The Things I Know

by Amanda Prowse

  Thomasina ran to him and, in those seconds, it didn’t matter that it was raining or that the sky was a dull, dull grey – she felt full of sunshine!

  ‘Oh my God!’ She jumped up and flung her arms around his neck. ‘What are you doing here?’ she squealed, before smothering his face with kisses.

  ‘I wanted to see you.’

  Thomasina let her arms slide from his neck. ‘You wanted to see me?’

  ‘Yep.’ He nodded, as if it really were that simple. ‘I wanted to see you and hold you in my arms and tell you that I hate what Emery and his friends said and did and that you’re not to give them one more day, not one. Put it out of your head, because you’re perfect. Perfect for me.’

  Reaching up, she smoothed his wonkily cut, overly long fringe from his forehead. ‘You have no idea, Grayson. It means the world that you came all this way.’ She felt quite overwhelmed at his gesture. ‘Come on, let’s go inside. I’m wet through.’

  She led him by the hand across the path towards the house. The kitchen was empty. They left their wet boots and coats by the door next to Buddy’s basket, who now beat his tail on the floor to greet his new friend. She liked how Grayson bent to pet his head without the reticence that had initially bordered on fear. The two went into the dusty snug with its lingering scent of a real fire and an abundance of squashed cushions and discarded newspapers. Thomasina struck a match to the fire Pops had laid and they settled back on the tapestry-covered sofa that was older than she was – another relic of family history, part of the fabric of life on Waycott Farm. Again she felt the bite of nostalgia, missing every bit of the place before it was even sold. As the flames took hold, the kindling fizzed and the logs began to crack and pop, the two stretched their toes towards the flames and Thomasina leaned her head on Grayson’s shoulder, sighing with a deep and new-found sense of well-being.

  ‘You left work to come here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did they mind?’

  Grayson gave a soft burst of laughter. ‘I think they’re getting used to me not doing as I’m told any more. I said I had to go and see a girl.’ He kissed her on the head. ‘My boss was annoyed, but then, as I left, he patted me on the shoulder and said he’d had to go and see about a girl once too.’

  ‘And you’ve left your mum?’ She blinked, still a little embarrassed to raise the topic.

  ‘Auntie Eva is checking on her. I still feel so bad about the way she treated you. It was awful. I wanted to fall through the floor and disappear.’

  ‘Not sure Mr Waleed would have been too happy about that.’ She pictured the man by the bins.

  ‘God, can you imagine?’ He sighed.

  ‘I don’t want you to feel awful, Grayson. It wasn’t that bad, and she was drunk – not in her normal state.’ She gave the excuse she didn’t really believe, wanting to rid him of the embarrassment.

  ‘I think that more or less is her normal state.’ He gave her a knowing look, as if aware that she was offering a verbal balm, which he accepted gratefully.

  ‘Either way, I’m very glad you’re here. I like it when our paths cross.’

  ‘I can’t stand the things Emery said to you. I hate bullies.’

  She felt his arm twitch beneath her head. ‘Have you been bullied?’ she asked softly.

  ‘My whole life,’ he answered, without hesitation but with an underlying air of sadness, no matter how resigned. ‘At school, at work . . . everywhere.’

  ‘I know what that feels like.’ She snuggled more closely into him.

  ‘I just never seemed to . . .’ he murmured, as if he couldn’t quite explain why he didn’t fit in. ‘Even when I was little, I remember feeling like I was the only one who didn’t get what was going on, as if everyone was speaking a foreign language, and they’d get angry with me because I didn’t get the most basic things.’

  ‘Like what?’ Thomasina was curious.

  ‘One time – I must have been about six – my teacher, Mrs Collier, asked us all what we wanted to be when we grew up, and she got all the usual answers. Gregory wanted to be a footballer and play for West Ham.’

  ‘Of course!’ she smiled.

