you to feel about me the way I feel about you.’ She reached up and kissed his face.
‘I do.’ He kissed her in return. ‘I do.’
Grayson let go of her hand and pulled back the duvet before lying down on his side. He lay watching her, propped up on his elbow in the half-light as she shrugged off boots and jeans, leaving them in a crumpled pile on the carpet. The feel of his skin as she slid in next to him was a moment she knew she would never, ever forget. It was as if all the spaces were suddenly filled – those aching voids of loneliness, the crevices that had turned into canyons over the years, levered open ever wider by self-doubt until she was almost entirely comprised of hollow pockets of emptiness. She felt whole with a warmth that started in her stomach and spread throughout her limbs, and at that precise second she knew what it felt like to be one of those neat, clean, glossy and artfully painted girls with knowledge of what to wear, how to act and where to go – knowledge that was now hers too, because here she was with a man as wonderful as Grayson Potts.
And it felt as if the whole wide world and all it had to offer lay in the palm of her hand.
I know he’s the man I thought he was.
I know he’s more than the man I thought he was.
I know what pure happiness feels like.
I know I’m going to carry on being brave and making things happen!
I know I absolutely hate Liebfraumilch.
TEN
Thomasina opened her eyes slowly and was happy to find herself wrapped in Grayson’s arms. It was the dead of night, and she looked around in the darkness at the wooden furniture with its air of utilitarian functionality, along with the map on the wall, the shiny brown curtains and the apricot wallpaper. It was a dated and depressing room, despite the bubble of joy in which they nestled.
‘Are you awake?’ he whispered into her hair.
‘I might be. Are you?’ She giggled, sliding down the bed and turning dexterously until her face rested against his chest. ‘I can’t sleep.’
‘Because it’s so cramped.’
‘No, Grayson, because I’m happy! Excited! And I don’t want to waste a second of being with you.’
He kissed the top of her head and combed her hair with his fingers. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘Oh.’ She considered lying, but instead told him plainly, ‘I was thinking that your bedroom is sad. There’s no colour here and nothing pretty.’
‘I know. When my dad left, I remember sitting in here and thinking it felt like a safe place to be, the last place I saw him and where I could picture him, hear his words. But then, as I got older, I could see that it was as miserable as the slow beat of a solitary drum – you know, the way that sound goes right through your chest and drags grieving from you, la
ys it bare.’
Thomasina nodded. She understood what he meant and again appreciated the beautiful eloquence of his words.
‘So, I put more stuff in it: the wall map, the books.’ He took a breath and looked at her briefly. ‘But it still feels like a sad place, a prison. So when I’m here, I spend a lot of my time looking out of the window. Looking down on the world and the strings of lights that shine brightly in the rain and punch holes in the dark.’
His eyes twinkled, and she liked the look of him when he spoke like this, animated and happy. She was so very intrigued by anything to do with him.
‘My dad told me once that the tower blocks where we live are ugly – “Ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside, but there’s magic if you know where to look for it.” That’s what he told me and he was right. I didn’t always know what he meant, but he used to say we had a rich man’s view: we get to see something quite remarkable – London from way up high. And we get it for free!’
‘I’m afraid I don’t really know what you mean.’ She felt a little foolish for having completely lost the thread.
‘I like to rest my elbows on the windowsill and look at all the lights twinkling in the dusk. It’s wonderful. It makes the city look otherworldly and strangely beautiful, and yes, like magic – the way the ugly, bland, square, mismatched, unloved concrete buildings that during the day reek of deprivation by night become almost a single thing. And it’s a beautiful thing, a community almost, unified by the street lights that line the routes, looping in every direction and joining the dots. They’re a dazzling carpet of lights, shining brightly from windows and headlamps, a clear sparkle against the inky sky.’
‘I remember you asked if we had any street lamps when you arrived at Waycott Farm. I thought it was a strange question!’
‘It probably was. Come and look at this.’ He raised his knees and scrabbled out from under the duvet. Leaning against the headboard, he threw the heavy red curtains open wide and placed his elbows on the windowsill. Thomasina took up position in the small space to his left, the mattress creaking under their combined weight, and she too leaned on her elbows on the windowsill.
He pointed down towards the industrial area and the housing estate and the tower blocks beyond. ‘Look, you can see for miles and miles from here.’
‘Yes, you can!’
She leaned closer to the glass, aware he was studying her profile, and it felt nice to be able to share one of his favourite things.
‘It’s like,’ she began, ‘it’s like looking at the stars, all those blurry dots of light as far as your eye can see, but upside down, like a mirror of the night sky. It’s beautiful.’
‘I’m glad you think so.’
‘Now show me the slice of moon you can see through the window!’ She wriggled out from the bed and stood in the narrow gap of floor between the bed and the wardrobe.
‘Okay.’ He laid his head back on the pillow. ‘You have to tip your head back and close your right eye.’
She jumped back into bed and copied his pose and, sure enough, there in the top corner of the window was a slice of the moon.
‘I see it!’ She kicked her legs against him in excitement. They laughed, remaining still until their breathing had settled. Thomasina shifted until her cheek again lay on his chest. He placed his arm around her and pulled her to him, kissing the top of her head.
‘Can I ask you something, Grayson?’
‘Yes, anything.’
‘When I asked if you had been with anyone before and you said yes, who was it, or have there been lots of people?’ She wanted to understand the measure of him, learn the Grayson before they met.
