‘Oh! I didn’t . . . erm . . . we didn’t . . .’ Thomasina faltered.
‘Thomasina slept in my bed,’ Grayson said levelly, and she admired him for it, knowing it was better not to deceive his mum, while at the same time rather hoping the specifics of the previous night would not be broached. She watched as Mrs Potts stood and pulled the crumpled tunic down over her stomach. ‘I know she did!’ she spat. ‘Think I was born yesterday?’
Grayson laid his spoon by the side of his plate and pulled the red napkin from his neck. Clearly, he was finished.
His mum, however, was not. She drew breath, seemingly reloading for her next verbal assault. ‘This is my flat, my home. And you think you can bring any old floozy here, day or night, like it’s some kind of whorehouse?’
‘Please don’t talk like that.’ Grayson looked at Thomasina and shook his head. This whole exchange was terrible! As humiliating as it was unnecessary.
‘I’ll talk how I please under my own roof!’ she shouted.
‘Actually, Mum, it’s my roof too.’ He spoke softly.
‘What did you say?’ She jerked her head forward.
‘I said it’s my roof too.’
‘Is that right?’ His mother cackled in a way that, when used to bookend something she clearly didn’t think was funny, was nothing short of sinister. ‘If you think she’s shacking up in your room another night, you’ve got another think coming.’
‘I have no intention of staying another night,’ Thomasina began. ‘I—’
‘Who rattled your cage? And what did he tell you? Did he tell you I was a drinker? Because I’m not!’
It was his mum’s unfounded aggression that took Thomasina by surprise. She had expected a sore head, hoped for contrition, but this was something else.
Grayson stood abruptly. ‘I need to leave now. I need to get to work.’
‘See what you’ve done?’ his mum shouted at Thomasina. ‘You’ve upset him, and you’ve upset me! Coming all that way and sliding into his bed – what sort of girl does that?’
‘Please don’t talk to her like that, Mum!’ Grayson’s voice rose.
‘And I told you that I’ll talk any way I damn well please in my own flat!’
‘It’s okay, Grayson. I need to go anyway.’ Thomasina’s cheeks were aflame and she wanted to be anywhere else, anywhere other than here.
‘You don’t have to go,’ he said, swallowing.
‘What you talking about?’ his mum yelled. ‘’Course she’s got to go! This is my home!’
‘Mum! For God’s sake!’ He clenched his fists. ‘Just stop! I don’t want to hear you talking the way you do, I don’t want you to be so angry about everything, and I don’t want you to be so rude to Thomasina!’
‘It’s okay, I—’
‘No, Thomasina!’ Grayson fired back. ‘I mean it. It’s not okay!’
‘You kidding me?’ His mum leaned on the back of a dining chair. ‘You’re taking the side of this little madam you’ve known five minutes? Who turns up on my doorstep in the dead of night and thinks nothing of sinning under my own roof!’
‘Since when did you care about sin?’ he asked.
‘Don’t you cheek me!’ Her face was puce and her mouth quivered, Thomasina suspected, with equal measures of fear and all the poisonous retorts she still had left to fly.
‘Come on, Thomasina.’ Grayson took her hand and led her back to the bedroom, where he picked up his satchel and watched as she pulled on a boot, lacing it over her foot, which still carried the residual ache of yesterday.
Back in the living room, Thomasina couldn’t help but raise her hand in a small wave, thinking it would be impolite to leave without any gesture, but Grayson closed the front door behind them without saying goodbye to his mum.
Thomasina walked ahead, scanning the concrete walkway, looking for junkie shit or needles.
‘I bet you wish you’d never come down here.’
‘No, Grayson, the very opposite. I wish I had come sooner.’ She drew a breath. ‘I don’t like how you live. I don’t like how your mum treats you, and I know it’s not my place to say, but that’s how I feel.’
‘I don’t like it either.’ He kicked at the floor and tucked his fringe behind his ear.
‘So . . .’ she began. ‘So why don’t you do something about it? Change it?’
He held her gaze and spoke with the glint of tears in his eyes. ‘Because I promised.’ He bit his lip. ‘I promised my dad. And I don’t know what she’d do.’
