She watched her mum look down towards the river, where her dad was dumping rubble from the tractor, shoring up the defence of their boundary, and she felt almost like an intruder on the beautiful moment of admission. She had truly thought this was the relationship she and Grayson might have enjoyed, that enviable closeness, the glue that kept her parents together through the good times and the very bad. But she’d been wrong and it was time to let it go. Her moody reflection over what might have been did no one any favours, least of all herself.
‘You should have more faith in yourself, Thomasina, more confidence. You have a lot to offer the right person. You’re lovely. And I think New York will be a wonderful adventure. You will take the city by storm, my girl.’
Her mum’s rare compliment was as beautiful as it was heartfelt, confirmation that she was letting Thomasina spread her wings, sending her off with her blessing, and it felt like a gift.
‘Thank you, Mum.’
‘Do you think you might bump into Jonathan? Both my babies in America – what a thing!’
‘I don’t think so. Wyoming and New York aren’t close on the map. I did look.’
‘Well, Pops and I will be here, living it up in our new home, God willing. Life goes on, eh, my little love? Life goes on.’ It was her mum’s turn to well up. ‘Anyway, that supplement’s not going to get into those cows with you stood there snivelling! Do I have to do everything myself?’ her mum yelled with vigour as she made her way across the yard.
‘I do love you, Mum,’ Thomasina called out. Her mum ignored her, lifting her hand, as if catching the words. Thomasina smiled after her. She was right, of course. It was time to let go and move on.
Life goes on . . .
The lights in the mall at Cribbs Causeway were bright, the shop windows shiny. It was like another world, where everything was glossy and clean and everyone had neat hair and wore make-up, a million miles away from the mud and grime of farm life. This wasn’t the first time she and her friend had ventured here. On their first trip she’d acquired a bottle of plum-coloured nail polish and on their second a rich velvety hand cream that helped rid her hands of calluses and which had the most glorious scent of gardenias. She was getting her hands ‘holiday ready’, not wanting to step off the plane with cow shit under her fingernails.
‘What will you do first when you get to New York?’ Shelley asked, holding up a slinky dress with sparkles down one side.
Thomasina shook her head. ‘Ew, no – I’m not going to any discos. I’d never wear it!’
Shelley put the dress back on the rack as Thomasina considered her question.
‘I’m not sure what I’ll do when I get there. Probably walk for miles and miles and look at everything: the pavements – or should I say sidewalks – the skyscrapers, the “walk”/“don’t walk” signs, the stores, Broadway! And I’ll eat hotdogs and giant pretzels and drink cworfee as I stroll through Central Park. Ooh, and I have to jump in a yellow cab and cross Brooklyn Bridge and ride the subway and take the Staten Island Ferry and salute Lady Liberty. And when it’s dark I’ll go to the top of the Empire State Building and throw wishes off the top. It’ll be like living in a film! All the things I’ve seen in films and on the TV, and I will actually be there!’
‘Not that you’ve given it much thought,’ Shelley offered sarcastically, and the two giggled.
‘I can’t help it, Shell! A million images keep whizzing around my mind! I feel sick, I feel excited, happy, nervous, scared, you name it, but most of all . . .’
‘Most of all what?’ her friend prompted.
‘Most of all, I feel like me. The me I’m supposed to be.’
‘Your mum and dad are going to miss you.’
‘I know, but it’s only for six weeks, and missing me I can cope with. At least with the farm gone they won’t need me, and that makes it a hell of a lot easier to go.’ She thought of Grayson, as she did from time to time – about ten times a day, if she were being honest.
‘And they’re going to build on the land they hold back?’ Shelley was trying to keep up.
‘Yes. They’re retiring, but keeping a couple of acres where they can build a bungalow.’
‘That’ll be really weird when you come home and Tarran’s living in your house!’
‘It will be, a bit, but the thing is, Shelley, I’ve wanted change for so long in my life and this feels like my chance! I shall come back renewed and ready to start up my little venture. And I’m bloody hungry for it!’
