The Things I Know(36)

He tipped his head back and looked up at the sky. ‘Let’s walk in the rain and then go and get fish and chips.’

‘Okay.’ She shrugged, tucking her hands into the pockets of her waxed jacket as the warm bullets of water started to hit her skin and hair, leaving her drenched yet happy. It felt reckless, foolhardy and all the more fun because of it. The two continued their leisurely stroll along the path, which quickly turned to mud beneath their feet. The surface of the lake danced with a million tiny ripples from the bouncing droplets.

Later, they ate fish and chips in the car with the windows steamed up, their greasy fingers reaching for piping-hot, batter-crisped fillets of cod and fat, golden chips, liberally doused in salt and malt. The food was, she thought, all the more delicious when eaten in the rain with the heater blowing warm air on to their chilly feet and with their damp bottoms sticking to the grubby leather seats of the Subaru.

‘I feel as though you’ve been here for a very long time.’ She licked her fingers clean and reached for the next chip.

‘I know. I do too.’

‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ She licked her fingers once more. ‘I don’t really know you, I can’t. And yet . . .’ She let this hang, unable even to voice the extraordinary way she felt – as though he had been parachuted into her life at her request.

‘It’s the same for me.’ He traced a raindrop with the tip of his finger down the inside of the window.

‘And I think about how exciting this is, and then I remember that this time tomorrow you’ll be back in London.’

He looked across at her and swallowed his mouthful, folding the lid down on the box of fish and chips he could plainly no longer stomach.

‘Oh no! We agreed not to mention it and now I’ve put you off your fish and chips!’

‘You were right, though. It was the best fish and chips I’ve ever tasted.’

‘But you don’t want to finish it?’ She looked at the scrunched-up parcel in his hands.

‘I can’t. I can’t eat when I think too much. It’s as if my stomach is connected to my brain and, if my brain has to work too hard, my stomach shrinks up and sits just about here.’ He touched his fingertips to the base of his throat.

‘I know what you mean.’ She sighed as her own appetite faded, and she tucked in the lid of her cardboard container.



They drove home in near silence. Grayson seemed deep in thought as he scoured the hedgerows and looked up at the sky, searching for what, she did not know.

‘I have some chores to do this afternoon.’ She spoke a little curtly, knowing it was the best way to stop this silliness before the awkward matter of the goodbye tomorrow. It was about self-preservation and the nagging lack of self-esteem that ate away at her confidence. She knew it was probably best for them both if he simply went back to London and found a girl like himself who was sweet and nice and who lived in a domino block of flats close by, one he could see whenever the fancy took him and who didn’t feel tied to a piece of muddy land on the banks of a river.

‘I can help you, if you like.’ He turned to look at her. His hair was plastered to his head and his face flushed with the exertion of walking in the rain. He had lost his pastiness and looked handsome.

She shook her head. ‘No, that’s fine, Grayson. I really should get on. I need to clean out the girls and give them their afternoon corn, and there are a few jobs my mum wants doing, and supper to cook.’

He stared at her and she watched his eyebrows rise and knit. His mouth opened a little and he looked . . . desolate, crushed, cheated, and she felt like shit. The instant change in his demeanour and the fast-paced beat of her heart at the prospect of not seeing him again was more than she could stand. Letting him down might have been the right thing to do for them both, but it was not the easy thing, and she knew at that moment that all she wanted was one more second of him, one more kiss, one more feeling of his palm resting on hers.

‘But . . . but if you like and, as it’s your last night,’ she said, swallowing, ‘we could go to the pub later after supper?’

His smile slowly crept back across his face. His eyes crinkled into happiness and his mouth lifted in an expression of pure joy. ‘I would very much like to go to the pub later.’

He sat back in his seat, and just like that, with the equilibrium restored, the atmosphere in the pickup changed. The air was softer, the temperature warmer and she was sure that, if she looked close enough, she would see small sparkles of delight leaving Grayson with every breath he exuded. These sparkles, she was certain, flew in her direction and she inhaled them until they filled her right up.



‘Nice day, my love?’ her dad asked, raising the next forkful of ham hock to his mouth.

‘Yes. Nice.’ She hoped he’d leave it at that, wary of the heat of Emery’s occasional glare.

‘The Reedleys have got red mite,’ her mother announced with a sigh.

Hitch pictured the Reedleys’ farm, a good six miles away over in Wattingbrook. Julie Reedley had been in her class at school, not that they were ever friends.

‘I’ve been putting down the powder twice a day and can’t see anything that’s bothering me,’ she said earnestly, the care of her chicken girls of vital importance to her.

‘Sure you’re not a bit distracted?’ Her mum looked briefly at Emery and then back to her plate.