‘But you know, Grayson . . .’ She framed her thoughts carefully. ‘Your dad was wrong to hand that burden to you. You were just a little boy! He couldn’t hack it, he did a runner, no matter how calmly, and yet he expected you to pick up the slack, and that’s very selfish. Plus, he might have just said it like a casual goodbye or to give you something to focus on after he’d gone, but I’m sure he didn’t mean for you to be holed up here, trapped, looking after her instead of living your own life.’
‘That’s more or less what Liz said.’
‘Well, for what it’s worth, I think Liz is right. I also think that your mum needs help, but it’s not help that you can give her, necessarily. She needs to see someone who understands about her illness.’
He laughed. ‘That’s the trouble. You heard her – she can’t admit that she drinks’ – he gestured towards the flat – ‘let alone understand that she has an illness.’
‘I’ll help you, Grayson, if you want me to. There must be information available. You can’t be the first person in this situation. Plus, I can be the person you talk to. I don’t know if I’ll always say the right thing, but just talking things through can make it feel better sometimes.’ She thought about her own situation and resolved to try harder to find a solution to all the things that bothered her about life on the farm. Maybe she should talk to Emery directly, have it out? And as for selling Waycott, she decided to get more involved, either to help ease the process for everyone or at the very least so she fully understood the situation. Knowledge, she decided, was how she would best find the answers to everything that irked her. She figured it would be the same for Grayson and his ghastly mother.
‘Yes, please.’ He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.
She walked down the stairs full of hope, with a new lightness to her spirits and clarity to her thoughts. With Grayson by her side, she hardly noticed the smell of urine, the piles of takeaway wrappers littering the steps or the new graffiti across the wooden door at the bottom of the stairwell – a spray-painted image of a smoking gun.
‘Oh no!’ She felt his hand stiffen.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘It’s Mr Waleed, by the bins!’
She looked over at the little bull of a man lobbing full, knotted black bin bags into the dark abyss. He lifted them with ease, this man who used to be a wrestler. Grayson waved to him in greeting.
‘Your mother!’ he shouted, by way of response. ‘She laugh so loudly, Grayson, she shout, she stamp her feet! What in the name of God is she doing up there! Is she dancing? Because I have to tell you that I don’t feel like dancing, not with her up above me, bang, bang, bang! My kids moan, my wife moans – and now my mother-in-law, she is learning English so she can moan at me in three different languages!’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Waleed.’
‘It’s not you, Grayson. You’re good man. But your mother?’ He shook his head. ‘Maybe you take after your father.’
Despite the fraught exchange, Thomasina saw the small creep of a happy smile on Grayson’s face, as if this were the first time it might have occurred to him: the idea that he not only carried some of his father with him, but also that he was not like his shouting mother, who liked to stamp her feet.
‘Yes, I think I might.’
‘Well, I go talk to her again! Have a nice day!’ Mr Waleed raised his hand in a wave as they crossed the main road.
Thomasina blinked. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve caused trouble for you with your m
um.’
‘You haven’t. The trouble has been there for a while, probably forever, and don’t apologise about coming to find me. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’
She leaned up and kissed his face and knew the novelty of that one act would never dull for her, the joy would never diminish. ‘What are you going to do? Go back and talk to her now?’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I need to get to work, plus, she’ll have calmed down by tonight, but I know things need to change.’
‘I feel the same,’ she said, scuffing her toe on the pavement. ‘I know things need to change for me too. I need to step out from under my mum and dad’s wings. I need to find my own way, sleep under my own roof and have my own cake tins, start living . . .’
He squeezed her hand. ‘It’s scary, but exciting too, isn’t it?’
‘It is. I’ll walk you to the bus stop, Grayson, and then make my way to Paddington to get the train back home to Bristol, but we can make a plan of how and when we’ll see each other again, if you like . . .’ She let this trail.
‘I do like. Of course I like!’ This time it was his turn to bend down and kiss her. ‘I shall come and stay and you can come and . . .’ He floundered.
‘I can come to London and meet you somewhere that isn’t your flat!’ She laughed.
‘Yes, something like that. We’ll make it happen, Thomasina.’
‘Yes, we will,’ she agreed, with something like fireworks exploding in her gut.