  ‘Liam said he wanted to be a cabbie, like his dad. Tanzeela said a doctor, and then it came to me and Mrs Collier asked what I wanted to be and’ – he took a deep breath – ‘I shouted it out because I thought it was the right answer because it was my truth. I shouted, “I want to be happy!” The class roared, but it wasn’t nice, supportive laughter, it was loud and collective and sharp. It was this and moments like it that anchored me in my weirdness. My odd ideas rooted me forever in a particular time and place. I was encased by all the things I had ever said or done that others considered strange, and they’d laugh just to see me in the corridor or if I was out shopping with my mum, as if the memory or the tale of what I’d done or said lingered like an echo and was enough to start them off.’ He sniffed and wiped his face with his hand.

  Thomasina didn’t know what to say to make it better. She knew how it felt to be at the mercy of words that cut you on the inside and over which you had no control. It was the worst feeling.

  Grayson raised his voice, his tone quite passionate. ‘And it was always me – always! Me who sent Mallory Davies a Valentine’s Day card and wrote “I love you” and signed it Grayson Potts by accident. Me who was sick on the bus to Canvey Island and the driver insisted on turning back, and so no one got to go to the beach and the whole class threw apples and scrunched-up crisp packets from their lunches at me, and they’d shout, “Happy? You want to be ‘Happy!’” randomly whenever they saw me, as though this was as ridiculous as saying I wanted to be an astronaut!’

  ‘I think wanting to be happy is an admirable thing to want to be. It’s everything, really. I’d rather be a happy egg collector than a miserable astronaut,’ Thomasina offered sincerely, but for some reason it struck them both as hilarious and they laughed with ease, releasing the tension that had built up within the room.

  ‘Thomasina? Where are you, little one?’ her mum now called, her voice getting closer and louder with increasing urgency. ‘Where are you, love?’

  ‘I’m in the snug, Mum!’ she hollered towards the door, rolling her eyes at her guest.

  ‘Oh, thank God, I was having a bit of a panic. Didn’t know where you were! I thought you might have fallen or come over faint! My heart was thumping nineteen to the dozen! I was just saying to Pops . . . Oh!’ Her mum stopped talking when she walked into the snug and saw that her daughter was not alone. ‘Oh!’ she uttered again, fanning her face with her dishcloth, as if a little overcome, as well as lost for words. ‘Mr Potts!’

  He stood up and faced her. ‘I came to see Thomasina.’

  ‘Well, that’s lovely – lovely!’ she said, smiling at him and then at her daughter, who enjoyed watching their interaction. It felt a lot like building the bridges she knew would be necessary for a happy future. ‘I’ll set you a place for supper – you will be staying for supper, won’t you?’

  ‘If that’s okay?’ His voice was quiet, and she guessed that he, like her, was thinking how very different her mum’s greeting was in comparison to the welcome, or rather lack of one, that she had received from his mother.

  ‘Of course! Emery’s not home yet. He had to go down to Exeter to pick up some parts, so he’s missing supper, I think. It’ll be lovely to have you at our table. It’s nice to see you, Mr Potts.’

  ‘Grayson,’ he offered.

  ‘Yes. Grayson.’

  Thomasina liked the way her mum looked at him; this boded very well. ‘We’ll have a cup of tea if you’re making, Mum!’ she called as her mother made to leave the room.

  ‘Cheek of it!’ her mum called over her shoulder. ‘And a biscuit too?’

  ‘Go on then!’ Thomasina smiled and curled her feet up on to the sofa against Grayson’s thigh. The fire now raged and the warm heat filled the room, tinting everything with an attractive orange glow.

  ‘You’re lucky, you know.’
He watched her mum leave the room.

  ‘I know, but it’s not perfect living here. You heard how she was panicking just because I was out of sight for a bit. It can be suffocating sometimes.’

  ‘I know how that feels.’ He held her hand again. ‘We’re like two peas who have found their way back to their pod.’

  She laughed, understanding exactly what he meant and liking the analogy.

  ‘I love you, Thomasina.’

  His words were unexpected, although no less welcome for that. With a lump in her throat, she twisted to face him on the sofa. ‘You . . . you love me?’ she asked shyly.

  ‘I do. I really do. I have never felt it before but it’s kind of how I imagined it would feel.’

  ‘How does it feel?’ she whispered, barely able to suppress the whoop of joy that sat in her chest.