‘You crack me up.’ Shelley laughed. ‘I’m bloody hungry now – fancy cake and a coffee?’
Thomasina nodded, and they abandoned their clothes shopping, or rather pretend clothes shopping, as neither had the funds right now for anything new, and headed to the food court in search of a bun.
‘Oh my God!’ Thomasina stopped in front of a window, drawn to the most exquisite pair of shoes she had ever seen. Her eyes drank in the sparkly toffee-apple-red fabric, bedecked with sequins, the neatly curved kitten heel, and with a bow no less, sitting on the front. They were the beautiful shoes of her imagination. Shoes that would never fit a foot like hers, but she loved them nonetheless.
‘Oh my God, Shelley, will you look at them?’
‘They’d be no good for mucking out the cows, but I can see you walking down Fifth Avenue in them.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to wear them, no matter where I was. I’d just love to own them, and I’d have them on a special shelf, on display like art!’
‘Well, that I understand,’ her friend said, laughing, peering closer at the price tag. ‘Holy moly! They’re nearly five hundred quid!’
‘As I say, art!’ Thomasina giggled and took a picture on her phone so she could look at the pair of beauties whenever the urge took her.
‘I can probably get you a few shifts at the pub if you like, before you go?’
‘Oh, that might be good. Thank you!’
‘If nothing else, it’s the only way to meet fellas where we live. Not that you’re going to need any introductions – they’ll go mad for your accent over there.’
Thomasina felt her smile slip as she tried to imagine walking in that strange city with her head held high, avoiding eye contact with anyone who stared, and she wondered again if Grayson was right. Had she been hiding? Was now the time to get her mouth properly fixed? She covered her lips with her hand, almost in reflex.
‘You still missing Grayskull?’
‘Yes, a bit.’
‘You need to get back out there. I mean, look at me,’ Shelley said with a sigh. ‘I was gutted when your Jonathan left. We were getting on great. I felt like we had a real connection – he’s lovely. And then, just like that’ – she snapped her fingers – ‘he’d taken off for bloody America! What is it with your family and me? We get close and, before I know it, you’re applying for visas! Don’t let me meet Pops, or the next thing you know he’ll be heading for Chicago and your mum to Florida!’
Thomasina stopped and stared at her. ‘I didn’t know that you and Jonathan, that he and you . . .’ She felt at a loss for words.
‘Oh, nothing happened, but you know when you both know that something might and it’s so exciting!’ She beamed and bit her lip. ‘We were at that stage.’
Thomasina remembered a conversation about Shelley before her brother left.
‘You like Shelley?’
‘Kind of . . . I would never want to be mean to her – she’s fabulous!’
‘I had no idea.’ She thought of how different things might have been if her brother had stayed at home and settled down with this girl, who was indeed a bit fabulous. Home. It was a moment of realisation that the Waycotts had farmed the area for generations and yet, in a couple of weeks, it would all come to an end. She wondered what Great-Grandma Mimi and Great-Grandpa Walter would make of that.
‘You look miles away. What are you thinking?’
‘I’m thinking I’m ready for that coffee and cake!’ she lied, linking her arm through Shelley’s
and swallowing the nostalgic bloom at the back of her throat. Just a few weeks, and that would be it: a different surname on the deeds. She placed her hand on her chest and tried to ease the sting where the realisation of what was about to happen had pierced her heart. She pictured the Big Apple and the wonderful adventure that beckoned and, not for the first time, she felt torn.
Thomasina fed the cattle, cleaned out the chickens and, with Buddy on the front seat, she drove around the lower lanes to find Bonnie and Clyde, the two ducks that had gone AWOL. Again. This time, she found them in a muddy, shallow puddle, looking rather pleased with themselves.