‘I can’t believe Emery did that to Daphne.’
‘I believe it. Nothing surprises me about him. He’s so nasty,’ she whispered.
‘He didn’t seem that nasty to me. But you’ve known him longer,’ he conceded.
‘Trust me, he’s a shit.’
‘And we don’t like shits.’
‘We don’t. Not in the lift, not from a dog, and not the human variety like Emery.’
They laughed. It felt nice to have an in-joke.
‘Will you be okay?’ He held her hand.
‘I’ll be fine. Can I call you?’
‘Yes, call me. Call me any evening – in fact, call me any time if ever you need anything, anything at all, and I’ll try and help, or at least listen. I want you to know that I will always, always, try to make your life the best it can be. If I can do anything to help you, then I will, because that’s what you deserve, Thomasina. You are amazing, that much I know. And I can’t wait for the day that you own your own cake tins, if that’s important to you!’
She beamed at him. ‘That means the world to me, Grayson.’
He reluctantly let go of her hand and climbed on to the waiting bus. Thomasina watched him settle into his seat and, in that moment, as the bus pulled away, he blew her a kiss and she felt like the most beautiful girl in the world.
I know for the first time that I don’t feel afraid for my future.
I know that I want to rescue Grayson and I know that he will rescue me.
I know what being in love feels like!
I know that I’ve found someone who is kind and good.
I know I don’t want to live in London. A day trip to Covent Garden is all right, but to live here among the tower blocks and be too afraid to dance in case Mr Waleed shouts at you by the bins? No, thank you.
ELEVEN
With a mixture of relief and disappointment, Thomasina walked into the kitchen of the farmhouse. Buddy leapt up from his basket like a pup and pawed at her thigh, panting, his tail wagging and an expression that was as close to a smile as he could manage. She bent low and kissed his muzzle, running her hands over his handsome face and whispering her affectionate greeting. Her parents’ reaction to her homecoming after two days of absence was a little more muted. It wasn’t that she wanted an altercation, having stormed out, and she certainly wasn’t in the mood for celebratory fireworks on her return, but their quiet acceptance of her dramatic flounce, almost an indifference, made her feel, at best, a little foolish. Her dad looked up from reading the Gazette and winked, returning to the article that was, apparently, gripping him. Her mum paused from stirring the soup in the pot on the range and looked at her briefly.
‘There’s a cup of tea in the pot, Thomasina. Welcome home, darlin’.’
She liked the way her mum used her name, as requested, and used it with ease. It meant a lot.
‘Thank you. Did you miss me?’
‘Well, it was quiet!’ her dad quipped.
‘How are my girls doing?’ she asked, grabbing a mug from the drainer and collecting the teapot from the trivet.
‘They’re all good. A little unsettled at night, no doubt missing their friend.’
‘Daphne.’ Thomasina looked briefly at her mum, who rolled her eyes, but with a crinkle of understanding around her crow’s feet. ‘Daphne . . .’ she muttered under her breath.
‘I was proper worried until you texted,’ her dad said with a sigh. ‘I went running up the paddock to find you and you’d disappeared! Fancy walking to the pub. I’d have run you in – it’s no good for your foot, all that walking.’
‘I wanted to walk, Pops. Help clear my head.’
‘I can understand that.’ He smiled. ‘So you stayed at the pub for a couple of nights?’ He finally closed the paper. ‘Did you hear anything on the grapevine about the offer for the farm? I expect it’s what people are talking about – can’t keep nothing secret around here.’
She spun around. ‘Is it common knowledge then, the offer?’ She felt a little anxious at how fast things seemed to be moving.
‘Well, I don’t know about common knowledge, but it’s moving forward, for sure. The lawyer in Bristol called me, told me it’s the Buttermores who made the approach.’
‘Well, that’s no surprise.’ She sighed. ‘But no, I didn’t hear anything about it, Pops. Is it a serious offer, is it what you were expecting?’
‘’Bout as serious as they come.’ He tweaked the edge of the newspaper.
‘Anyway, I didn’t really hang about in the pub.’ She took a breath and spoke with confidence. ‘I was only there for one night. I went to London.’
‘London?’
‘London!’
