The Things I Know(33)

‘Have you asked your mum where he went?’

‘I did when I was younger, when he first left.’

‘What did she say?’ Hitch ran her finger daringly over the back of his hand.

‘She said he’d gone to hell in a handcart and good fucking riddance! I know now it was just the wine talking, but it’s just something we don’t discuss. I try not to say anything that’s going to set her off.’

‘That must be hard, not being able to talk about him.’ Hitch took the two steps towards him and placed her fingers on his arm. She watched his long fingers land over her hand and his touch felt incandescent on her skin, her stomach weighted with desire and the wish that he would hold her tightly against him. This longing was a new sensation and felt a lot like sickness.

Grayson again shook his head. ‘It’s got easier, but at first—’ Again he paused. ‘There are only two things that my mum and dad have ever said to me that have stuck, really stuck. Words that play like records in my head, and I think about them a lot.’ He coughed to clear his throat. ‘My mum said, “If you ever mention him, it will kill me. I will die. I will kill myself. I will.” And my dad said, “Look after your mum for me.” And so here I am, stuck in the middle. Not mentioning him for her and looking after her for him.’

There was a moment or two of silence, until she spoke, aware of the catch to her voice. She stared at him. ‘And what do you want, Grayson?’

‘What do I want?’ He looked a little blank, wide-eyed, suggesting that the thought rarely occurred to him, and she remembered what he had said, how it was all about getting through the day and trying to get through the night and then trying to get through the day and then trying to get through the night . . .

‘Yes.’ She moved a little closer to him and felt the brush of her hip on his thigh, a feeling so exquisite that she felt a flare of longing that she never wanted to end. ‘What do you want, Grayson?’

‘I don’t think too much about what I want, but since being here . . .’ He paused.

‘Go on,’ she urged, willing him to voice all the unfeasible, impossible thoughts that rang loudly in her head.

‘Since being here and meeting you . . .’

‘Yesterday,’ she reminded him, ‘that was only yesterday.’

He looked skyward, as if sharing her utter disbelief at this indisputable fact. ‘I feel like—’ He paused again, drawing breath and looping his fringe from his face. ‘I feel like you’re the kind of person who can find the gaps, fill in the missing pieces and solve the puzzle of my happiness.’

Hitch stared at the man who had awoken something within her, and if it were not such a ridiculous notion, she would have said that it felt a lot like love. ‘Maybe I can. Maybe I’m as clever as you after all, Mr Potts.’

‘Maybe you are.’ He leaned forward and, without the sweet encouragement of cider, he gently kissed her again on the mouth and again she saw . . . fireworks.

‘Outside shithouse is blocked!’ Emery yelled loudly from the yard, quite destroying the moment and making Grayson chuckle. With the spell broken, the two made their way over to Big Barn.

‘Do you look like your dad?’ she asked, almost casually.

‘My mum says I look like her uncle, my grandad’s brother, but I don’t, not really. I found a photograph of my dad inside a book cover when he was younger and he looked like me. So yeah, I do look like my dad.’ He smiled.

‘So he was handsome then?’ she said, kicking the grass and looking down at her feet in their heavy boots.

Grayson stared at her. ‘Do you think I’m handsome?’ he asked, not in the manner of someone who was fishing for the compliment, but rather as if this was something that had never occurred to him.

‘I do.’

Grayson placed his hand on his stomach and she wondered if the empty feeling that they had been talking about only minutes before had disappeared. She hoped so. She hoped that she was able to do for him what he did for her, fill her up with the moon and stars.

‘What do you want to do this afternoon, Grayson?’ she almost whispered.

‘I want to be with you. That’s all, really.’ He spoke steadily, confidently. ‘You make me feel ten feet tall.’



‘Can I take the pickup, Dad?’ Hitch called into the tractor barn as she leaned on the door, trying to keep the enquiry casual, fully aware of Emery listening while pretending to focus on the greasy nut and cloth in his hands.

‘’Course you can, my lovely. I reckon I’ll be in here most of the day. We’re not making much progress and this engine isn’t going to fix itself. You off to town?’

‘Uh-huh.’ She deliberately kept her response vague, torn between not wanting to lie to her dad and not letting Emery know where she was heading and with whom. ‘Chickens are fed and happy, washing’s out and calves have had their morning milk. Guest room’s been cleaned and there’s cold lamb in the fridge for your lunch. Mum’s put a loaf in the oven – you know where the pickles are.’

‘You taking that lanky girl out with you?’ her cousin said, without looking up.

‘See you in a bit, Dad.’ She ignored Emery, but her breath stuttered in her throat nonetheless.



Weaving along the country lanes, Hitch glanced to her left, taking in the sight of Grayson Potts with his head leaning out of the open window as the wind lifted his hair, eyes closed, shirtsleeves rolled above the elbow, and with an expression that looked something close to bliss. He reminded her of Buddy when he was allowed to travel up front. There was something about this man – and curiously, she suspected that the magical thing was how he made her feel about herself. The sensation of his mouth pressed to hers, an act committed without hesitation and with such sincerity the memory of it was enough to make her heart swell, even now.