  ‘As if . . . as if I’m full up on something better than food or drink, something you could never have too much of, and as if I have nothing to feel scared of because nothing scares me if I know I can be with you. You make everything feel okay for me. It’s as if nothing else matters.’

  ‘I know. As though nothing else matters.’

  ‘You make me so happy!’ he grinned.

  ‘Me too.’ She could only agree. ‘You make me so very happy too.’

  Thomasina exchanged a look with Grayson across the kitchen table. He looked a little grey, his top lip clammy; he was nervous. She crinkled her eyes at him and hoped he felt the support she mentally set sail across the red-and-white gingham tablecloth. His new admission of love was still fresh and bloomed like something warm and beautiful in her chest. She watched as he lifted his hand to sip at the glass of water in front of him before looking back down into his lap. She noticed for the first time the extraordinary length of his eyelashes. They were lovely. A reminder that it was early in their relationship and that she was still learning him piece by piece. His awkwardness, she knew, was partly due to the fact that this was the first time he had sat at the family table in the kitchen and not as a guest on the other side of the door. She also knew it was rare for him to sit and eat with other people, picturing the forlorn single setting at the small table behind his mother’s chair where he tucked a red linen napkin into his collar. Her own mum now carved the leg of lamb she had pulled from the oven and lay soft, juicy slices on to the warmed plates with extra-crispy roast potatoes, rosemary-roasted carrots and a whole ladleful of glossy red-wine sauce. She had obviously decided to treat them and put Thomasina’s shepherd’s pie in the freezer for another day.

  ‘Here you go, love.’ Her mum placed the plate in front of Grayson.

  ‘This looks . . . amazing! Thank you very much.’

  She saw the genuine look of delight in his eyes and shuddered at the thought of his poached haddock, curling forlornly under tinfoil.

  ‘So, Grayson, you work in a bank then?’

  ‘In a way.’ He made eye contact with her dad and her heart pulsed at how badly she knew he wanted to make a good impression. ‘It’s a broker’s, really, but in banking, yes. It’s not that interesting.’ He reached for his water glass.

  ‘Funny, isn’t it, that no matter what your job, what someone else does always seems interesting. I mean, I can’t think anyone would be interested in taking soil samples or testing milk or mucking out, but there we go,’ her dad said with a chuckle, reaching to take his plate of food from his wife’s outstretched hands. ‘Ooh, look at that! Thank you, my darlin’. This looks wonderful.’

  She saw how Grayson watched the interaction between her mum and dad with something close to fascination, and wondered if he, like her, was thinking of the times when his parents had danced in the little space in the flat, in a time when they seemed happy . . .

  ‘And no brothers or sisters?’ her mum asked, lifting her cutlery to signal that the feast could now begin.

  Grayson shook his head. ‘Just me.’

  ‘You’d love our Jonathan.’ Her dad nodded in his direction as he forked a spud into his mouth. ‘He’s a lovely lad! In America, no less, working with a friend he made at college. He has a degree in agriculture and farming, our clever boy.’

  Thomasina was glad they were chatting but wondered, as she sometimes did, just how different her life might have been if her parents had not decided so early on that there would be no certificate of learning for her. It was part of her awakening, her growing confidence, that, along with this consideration, came the flicker of frustration in her gut: Why not me?

  ‘And your clever girl too.’ Grayson eyed her across the table, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Did you not want to go to college, Thomasina?’

  ‘Not really. I didn’t do too well at school.’

  ‘Well, no, lots of people don’t, but then they pick up education later in life, when they’re ready.’

  She was aware of the current of heightened awareness that now flowed between her parents and knew it was possible they might take his candid observation as a slight on the choices they had made on her behalf.

  ‘Maybe I haven’t been ready until now.’ She spoke softly, letting the suggestion creep over all assembled like warm water on ice, allowing the slow thaw of realisation that things for her were changing.

  ‘Maybe you haven’t,’ Grayson acknowledged.

  ‘Jonathan was born ready, wasn’t he, Pops? We all miss him.’ She steered the topic into less choppy waters but, in truth, Grayson’s words had planted a seed in her thoughts.

  ‘I look forward to meeting him,’ Grayson replied, and her heart soared. This meant a plan: someday when he would meet her brother.

