The Things I Know(45)

‘Anything important you want to talk about tonight, my lovely?’ her mum asked flatly, and Hitch couldn’t tell if she was taking her earlier request seriously.

‘Actually, yes,’ she said with a cough. ‘There is something.’

‘Well, we are all ears!’ Her mum smiled at her husband across the table and she felt a warm stir of memory that this was what life had been like before Emery had pitched up permanently. How she had missed it!

She coughed again to clear her throat, attempting to give her announcement gravitas. ‘I don’t want you to call me Hitch any more. I want you to call me Thomasina.’ She spoke with as much authority as she could muster, turning to face them with her portion of hotpot in her hands, taking her seat at the table and smiling as she tucked in.

‘Ooh, this is good!’ She chewed the soft lumps of meat and forked a number of peas in for good measure.

‘But everyone calls you Hitch!’ Her mum stared at her. ‘They always have.’

‘I know, and now I want everyone to call me by my name, Thomasina. The name you gave me!’ she reminded them both.

‘Do you know, you’re right, love, you are absolutely right.’ Her dad chuckled and her mum followed suit. ‘Thomasina it is.’

‘Reckon I might forget while I’m getting used to it.’

‘That’s okay, Mum, as long as we get there in the end.’

‘This is a lovely hotpot. Thank you, Thomasina,’ her mum said with a smile.

‘It really is – one of the best, Thomasina,’ said her dad, joining in.

‘Could you pass the salt please, Thomasina,’ her mum said with a giggle.

‘And I’ll take the pepper, Thomasina,’ her dad snickered.

‘All right, you two – pack it in!’ Thomasina laughed – at least she had got her message across.

She and her beloved mum and dad sat around the table, the legs of which had worn wells in the flagstones over the years, as generations of Waycotts before them did likewise. Buddy slept by the hearth, and with bowls of good food in front of them it was as near perfect an evening as they had had in a while.

The back door opened suddenly with force, slamming against the wall as if taken by the wind.

Emery stood in the doorway, the great hulking brute, with his fat, pale face and his hands of ham. Without uttering a single word, he sucked all the warmth and joy from the room. Thomasina felt her smile fade and discomfort return to her gut.

‘You’re late.’ Her mum nodded at the clock. ‘There’s a plate of hotpot in the warming oven.’

Emery nodded and walked in, closing the door behind him. ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news.’

He spoke slowly, sincerely, and the words would have seemed innocuous to anyone other than Thomasina, who knew enough of him to recognise the slight twinkle in his eye and the almost imperceptible lift to his top lip, as if something had greatly amused him.

‘What’s that, son?’ Her dad let his spoon drop into the bowl and all three turned to face her cousin.

‘I found this.’

Thomasina looked up almost casually, expecting to see a broken piece of fence post, part of a breached pen or a discarded tractor bolt, the usual rusted, soiled or fractured detritus of farm life. Instead her heart boomed in her chest as the wail left her throat. In his big hand lay the limp body of a chicken – and not just any chicken, but her lovely Daphne, the little broody hen who had spent the day in a crate, away from her feathery friends, dreaming fruitlessly of motherhood.

‘No! No!’ she shouted, as she jumped up from the table, abandoning supper. ‘What did you do to her?’ She grabbed the hen from his grip and cradled her to her chest, and the feel of her tiny head lolling over her thumb was almost more than she could bear. ‘I said, what did you do? You pig!’ She couldn’t control her rage.

‘I didn’t do anything!’ He spoke with an underlying hint of laughter that sent a spike of anger through her.

‘I don’t believe you! You did this to her!’ she yelled.

‘For God’s sake, calm down, it’s only one hen!’

‘Only one hen?’ she screamed at her cousin. ‘How can you say that? They’re more than just hens to me! Much more.’ She turned to her mum, pointing at her cousin as her tears fell. ‘I know he did it on purpose! I just know it!’

‘Why would I do it on purpose?’ Again he laughed and she launched herself at him, punching him with the free hand that didn’t cradle Daphne.

‘I fucking hate you! I hate you! I hate you!’ she screamed, until her voice was hoarse.

‘Jesus Christ! Enough, Hitch! Enough!’ Her dad jumped up and stood between her and Emery.

With a racing pulse and her heart hammering in her chest, she turned to her dad, ‘I told you, my name is Thomasina!’

‘Thomasina . . .’ Her dad spoke gently, as if calling to her.

She shook her head and rubbed the little feathered breast that lay in her palm. ‘I can’t do it any more, Dad. I can’t. I’m so fed up. I want more, more time, more everything. I’m stuck! And I understand that all Daphne wanted was a chick of her own, I get it, but how can she, when no one thinks she’s capable of anything other than changing the beds and cooking a bloody hotpot!’