The Things I Know(18)

‘Why are you humming?’

She hadn’t heard Emery come into the kitchen. She ignored him, wiping down the wooden countertop with a damp sponge and scraping the vegetable peelings into the little enamel bucket to add to the compost later.

‘I said, what you sounding so happy about?’

‘You didn’t. You said, “Why are you humming?” ’

‘So you did hear me.’ He ran a glass of water and sipped it noisily.

‘I always hear you, Emery. I just don’t always answer you.’ She kept her eyes on the bucket of peelings. He finished his drink and thumped the glass down on the table.

He wiped his wet mouth on his sleeve. ‘I reckon, if I took over Waycott, I’d have to make some changes, but I don’t want you to worry about that just yet.’

‘I don’t worry about it at all, Emery. Pops would have to be crazy to leave the place to you.’

‘Not if I was the only person he could leave it to – if, say, your golden-balls brother never comes home from Brokeback Mountain.’ He watched her face closely.

‘You don’t fool me, Emery, and you don’t scare me.’ She ignored his insinuation, letting her eyes meet his briefly, hoping the loud heartbeat in her ears wasn’t audible to him. Her words were assured and yet had the underlying tremor of someone not used to standing up to her bully. He jumped forward suddenly, stamping his feet as he did so and causing her to start. The bucket slipped from her hand and went clattering to the floor, its contents scattering across the flagstones.

He smiled at her and she felt her heart clatter too, within her ribs.

‘I think we both know part of that’s not true.’ He spoke in no more than a whisper before disappearing up the stairs and, just like that, he drew the happy feeling from her soul and replaced it with something else: a deep, dark, lingering thread of sadness; an echo of a fear as to what her future might hold.

Oh, Jonathan, please come home!



‘That would be great.’

‘What would be great?’ She spun around, not expecting to hear the voice from the doorway. Mr Potts hovered in the hall. She saw that he’d taken off his work jacket and swapped it for a thin-knit V-necked jersey.

‘You said, if I was at a loose end, I could come and find you and you’d be around the farm.’

‘Yes, yes, I did say that.’ She sniffed and pulled her thick hair into a messy ponytail, fastening it with the band she kept on her wrist.

‘I’ve hung my stuff up and I wasn’t sure what I should do now.’ He stared at her, as if she might have the answer, his expression oddly endearing in its clarity.

‘Right.’ She looked him up and down, a little taken aback. This was a most unusual situation. Apart from the odd child who wanted to come and hunt for eggs or pet a pig, most guests kept themselves to themselves and let her go about her business. ‘Do you want to come out on the farm with me?’

‘Sure,’ he offered, again with a tone of indifference that might have been annoying, were it not for his eager stride into the kitchen, usually a no-go area for guests.

She gathered the peelings into the bucket. Mr Potts hovered, as if unsure whether to help or not. The floorboards over their heads flexed under Emery’s weight, before he returned downstairs. He arrived quickly in the room before she had a chance to brief their guest, not that she was sure of what she would have said.

‘Afternoon,’ Emery said, with a distinct smirk.

‘Hello.’ Grayson raised his hand in greeting.

‘So you’ve got yourself a little friend,’ Emery whispered, as he passed her by on his way back out into the yard.

Hitch looked back at Grayson, embarrassed in case he might have heard. ‘That’s my cousin. Ignore him.’

‘Okay.’

He followed her out to the cowshed. She noticed how he seemed content to walk in silence, quite unlike most people, who might feel the need, when newly acquainted, to punctuate the air with meaningless chit-chat or to ask questions in an attempt to get to know the other person better. She patted her thigh and ran her hand over Buddy, her boy, who walked close at her side.

‘I think you might be right, you know,’ he said.

‘About what?’ Not for the first time that day, she wondered how she’d lost the thread of the conversation.

‘About me liking dogs. I quite like your dog. He seems happy.’

She smiled at his observation. ‘I hope he is. I hope all our animals are. I couldn’t stand it if they weren’t. I think animals are so much nicer than people.’ She was aware of the rare confession and felt the tingle of nerves at how it might be received.

‘Do you?’ He didn’t laugh or snicker, and she was grateful.

‘I do. I think you’re right – people can be hurtful, but animals don’t know how to be mean to us, not unless we’re cruel to them or they’re afraid or just being protective. They’ll only turn on you with good reason; at least, that’s what I think. Animals trust us, and looking after them feels like a privilege.’

‘I suppose it is.’ He reached out and gingerly ran his fingertips over Buddy’s flank. ‘He does feel nice, soft.’

‘If you can earn the love of an animal, they will love you for their whole life.’ Hitch grabbed the plastic buckets from the feed unit and tipped the milk formula into it.