‘Oh!’ He swallowed nervously. ‘Not lots, no. It was only one time, with a girl called Melinda Liebermann. An American intern who was leaving the trading floor at the bank, and we had to go out. Everyone was invited and we all got very drunk. And it was then.’ He shrugged, suggesting at worst disappointment and at best indifference to what clearly should have been a moment of great note. ‘I didn’t see her again after that night. I can’t really remember her face. What . . . what about you?’ he asked nervously.
She answered honestly in spirit with his own directness. ‘I’m telling you because I remember what you said, and I never want to lie to you either. I don’t want anyone knowing something about me that you don’t.’
‘I appreciate that. I’ve always thought that if my parents had been able to talk openly about everything then there might have been a different solution other than him running out on us.’
‘That might be true.’ She drew on all her courage. ‘I had sex with Tarran Buttermore, one of the local farmers. Now, he is an idiot!’ She watched him closely, trying to gauge his reaction.
‘Did you think he was an idiot before you had sex with him?’
She gave an inappropriate snort of laughter, wondering how to explain her simultaneous revulsion and attraction for a boy she knew at an intimate level and yet who was still a stranger in so many ways. ‘I did, yes, but I didn’t care at the time. I just wanted someone to want me . . . and he kind of did for a little while, a few minutes. But not really . . .’ she whispered, thinking of her recent humiliation in the car park.
‘I want you.’
‘You do?’ She kissed his face.
‘I do, and before I couldn’t see how we could make it work, not with things how they are here and you so far away, but then not seeing you . . .’ He shook his head. ‘That’s not going to work either. I hated it.’
‘I hated it too. There are lots of things I want to do, Grayson. I want to see the world, try a new life, and I want to do it with you.’
Grayson leaned forward and kissed her. ‘I’d like that. And as for Tarran, we can’t change or worry about what has gone on before, that would be completely pointless. We are brand new, remember?’
‘We are, Grayson. We are brand new.’
In the morning, as the sun rose over the city, Thomasina reflected on the extraordinary night, quite something in this very ordinary room in which seemingly nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. Grayson hummed a tune of his own composition.
‘I don’t know how many thousands of nights I’ve spent in this room, but I know I’ll always remember this one. Will you be okay while I go and shower?’
‘Yes,’ she said, nodding, his concern touching.
He took his time in the shower, and she sat listening to him sing, unable to wipe the happy smile from her face and yet equally anxious about the next hour or so of her life, when she would again have to face his mum, whom she could hear rattling around in the kitchen. Her skin was suddenly covered in goose bumps and she shivered at the prospect of coming face to face with the sober version of his mother. Thomasina sat on the bed and took deep breaths, consoling herself with the thought that, when drunk, the woman lost her filter and was more than a little mean, but this morning she was probably regretting last night’s outburst and might be all sweetness and light to compensate. Thomasina certainly hoped so, feeling a sudden flash of homesickness for the cosy kitchen table in front of the range and the feel of Buddy’s muzzle against her cheek in greeting.
The door opened and in walked Grayson, newly shaven with wet hair, and apart from his long fringe hanging down to the tip of his nose, he looked smart in his freshly ironed shirt and trousers.
‘Breakfast is on the table!’ she heard his mum call.
Thomasina leaned back against the headboard with her knees up and her arms clasping her shins. It was the first time he’d seen her in daylight in a state of undress and with her hair all messy. He sat on the edge of the bed and gathered a section of it, running his fingers over the ends as if fascinated by the cascade of hair that spilled over her shoulder. ‘It’s not one colour, but a thousand shades of brown and, where the light catches it, it’s almost gold.’
‘I like the way you see me, Grayson.’
‘You hair is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.’
‘Go
od Lord, give me strength, do you want this bloody breakfast or not?’ his mother shrieked, interrupting the moment.
‘I’m coming!’ he called towards the door. ‘Did you get any sleep?’ he now asked Thomasina.
‘Not much. Did you?’
‘Not much.’
They giggled.
‘How’s your mum this morning? I’m a bit scared to go out there.’ She pulled a face.
He looked at the floor. ‘Haven’t seen her yet. But it’ll be okay.’ He spoke with reticence and she wasn’t sure whom he was trying to reassure. ‘Do you want to shower?’
‘Yes, please.’
Thomasina showered quickly and stepped from the bathroom into the lounge with a sick feeling in her gut.
This was it. Time to pull on her big-girl pants and go and face the music.
His mum was back in her chair, nursing a mug of tea and staring out of the window. The TV was off and the sound of Grayson chewing on his boiled egg seemed especially loud.
‘Morning!’ Thomasina’s sweet, happy greeting was alien in this environment, like putting ribbons on a dark rock or seeing a rainbow rise over the city dump.
‘You’d best get a move on.’ Mrs Potts spoke between sips of her tea. ‘Don’t want to miss your bus, son.’ The woman ignored Thomasina’s greeting, and it was so awkward it left her feeling cold.
‘Grayson, you’ll miss your bloody bus at this rate!’ his mum hollered from the chair.
‘Okay. Okay.’
‘You don’t want to get into trouble with your little job, do you?’ she yelled.
‘Nope.’ Grayson rolled his eyes at Thomasina. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ He blushed, clearly embarrassed at his mother’s snub.
Thomasina scanned the table and glanced at his mum, who still sat with her back turned. There was no place set for her, no table mat and certainly no teacup.
‘No, no, that’s fine, thank you. I can grab one later.’ She smiled and sat at the table next to him.
His mum turned slowly, her expression one Thomasina could only describe as thunderous. ‘Blow-up mattress comfy enough for you, was it?’
The Things I Know Page 17