  The back door now banged open against the wall. In walked Emery in an oversized parka, wet with rain, a grubby cap on his head. He filled the space with his presence and his bulk, carrying the scent of dirt and diesel, enough to put a large dent in Thomasina’s appetite. She watched as he shrugged himself free of the coat, caring little that he showered droplets over the floor and sideboard. He lobbed his cap on the side, scratching his scalp with his fingernails as he turned to look over the table.

  ‘Well, this looks nice. A little dinner party. Not interrupting, am I?’

  ‘’Course not, lad!’ Her dad, sweet as ever, smiled and shifted his chair to one side. ‘Go and fetch an extra seat from the parlour and come and eat!’

  Her mum stood, grabbed a plate from the rack above the sink and began loading it up with slices of lamb and all the trimmings.

  ‘Mr Potts! Didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Couldn’t keep away, eh?’ Emery asked with an air of sarcasm as he went to fetch the stool.

  Grayson gave a brief nod and did not invite the man to call him by his first name. Thomasina noticed the change in atmosphere and felt her stomach shrink. She wished this meal could continue with the chat and warmth, as before. She knew her dad and Grayson would have bonded over a beer while the excitement for all that lay ahead bubbled beneath the questions and the storytelling.

  And now her cousin had spoiled it.

  Emery came back, thumped the seat down next to her dad and sat down hard, as her mum put the plate in front of him.

  ‘I don’t know – leave for five minutes and someone’s in my seat!’ he almost shouted, but without the smile or laugh that suggested this was in jest.

  ‘Now you know how my brother feels,’ Thomasina muttered.

  Her dad gave her a stern look, while her mum asked quickly, ‘More gravy, anyone?’ as if this sauce-led diversion might be enough to quash the exchange that threatened.

  ‘Oh, still having a go at me, are you?’ This time Emery did laugh.

  ‘Come on now, you two!’ her mum tutted playfully, as if she were addressing kids. Thomasina wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d threatened to bang their heads together, and her mum’s manner irritated her.

  ‘I’m not having a go at you, Emery, just speaking the truth.’

  ‘This lamb is lovely,’ her dad said, wrinkling his eyes at his wife in a kindly smile.

  Emery chewed
his food. ‘Seems like the dog has found her bark, or should I say the rabbit her squeak.’

  Thomasina winced at his deliberate and cruel rabbit reference and felt her pulse race as her face coloured.

  Her dad put his cutlery down hard and stared challengingly at his nephew, chewing his food quickly, seemingly trying to finish his mouthful so he could speak, but it was Grayson who spoke up first. He laid his cutlery across his plate.

  ‘Please don’t speak to her like that.’

  ‘What?’ Emery held his fork still.

  ‘I said, please don’t speak to her like that.’

  ‘Oh, I see what’s happening: the dweebs are forming a tag team. Change Purse and Hitch – sounds like a bad country-and-western duo.’ He laughed again.

  ‘I’d . . . I’d rather you didn’t call me Change Purse, and I know Thomasina wants to be called by her real name. Everyone else seems to manage it.’

  ‘How about I couldn’t give a shit what you do or don’t want!’ Emery flashed, and she saw her dad sit back in his chair, his jaw tense and his eyes narrow.

  Her mum froze.

  ‘All right, Emery. That’s quite enough – you don’t talk like that, not to anyone in this house! This is the dinner table and a lovely meal has been prepared and I will not have it spoiled.’ Mr Waycott banged the table.

  ‘Don’t tell me that, tell him,’ Emery said, jabbing his fork in Grayson’s direction. ‘That lanky moron . . .’ he muttered under his breath.

  ‘I said, enough!’ Pops yelled.

  Grayson stood suddenly and the table jarred, the water glasses slopping their contents and gravy sloshing from the edge of the plates.

  ‘Good Lord!’ her mum gasped, raising her hand to her throat.

  ‘I think you and I need to go and talk outside,’ Grayson said.

  Emery laughed loudly. ‘Oh yes, please!’ he grinned. ‘I could talk to you outside all day long!’ He too stood, and balled a fist.