Her parents shouted in unison. It made her laugh.
‘Yes, London! Christ, it’s not the moon!’
‘Yes, but London.’ Her dad tutted. ‘Terrible place, full of crowds and noise, where folk scuttle like mole rats underground – t’ain’t natural!’
‘It’s London, only a couple of hours away, really.’ She smiled, thinking of the stinky stairwell, Grayson’s narrow bed and his awful, awful mother.
‘Well, get you, Miss Cosmopolitan!’ her mum said, chuckling. ‘London! I don’t know, whatever next? New York?’
‘Oh God, I do hope so!’ Thomasina took a chair at the table, a little pleased now that the atmosphere was conciliatory and that Emery was nowhere to be seen.
‘So where did you stay, as if we need ask?’ Her mum mumbled the last bit.
‘Yes, I stayed with Grayson. And it was lovely to see him again.’
‘Did his people make you welcome?’
Thomasina snorted. ‘Not exactly. He lives with his mum and she’s . . .’ She blew out through pursed lips, recalling the woman’s venomous manner. ‘She’s a proper handful.’
‘Really, and him being so quiet?’
‘I know. I reckon it’s because he can’t get a word in edgeways!’ In her jest lay more than a kernel of truth.
‘But it went well, did it, love? He was nice to you, was he?’
Her mum’s pained expression tugged at Thomasina’s heart strings. It was nice to be loved and, having spent time with Ma Potts, she knew just how much, but still she felt the weight of the suffocating blanket of love around her shoulders, and she’d only been home for a few minutes . . .
‘We spoke to Jonathan yesterday,’ her dad said, steering the conversation in a different direction. ‘Had a long chat about everything.’
‘How is he?’ She took a cha
ir at the table, grateful for the immediate and familiar cup of tea in her hands. Buddy lay across her feet, anchoring her to the place, as if asking her never to leave him again. She touched his ears.
‘He was thoughtful, you know, quiet – it’s a lot to take in – but he listened to what I had to say and he agreed,’ her dad offered in summary.
She was confused. ‘Agreed to what?’
He shifted in the chair. ‘Are you not listening to me, Thomasina? I told him about the call from the lawyer. The offer! What d’you think I called him for, to talk about the weather?’
‘Sorry, Pops. I didn’t realise we were at “offer-accepting” stage. I feel like it’s happening a bit fast.’ She sat up straight. ‘And you know, I’d like to talk about it too. I want to be fully informed. It’s not just Jonathan’s life that will change.’
‘We know that, lovey,’ her mum interjected.
‘But also, I don’t want you and Mum to be rushed or feel pressured. You are going to think about it all carefully?’
‘It’s all I can think about, love.’ He bit his lip. ‘Yes, it’s all moving quite fast, and you’re right, you should know what’s going on and the situation we’re in. After all, you’re a grown woman.’
She felt the bloom of something warm in her gut. These words from her dad felt a lot like progress, an acceptance that she’d quietly yearned for.
He tapped the table with his working man’s fingers. ‘The truth is, things are . . . things are tough. More so maybe than your mum and I have let on.’ He glanced at his wife and Thomasina felt her presence as an intrusion to the current of intimacy that flowed between them. It made her think of Grayson and she felt a burst of longing for him.
‘How tough exactly?’ She took a sip of the strong brew in her mug and pushed the soles of her boots against the flagstones, steeling herself. It wasn’t easy to hear that her beloved parents might be suffering.
Her dad swallowed and looked towards the window, then the door – anywhere, she noticed, other than her face.
‘We are . . . we are struggling, love, and I can’t . . .’ He stopped and sighed, as if the words carried a physical weight he did not have the strength to bear. ‘I’m tired. Your mum is tired, and it would be one thing to work as hard as we do and enjoy the rewards, but there are no rewards. It’s never-ending. The early starts in all weathers, the late finishes . . . I’ve lived with one eye on the clock my whole life – my whole life,’ he said, letting this sink in, ‘always alert to the next task waiting for me, and now I want a rest.’ He nodded, as if this was it in summary, the point of the discussion. ‘I want a rest and I want to be able to buy your mum a new frock.’
The Things I Know Page 18