As she pulled back around to the front of the farmhouse with the ducks in the rear, a taxi pulled up at the front of the house – a rare thing now that there were no bed-and-breakfast bookings, not with them so close to completing the sale, which would happen only next month. She drove past the vehicle and pulled into the yard and, as she did so, the breath caught in her throat, her legs turned to jelly and she felt sick.
There in the back seat of the cab sat none other than Grayson Potts.
Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Grayson!
Her first thought was to hide, her second to run away.
She had, in the first weeks since she’d seen him, longed for him to turn up, imagined the sweet joy of reunion, jumping out of her bed and looking out of the window at the slightest squeak of a brake or the whirr of an engine, but this was nothing like that. Things were different now: she had started to prepare for New York and her bedroom was packed away into boxes. At the sight of him, she felt the spread of panic as her heart beat fast and her mouth went dry. She wasn’t sure if it was excitement, anger or anticipation at the thought of seeing him again – possibly, a combination of all three – but whatever it was, she felt light-headed and more than a little nauseous. Her thoughts raged: Why had he come back? Had she brushed her hair? Was she covered in cow shit? She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear whatever it was he had to say – her hurt had been visceral and the wounds still smarted. These thoughts, however, were all underpinned by an internal whoop of joy over which she had no control.
She turned her attention to Bonnie and Clyde, the escapee ducks.
‘Come on! Come down, you two! You can’t be wandering off wherever you like. You’ll cause your mum and dad no end of worry!’ She scolded the birds, trying to keep her voice steady and ignoring the wide flap of their wings and squawks of protest as she thrust them into the yard, shooing them towards the inner pond and their awaiting family. She was aware of Grayson walking up the side path, recognising the lope of his gait, the scrape of the soles on his lace-up London shoes and the outline shape of him, his height, his quiet calm . . . all from no more than an awareness in her peripheral vision. Buddy, the traitor, ran over and pushed his muzzle into his hand. She heard the enthusiastic welcome and the small laugh that underpinned his words, coming from this man who was no dog lover, apparently.
‘Thomasina!’ he called to her.
‘What?’ she answered, still concentrating on driving the ducks towards the pond and closing the iron gate behind them, not giving Grayson the courtesy of turning around to face him.
‘I’m here!’
‘So I gathered.’ She leaned on the gate and closed her eyes, knowing she was going to have to turn around and look at him at some point, steeling herself for the moment. He sounded happy to be there, his tone sincere and open, and she cursed the confusion this caused in her muddled brain. It was a fight between self-preservation and giving in to her heart, which, whether she liked it or not, ached for him.
You can’t turn up like this and mess with my head. I have plans! I’m leaving – going on my big adventure! And I can’t let you hurt me again . . . It’s too painful and takes too long to fix . . . but, oh my God, just the sound of you!
‘I missed Buddy.’
She turned to squint at his attempt at humour and the first thing she noticed was that he’d cut off his hair. He looked younger and handsome, so handsome. His large eyes were now clearly visible and gone was the curtain of hair that half-hid his face.
‘And you got a haircut.’
‘D’you like it?’ He ran his hand over his head and his expression was desperate.
She nodded. ‘I do, actually,’ she whispered.
‘I went to the barber!’
‘Like a big boy.’
‘Yes,’ he chuckled wryly, ‘like a big boy.’
He took a step forward and she saw for the first time the bag that he’d dumped by the wall. A bag large enough to contain the odds and ends of someone who might be intent on staying for a while. The idea both thrilled and alarmed her. How was it possible that the thought of his staying felt both like a glorious new beginning and the ending of something wonderful before it had begun?
‘What is it you want, Grayson?’ she asked flatly.
He licked his dry lips and put his hands in his pockets, looking over her head. ‘There’s so much I want to say to you, it’s hard to pick a few words that might help me begin.’
She stayed quiet, knowing it was up to him to find those words and not down to her to help him out. He drew breath and looked steadily at her. ‘It’s been so hard for me, missing you, that it felt easier not to think about you – does that make any sense?’
