The Things I Know(23)

‘Yes.’

‘There’s a pub you can go to for supper later, if you want, or I can set you a place with us in the kitchen, or you can eat in the dining room. It’s only pie – nothing fancy – but you’d be very welcome.’

Grayson seemed to falter and shifted awkwardly on the spot. She wondered if the suggestion seemed a little overfamiliar, despite their happy connection, and felt the sour tang of regret on her tongue. A picture of Tarran Buttermore bloomed in her mind: his smile of rejection, the way he’d high-fived Digger . . .

‘I always eat alone, so I think I’d be more comfortable in the dining room, if that’s okay?’

‘Of course!’ She exhaled her relief. ‘Why don’t you eat with your mum?’

‘I don’t know. She doesn’t really eat proper meals. She’s quite fat, but she mainly grazes, on salted peanuts and toast and butter. I think she overeats during the day when I’m at work. I often find empty sausage packets, chocolate wrappers and paper bags from the local shops torn open and in the bin. I saw her once put her hand in and pull out a bag to lick the frosting that was stuck to the paper. The cake long gone. She didn’t know I was watching.’

‘I can’t imagine that. We always eat together. I do most of the cooking, and I quite like it. I don’t really watch TV but, if I do, I watch cookery programmes and pick up tips. It’s nice watching a handful of things from around the kitchen turn into a meal that tastes good.’

‘Like magic.’ He glanced at her.

‘Yes, like magic! I’d like to go to other countries and learn about the food, cook somewhere where I’ve never heard of half the ingredients. And I want to go to New York. Have you ever been?’

‘No, but we have offices there, so I could go.’

‘You’re so lucky.’

‘I don’t think anyone has ever thought I was lucky before.’ He pushed his fringe from his forehead.

‘So that’s my thing – to travel to New York.’ That and to have a kitchen of my own where I have my own cake tins, and someone to bake for . . . ‘What would you like to do? If you could do anything?’

‘I just want to be happy and be free to live my life,’ he offered without guile, and her heart boomed.

Hitch wanted to pry further but, aware of the intrusive nature of her questions, instead she smiled at him and walked along slowly, with the man at her side concentrating on his footing as they walked a little further along the wide sweep of the water’s edge. It was second nature to her to tread among the gently rounded boulders, kissed by the Severn’s current, that littered their path, along with the smaller rocks and flattened stones, which skidded now under the smooth soles of Grayson’s shoes. He walked with his arms outstretched, reminding her of a tightrope walker, teetering to the left and right in an effort to remain upright.

‘You need heavy boots like these with a grippy sole.’ Hitch lifted her foot.

‘I only have these shoes and my trainers, which I wear if I go up the shops or anything or if I go walking, but I only walk on pavements to get from A to B and so slipping over is not really a problem.’

She tried to imagine a world where all she might need was a pair of sparkly red shoes and, even though she couldn’t, not easily, she felt a flutter in her chest at the possibility, thinking it would be nice to own them.

‘What’s wrong with your foot?’ It was his turn to be direct.

‘I was born with this too. It’s like a claw foot. I kind of walk on tiptoe.’

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Sometimes, yes, in the cold weather or at the end of the day.’

‘Do you want to go back?’ He pointed in the direction of the farmhouse and she was happy about his misplaced concern.

‘No,’ she said, laughing. ‘I’m good, thank you. I was just thinking about you sitting by yourself. I can’t imagine eating on my own. We eat together, my mum and dad and my pig of a cousin.’

‘The one I have to ignore.’

‘Yes.’ She nodded at the floor. ‘I have a brother too, Jonathan, but he’s in America – cowboy country! He works on a ranch.’

‘Oh. I don’t know what you do all day on a ranch. I can’t really picture any life that isn’t spent travelling to and sitting in an office or a shop or a factory and then travelling home again for tea. And to answer your question, I don’t know if I’d like my mum to eat with me.’ It was obviously now on his mind too. ‘I think it’s better that she watches TV and leaves me in peace. She talks a lot. In fact, she never stops and it’s’ – he placed his hands briefly over his ears – ‘it’s terrible.’

‘My mum hardly talks at all, not about anything that matters. But she constantly asks me if I’m okay, or tells me everything is okay, as though she doesn’t think I’m capable of anything. It drives me crazy.’ She gave a forced laugh.

Grayson looked at her with an expression that looked a lot like sadness. ‘I’ve only known you for a few hours but I think you’re the type of person who is capable of just about anything.’

She stared at this man, whose words meant more than he could ever possibly know.

The two slowed and came to a standstill on the gritty, damp bank, looking out over the water, which was moving, churning and busy. Tiny waves broke into a foamy white froth on the banks and where the currents converged in the river. Fish flipped and darted, breaking the surface with a satisfying plop. Birds chattered, swooped and hovered overhead, no doubt hopeful of grabbing one of the flipping, darting fish, or at the very least ogling them with watering mouths.