It made complete sense, not that she was going to tell him that. She felt her shoulders straighten as she stood tall, thinking of the girl who was willing to sleep with Tarran Buttermore just because she wanted to be wanted, and here she was, standing down this wonderful man because, finally, she knew her worth.
He coughed. ‘I’ve always been a bit slow in realising things that others seem to jump to in an instant. It takes me a little longer.’ He paused. ‘I knew I needed to sort the facts from the fog in my mind, and I’ve done that. I spoke to Liz and I thought about all the wonderful things you said to me and all the promises we made, all the ideas better than anything I’ve ever had or known.’ He looked again over her head. ‘I thought I didn’t deserve you, not really, because you’re so wonderful and I’m just me, and I know I’ve no right to ask you to consider having me back in your life, but I give you my word that things have changed. I know what you said is right: I need to take control, make it happen, and that’s what I’m doing. And if you decide you don’t want to take a chance on me, I’ll understand. But it’ll kill me, and I will regret it for always but, as I say, I understand, Thomasina, if—’
‘No, you don’t understand,’ she interrupted, shaking her head and matching his stare. ‘Not even a little bit. You ran out on me. You gave up on us! You made it clear that you couldn’t have your life in London with all that self-imposed pressure and your life with me. You made your decision, Grayson, and even though I respected it, it crushed me!’ She placed her hand on her chest. ‘I thought I must have imagined everything that happened between us, and I figured the way I felt was not the way you felt, because if you did, then you wouldn’t have . . . you couldn’t have—’
‘I did! I did! I do!’ It was his turn to interrupt. ‘You didn’t imagine it, and the way I feel about you is off the chart! It’s sky-high!’ He made his arm into a rocket and zoomed it up over his head.
‘So if that’s true, what happened? How come it was so easy to cut me off?’ Thomasina kicked the toe of her boots against the ground and waited.
‘It just took me a while to figure it all out, to catch up. After you left the hospital, I fell back into the web.’
‘What web?’
Grayson sighed. ‘You know what web! My aunties, my mum, the guilt at the thought of her lying on the floor on her own, her heart being weak . . . a million things. And I knew, I knew I couldn’t do both – couldn’t give you what you want, what you deserve and live that life with those women, trapped.’
‘So I still don’t understand – why are you here now?’ She folded her arms across her chest, a protection of sorts.
‘To tell you I’m sorry and to try to explain, if you�
��ll listen. A lot has happened.’
‘A lot has happened here too.’
He nodded, before gazing wearily skyward, and she felt a flash of love at his desperate expression. ‘I’ve been run ragged, and unhappy. I came back from work a couple of nights ago and walked into the lounge, and my aunties and my mum were sitting with sheets of grease-stained white paper spread over their laps; they were eating battered sausage and chips in pools of salt and vinegar. Knocking back measures of wine between mouthfuls and then lighting up cigarettes.’ He swallowed, painting a picture so vivid that she felt she was witnessing the scene, could hear their incessant babble and smell the sharp tang of the food and the acrid smoke. ‘I reminded my mum that she’d told the doctor she’d stop smoking, that her heart attack was a warning and that she needed to change things if it wasn’t going to happen again. And she . . .’
‘She what, Grayson?’ Taking a step closer to him, she could smell his glorious scent, which still reminded her of the amber-coloured soap they had had in the bathrooms at school, spicy and warm.
‘She snarled at me. She said that what she did was none of my business. She said I was a fucking idiot, like him. And then she told me . . .’ He paused, as if even the memory of the words was still enough to cause pain. ‘She told me that she hoped my dad’s floozy and his shitty new family . . . she hoped they’d all rot in hell! Two little girls, apparently. My aunts went quiet, as if she’d gone too far, and Auntie Eva choked on her chip.’
‘He has another family?’ Thomasina was trying to keep up.
The Things I Know Page 27
